I stood at locked gates and thought of Yeats
his early period as they term it
and the billowing stars
the myths calling him
like mermaids from the sea
and how all the twilights could be
purple only
falling around him.
what is poetry now
an empty shell
the horn of Triton that summons nothing
ah, a winter sun.
we are not stunned by it anymore.
we roll one dough
and cut innumerable coookies out of it
and bind it with slight theads
and think that the dead who died for it
will understand
that they came bearing bounty in their hand
while we cut the tree down, delving
past the root.
mary angela douglas 3 january 2018
his early period as they term it
and the billowing stars
the myths calling him
like mermaids from the sea
and how all the twilights could be
purple only
falling around him.
what is poetry now
an empty shell
the horn of Triton that summons nothing
ah, a winter sun.
we are not stunned by it anymore.
we roll one dough
and cut innumerable coookies out of it
and bind it with slight theads
and think that the dead who died for it
will understand
that they came bearing bounty in their hand
while we cut the tree down, delving
past the root.
mary angela douglas 3 january 2018
