far off I heard an elfin music
a teletype of snails the stitching of sea shells
far off I heard the bird called Forever,
falling from its perch and then or
as if the drowned cathedral emerged from the lake
the bells slowly mending and clearer now
and this is coming back to life somehow
the ghost leaves murmured and the
winds from their caves of blue diamonds.
I wrote with red pencil stubs on tablets of clay
reed drawn the living waters
and skated over time, over a crust of ice
falling into the wave
it was cold like the night of shipwreck,
unremitting as stars
and the bell tolled and I translated it
oh I tried
are there any survivors I cried?
but that was when
old continents drifted apart
what is art I was asked
how could I answer bound to my task
as Ulysses to the mast
as Penelope at home weaving and leaving it out
of the letters never to be finished
it may be love to listen this way
and night and day to write it down
I tied the nosegays of the bridesmaid Past
and said oh God this once may it last,
the fleeting sparkles on the ballroom floor
the organza and the starry conservatory word
spoken under moonlight never returning
war widowed, weary, yearning
the shadow tracing went on and
silver falling on an unwritten page,
the ink of tears
aren't you a regional poet they sneered:
if eternity is A on the map, and after that
or a scrap of
paper flown out the window
the dust of years like sifted gold.
perhaps, this glistened.
I only listened.
mary angela douglas 20 november 2017
a teletype of snails the stitching of sea shells
far off I heard the bird called Forever,
falling from its perch and then or
as if the drowned cathedral emerged from the lake
the bells slowly mending and clearer now
and this is coming back to life somehow
the ghost leaves murmured and the
winds from their caves of blue diamonds.
I wrote with red pencil stubs on tablets of clay
reed drawn the living waters
and skated over time, over a crust of ice
falling into the wave
it was cold like the night of shipwreck,
unremitting as stars
and the bell tolled and I translated it
oh I tried
are there any survivors I cried?
but that was when
old continents drifted apart
what is art I was asked
how could I answer bound to my task
as Ulysses to the mast
as Penelope at home weaving and leaving it out
of the letters never to be finished
it may be love to listen this way
and night and day to write it down
I tied the nosegays of the bridesmaid Past
and said oh God this once may it last,
the fleeting sparkles on the ballroom floor
the organza and the starry conservatory word
spoken under moonlight never returning
war widowed, weary, yearning
the shadow tracing went on and
silver falling on an unwritten page,
the ink of tears
aren't you a regional poet they sneered:
if eternity is A on the map, and after that
or a scrap of
paper flown out the window
the dust of years like sifted gold.
perhaps, this glistened.
I only listened.
mary angela douglas 20 november 2017
