My Islands Pink and Green

my islands pink and green
on a cherished childhood map
I yet envision you

whom they suspect of no vision at all
while staring at the walls that give way
in the middle of the day

there you are! pink and green as bonbons
in the box which one of you will be
the one I dream into being

the one of silvered fronds by moonlight
or my mimosa trees transplated from the front yard
always waving us goodbye on the way to school

my overgreown ferns with pink froth for blossoms
a lemon center always I loved you most in summer winds
and then as now.

alas, my princess cried
the time grows short

for mangoes presented on a silver tray
for dimly lit reasons why to stay or how
and I acede, it's time to go

where oceans drift with snow.

mary angela douglas 30 june 2018

Lemonade Shade

a beautiful kingdom came floating down
in candy cane December
or in pink frosted birthday surprise

so we thought it could be
and so it was
Glinda or godmother (Grandmother?)

with their wands
the Fairy Queen in rose froth
with little silver stars

(that's our Mama)
in the jewelry box tune
where ballerinas always turn.

now there's stars all over the floor
and the dolls recite all that they've learned
about the Great Explorers

in coloured chalk when we do their talking
for them
how will we explain it to Grandmother

coming in to check our room for neatness
on a Saturday afternoon that they've left
their balloons all over the fair grounds

cotton candy, too sticky candy

when we have been playing with all the toys at once
as though they were a toy tribe
and all the villagers came out to greet us

as we were wearing our peasant skirts
our gipsy blouses with the Mardis Gras beads.
once more to the Monopoly board

where they live invisibly in little green
and red houses, or hotels? the populace.
and eat tiny rolls with real butter

perhaps hearing the trains go by
the winds ruffling the wheat fields or see
the Tinker Toys simulating "progress"

in between meals of marshmallows
what will you have for tea
murmured the princess graciously

she could afford to be gracious
in her lemon silk
carrying her perpetual bouquet of tea roses

and the refeshing ferns.
let's go by the creek
and gather small stones

and build a fortress of magic
and watch the water bubbling over the milky quartz,
the Monarchs sail by orange as popsicles

and dip our toes in between the crawdads
there are no crawdads in Fairy Land
oops I forgot...

let the bubbling stream live
the villagers coming out of their immaculate homes,
where even the sock drawers are perfect;

dollhouses dreamed of, Play houses built to scale
with pink stoves...we wished for another day
and the angels rain down glitter on our parades.

we'll find it all in Heaven again, finger painted!
the two teddies waltzing endlessly...
stashed in a lemonade shade.

mary angela douglas 30 june 2018

After William Blake:(I Saw The Crystal Apple Fall)

I saw the crystal apple fall
into a well that none could dredge
and I was standing on the edge

and saw it bob the clouds among
and felt so much
but was not heard

because the crystal of the Word
was split by ranks of armies strong
who thought the Word belonged to them

and broke the Crystal heart in two
that fashioned All for me and you.
\
Mary Angela Douglas 29 june 2018

Song For Another Ending

close the book on this then.
close the book again.
it wasn't the thing you thought it would be

the contest you wouldn't win.
the wind is perfumed anyway
the leaves impearled after such brief rains

what you have lost is
more than somehow
what could ever be gained

close the door
draw the shades
think of going away

there where there's no more sea
there where there's no one telling you how
to steer the boat of your own dreams

there where there's no more striving
where it's more than enough

to just be.

mary angela douglas 27 june 2018

The Test

I do not want to learn Beauty for the Test
to memorize the lines to make the grades
to be on parade because of what I know

I want to learn Beauty secretly slowly
over time, berry ripening on the vine
and under moonglow

a baby at God's knee
from every summer leaf

from every wind that blows
each how does your garden grow
and in corners where I am not watched

just come to terms with the joy and the pity
of all there is to learn
so that even to spill one thimble full of it

crossing a room
could swallow up whole Kingdoms.

mary angela douglas 26 june 2018

You're Not Just Looking Out The Window For The Reason You Think You Are

when looking out the window one day
apparently for no reason
no company on the way

no postman, no sudden clang of fire engine
no newspaper delay
suddenly I felt my deeper soul was

looking out and suddenly made itself known to me
that it had always been looking out for a long
time now, every time in fact I drifted over from the

sink, or from the brink of sleep. or just from
seeming boredom having nothing else to do
a slight question perhaps about the real weather

not the one as advertised on T.V.
what I mean is the secret soul was
saying suddenly in language loud and clear

look I am here, everytime you look out the window
and have been since you could toddle
because I am thinking maybe today

we get to see Oz in the distance

all that Emerald Way
or people drowning in confetti
because the end of the world never came

or the coach and four from really old fairytales
obscure ones you've never even heard of yet.
you know, and then I'd say
there it is! the coach lined in rose taffeta

the message from the King on silver plate proffered.
the beginning of everything.
Eden floating in,

