[to the Immortal Poets]
they had taken up the cause of beauty
and for them God had in reserve
whole wildernesses
timed to bloom in one compacted hour
and as though we had wept flowers
those hours descended their ghosts sang
their words jeweled in a driving rain
and flame upon flame of the Word
driven inward
having no other home.
saints of words were these
last poets, lost though they seemed
their own illuminated manuscripts
torn, and destitute of little repute sometimes
in the heedless world
what is poetry they ask in the magazines
and I cannot say but how can it be
they do not know
when such as these were on the earth
and vanished slowly
giving birth
in every language possible
that beauty vanishing with them
should return
to us, the uncomprehending.
mary angela douglas 26 april 2017
they had taken up the cause of beauty
and for them God had in reserve
whole wildernesses
timed to bloom in one compacted hour
and as though we had wept flowers
those hours descended their ghosts sang
their words jeweled in a driving rain
and flame upon flame of the Word
driven inward
having no other home.
saints of words were these
last poets, lost though they seemed
their own illuminated manuscripts
torn, and destitute of little repute sometimes
in the heedless world
what is poetry they ask in the magazines
and I cannot say but how can it be
they do not know
when such as these were on the earth
and vanished slowly
giving birth
in every language possible
that beauty vanishing with them
should return
to us, the uncomprehending.
mary angela douglas 26 april 2017
