my lovely stars she said outside my small window gleaming
this was in former days when the earth still rang with feeling
then in our rose cheeked decembers revealing
our crystal handbells
each note distinct so that
we thought in bells
and painted the pinecones gold
in the afternoons and free from school.
I remember the coffee can candles made
the molds full of red and green blue flecks
simulating stars in the pale or creamy wax
the candles burning later in our dear rooms
brought back from the church fairs
the stairs to the attic coming down
like a ladder from which descended
angels perhaps, my Grandfather in his old hat
and jacket bringing like a wiseman
boxes concealing ornaments that we called only jewels.
and I will write of this though you will think it strange
I call this a poem
don't be so dreary.
I know what it is, its Christmas tinsel and wishes tied on tight
so the winds won't take them
and I am not ashamed of dreams.
"recollected in tranquility"
oh singers of the dry sticks rattling
witchlike, overproud,
why should I be.
who sing every carol
till it's worn clear through.
mary angela douglas 25 april 2018
this was in former days when the earth still rang with feeling
then in our rose cheeked decembers revealing
our crystal handbells
each note distinct so that
we thought in bells
and painted the pinecones gold
in the afternoons and free from school.
I remember the coffee can candles made
the molds full of red and green blue flecks
simulating stars in the pale or creamy wax
the candles burning later in our dear rooms
brought back from the church fairs
the stairs to the attic coming down
like a ladder from which descended
angels perhaps, my Grandfather in his old hat
and jacket bringing like a wiseman
boxes concealing ornaments that we called only jewels.
and I will write of this though you will think it strange
I call this a poem
don't be so dreary.
I know what it is, its Christmas tinsel and wishes tied on tight
so the winds won't take them
and I am not ashamed of dreams.
"recollected in tranquility"
oh singers of the dry sticks rattling
witchlike, overproud,
why should I be.
who sing every carol
till it's worn clear through.
mary angela douglas 25 april 2018