The Land of Green Ginger on the tide.

mary angela douglas 26 june 2018

Song To Be Sung In A Time Of Affliction

it's the halo around the moon that makes you wince
the thought of someone in the green mountains, just now
singing against you;

the least ivory thing.
you're too sensitive they say , they always said so.
each time hammering anew

the crystal in the playhouse
so that you never knew
where the next blow could come from.

find peace in the little things
the ones they haven't yet converted.
in the secret things

that keep their essence still
hidden under a green leaf
under a bright stone

in a coral reef so far below
what nets can reach, what nets can reach
I thought of these things and more

in the cold and calliope rain

blue moths at the doors of consciousness
the treasures hidden under the floor
the storm troopers will not see

oh God please free what they seized anyway
without appeal

oh Lord keep all offending ones from me
that those who dream
of the least ivory thing

and are imbued 
with the halo around the moon
with song in the green mountains

as it was meant to be
before the hunters arrived.
may thrive dear Lord

and know and know
in the secret calliope rain
that You

and we-
are still the same.

mary angela douglas 26 june 2018

Except

veils should be seeded with pearls or
tears of the moon
or with opals in the gloom

so that God may find us

or embroidered with small roses
or should they appear as drifts of snow
a snow continually falling

so that the figures disappear in all the landscapes
but not the wish of your mama you should
sew a fine seam and have at your disposal

always, strawberries and cream, music and the pink iced cornbread.
a very fine wish indeed; we agreed on it.
the seam being the ordering of dreams merged into

little  booklets for tracing the starpoints, cosmic wheels
as they arose.and gleamed
through the extravagant night trees.

as they arose, the bride stood tiptoe

in the rose gardens of the world
this was how we planned it
year embroidered on year

and the loom and the golden threads
near at hand, blue taffeta
in the armoire

even when it grew chilly
past sweater weather, beyond all spells
the veils swept away

the worst
all harps being stilled.then.
except in the lacelike mind, defended.

mary angela douglas 26 june 2018

Station Break For The Guardian Angels

maybe you didn't see us
spectacularly by your side
in the iffy classrooms

but we were there
pulling answers out of the air
or catching you at Christmas, on the church stairs

so that you never fell
though you know you should have
and paused for a moment

trying to figure out, why not?
why didn't it happen.
your shoelace forever untied

we never tired of making miracles
out of that.
and it was us in summer

swirling the rainbows in the
watercolor glass each time
you dipped your brush

and when you swallowed the Mercury dime
it had to be us in the crystal windchimes
recommending with the doctor:

cheese. cheese is the remedy.
and when you scuffed your knee
there was a baby wind, remember?

cooling for every scratch while
at each latched door
we whispered

that's not the golden one
be on your way,
child of clay

marked with an inward fire
you're in your latter day and still aspire
we like you for that

and we're still here
adjusting the rose on your sunhat
knocking fear out of the park

and with our sparkly sparklers
dished up strawberry ice creams,
secretly and silverly

cataloguing your dreams.

mary angela douglas 23 june 2018

My Grandmother's Studio,Late Afternoon

every song is a sunrise.
will it set too soon does the singer ever wonder
leaving me here in the gloom or

in an early winter, stranded.
but the tempo must be observed
all the jeweled nuance

once it is learned
once it was, will it always be
dreams the little child, counting to three

or will they hide from me and not be found
when cake days are over.
let us not be banished I said to my almost twin

when the grown up world begins
but stay here by the tea roses
drinking in their dew;

and in the Music Room.

mary angela douglas 23 june 2018

The Study of History As Being Out Of Place

you cannot visit the past
it's like a strange planet
it doesn't want you in its orbit

the locked fairy tale door.
don't come to it with your flowers
laid on grave

its tombs are sealed.
we write outside it, not within.
it is a furled flower now.

there are records
but who knows how the recorder felt
writing it all down

was he distracted?
in a bad mood
skipping ahead a few Chapters

due to the scent of lillacs through

an open window
what passed for windows then
notches for necessary cannons.

the Canon a bit suspicious
eyeing the script.
while you rejoice in

the sound of ancient towns
the vino clear as 
the ringing of bells.

but you don't know the codes that well

whether the bells mean joy or woe.
and for whom, distraught, in a darkened room.
you will hear it both ways

and say so on your postcards home
to the Academy.

and the necessary recorder, who is he.
he's wondering why the leaves are so green this time of day
and will probably become a philosopher

or major in optical effects and rainbows, lenses,
the suspension of all belief, the tides of human grief

though he doesn't know enough to call it that yet.

mary angela douglas 22 june 2018

Trees And Their Shadows

how could I know on the sun flecked path
the one lit by sparklers, occasional peach ice cream
the lacework of trees,

trees and their shadows
you would be the first to disappear,
all music chilled in the castles

chilled and stilled.
the clouds headfirst, cloud horses
into the cirrus seas.

why did I believe
this could not come to pass
while sharing our salt water taffy

silly in our laughter to the last
button that needs buttoning
that we would never lose in a seesaw tilted way

all the looking glass days;
one on Earth remembering, keeping the account
the other in Heaven.trying to forget in a new choir.

supposedly they would have told me
if they had cared, or even enquired after
for the gold of our days.how you were

they never bothered to say
all those non messengers
with their telegrams of snow

non com angels, well I guess so.
their silence like a stepsister dread
futile agencies

like limbs cut off or the phone dead.suddenly.
the brush from the clearing and the legal fees
all squared away.the court appointed and the creditors

hankering after what was left of the play money.
many times before, the houses we lived in
when we were small with the guardian trees became

like colorforms someone shifted around
like dollhouses blown down in a stiff breeze
tiny plastic furniture

in all the wrong rooms
or puzzles with missing game pieces
the feelings you get when the ferris moon

can't be found from your room
and it's all schoolwork again
being misunderstood in the cafeteria

in your plaid dresses
and from a new kitchen when the steam flows from the vents
the scent of scrambled eggs makes you sick.

our rabbit shadows ticking on the wall we never heard.
if only small birds would find me on the path now
bringing a silver word to say

you fled with music;you were not alone.
maybe they will someday.

mary angela douglas 21 june 2018

Castaways Of Words Fail Not

castaways of words fail not silver dipping each letter
cast in pearl fret not though multitudes indifferent
to the light win and win again

and grow their towers spiteing, spurning all others

what is won if not light
if not light then nothing, drift on
let nothing sail

we will endure, avail
though men make private playgrounds
just to hear themselves, their friends

brief pirates pirating

sound it all out
in the public glare
let us praise not, nowhere then, sans accolades

gold faded in the shade and fated not feted
least deserving

if we cannot in our wording, root branch and flower
into God.

mary angela douglas 20 june 2018

The Queens Of Strawberries

when fruit flavored life savers were the best treat
all lemon lime cherry pineapple great
then we were queens of the strawberries

at least in our own backyard
the one that flings blue shadows now
the ghosts of our swing a statue days

in the firefly studded air when the gnats started swarming
wishing to be stars and the statues made out of pretend

I always imagined them in a sort of Parthenon expanse.
what would we wear if we really were
queens of the strawberry patch I mean, I meant

I would have meant

or at least the runners up
something in a deep pink froth
with a paler pink cloudshawl

carelessly thrown over it
or Glinda returning in a hopeful pink bubble
I think in Heaven

we won't be that far off from
clover chains, the hot sun on our playsuits
the splash of the dog into the cheery blue

huge above ground plastic pool with the whale on it

and pure summer laughter then
and squealing when you get wet
all silvery in the sunlight 

and overnight, it's packed away.

what is childhood then
we all end up wondering
if you can play scales on the piano

and they sound exactly like
lemon cherry orange pineapple lime-
every time

mary angela douglas 17 june 2018

When You Were Happy

it has all broken into pieces did you sob
the china fragments at your feet
in the fairy twinkle gloom

of our blue room
and the consequences terrible

because, as yet, unknown.
as yet unknown your crystal heart
broke with it

as if you had broken a world.with all its rainbows.
not broken, the world, at least,
not by you who are

not yet cognizant of the fractured world 

you almost live in
shielded there at home.
look we will sweept it up

cried the angels
not knowing what else to do.
in Divine consternation 

and another child by your side
sure to be me

said please don't cry.
we will make a puzzle out of it someday
and all the pieces will fit.

and then you laughed
small sunrise that you were then.
when you were happy.

mary angela douglas 17 june 2018

Bella And Her Flowers Perhaps, In the Snowlights

then you were taking flowers to the wrong passengers
coming off of the train
barely making it in time

in time
or out of it
as though you ducked out of the rain

into timelessness. the flowers took off
as if they belonged to Chagall
they floated upwards

they all belonged to Bella
this was another country then
dream voices said

conferring honor upon the dreamer
when we weren't living history,
just our lives

the trains have disappeared
the vantage point is snow
always snow for that artist

now unknown
who was always showing up
at the wrong time of day

with Bella's flowers
time is vanishing away
soon it will have melted completely.

my colours, coloured, sigh.

mary angela douglas 17 june 2018

Wherein Coppelia Dreamed In Small Fountains And Is Denied Cake

coppelia dreamed in small fountains
twinkling in Christmas light variations
or she dreamed of dancing 

and there she was in lillac
twirling in a jewel box
the supreme toy for very joy

in orchid in the late afternoon.
at the children's party, just unwrapped
with the sashed girls all dressed up in

dreamy polished cottons and the little boys said only
where is the cake

will someone arrange the tune
so that it might be possible
she thought she said aloud

that I might have some too
and the strawberry ice
as pink as my shoes...

who could hear her really
in that crowd
maybe the family dog

but he wasn't talking
all they could see was a tiny
tarentella

fairy floating,,making the best of things.
jette and all of that or pirouette but still
stuck you might say till someone turned the key;

sidelined with no dessert;
it's certain she wanted to blurt...

mary angela douglas 13 june 2018

The Queen Of Music

rewinding the summers back to the candy coated
split level house
was it imagination

or did the mimosa trees
in our lemonade breeze
whisper, "God has kept for you both

the peony fans, the books on the nightstand,
overflowing the shelves
the ones spray painted with stars

the stencils of camp ferns
in Christmas wrap and all of that

lemon drops in the yellow glass jar
alternatively, ribbon candy, Hershey bars!
it's Forever in cotton candy skies

whenever you turn it sideways, so it fits

we doze on and off and it's, you said
laughing, the land of nod-
or Oz;

ah the green towers
sparkled in the Little Golden Book
happiness had no rim;it was always

brimming over blowing soap bubbles
straight into the wondering faces
of our angels

turn the page said the lady's voice with the hidden corsage,
chime on! the record we played in story book time
that Tinkerbell may live so we clapped hands

till our palms were raw in the name of the
eternal magic of God
and the metronome sang to you

even at the small piano in our blue room
the one with the color coded keys
all summer we wore lime

and spent our dimes on paperbooks of
high quality.
I'm going to read all the classics

while you decreed you would be
the Queen of Music.

mary angela douglas 12 june 2018

I Went To A Grave Of Clouds

i went to a grave of clouds
as though Faure wove the shade
how could I leave my grief there

when it had flowered into light
the singer was singing rider and horse
have plunged into foam

they are not there.
where vultures circle for long awaited jewelry
there is a way from the world paved with

diamond stars and sapphire ringing sound
there I remembered home and
there you are briefly

in the larkspur dark

beginning new etudes
on the Atlantan heights
in golden measures

with no bars.

mary angela douglas 11 june 2018

Continents

(on the music of Josh Groban)

somewhere there are other continents than these
where we stay indoors dreaming of other shores
and tilt the globe in the music rooms

and wait. for shadows at the gate.

oh lilting, music alone, I think of thee
where there have been no wars
no upset in the afternoons

of the order you keep
when sleep is negligible
and clouds diffuse the moon

oh to be forever obscured from history
that we might find in the music

only God.in the stellar nights
and shine from stage to stage only
on an inner range of mountains,

as in dreams,
obscuring Time...inclined to and favoring
the sudden illuminations

and the chime
of the first bars of the scores renewed before
the wounding at the core

of the old continents, shifting,

and music, restraining, just for this little space

the angel at the door, too early
at the porticos of sunset;
and gathering the damaged in.

mary angela douglas 5 june 2018

The Harp

I stepped over the harp of silences
it was a weeping harp
yet it was silent

it appeared before me on a white road
a road of chalk down to the sea.
was it meant for me

I had none to ask
and why was it weeping
and no one else to care.

why ever was the road chalk
down to the sea
and the moon not even out.

this was in the city of clouds
that long ago, or near it.
still I cannot ferret out

the silver riddle of it
why it was there
just when I started to sing

mary angela douglas 3 june 2018

There Was A Language Green As Trees

there was a language green as trees

in summer’s ease, there was a language
in the jade of seas spelled out elegantly

beyond all measure.
the way you may speak in dreams,
in pearls, not syllables

not knowing how it happened
that scene flowed onto scene, illuminated

of you found keys in unlikely places
the trace of beauty…and the myth imbued,
imbued with music,

the pace of saints across
the suddenly flowering fields
and everything feeling

like home in fine detail
down to the appling of trees;
cream lace tablecloths with little blue dishes

lilacs spilling over a pale green fence all this
comprising the unalloyed gold
the unalloyed gold and the baby soul

the cottage brocade of roses
and no cortege
and the floors swept clean; too

charming the windows flung open then
(joy, at it’s zenith)-
to the clear cut pause in the fairy tale wind

where Eternity enters in with its purple cymbals
and you all golden for awhile; in airy rooms
your children made of amber, and honey

the song dropped down the slowing down of time
each letter budding unto stars of the milky quartz
you found at your feet as a small child in the garden,

all roses murmuring, "remember...."

as they did for Hans Andersen
you turned to greet God

not knowing what to say
just happy in the sunlight and the bluebird finishings
and foreign accents,beautiful and strange

the speech of the glittering reeds by the riverbanks
after the story’s end, the marginal flowers
and the vivid heart recalled.

mary angela douglas 1 june 2018;2 june 2021