he's always branching off into leaves into little asides of flowers
momentary novas
how can he help it
try to hold a conversation with him just once
and you'll see what I mean
don't ever challenge him to a colouring contest
He's the Colour Wheel!
before you can even get the blue crayon out of the box
he's coloured Everything and added red rainbows.
take music for an example
you've got a tune in your head
he's got cathedrals full, gushing waterfalls and Messiaen
the whole works and the fourth of July too
not only Sousa and the 1812 Overture, boom boom.
He likes Charles Ives. And being Alive.
We're all fireworks to him and my friend,
he doesn't ever use stencils.
he's all the worlds fairs and all that's fair
not only in love and war;
he has the scars to prove it
and the wherewithall to be
the peddler of all peddlers
come and see
the vintage scarves over canyons, the shawls to brooches wed
the hoarding of valentines one single Iris
extended from the child with the grubby hand
treasured.
he's without overhead on luncheonettes
with banana cream pies; he likes to riddle you or I
the tiny riddles in the Bazooka wrappers, bubble gum
in pink or green. treading the boards incessantly
in every Shakespearian scene.
he's without measure, measuring sticks, clocks that tick
he doesn't need Time
or a thousand doves on his Birthday
he hasn't got one. or Mercury dimes, come to think of it.
sometimes he longs for a rose piped cake,
the frosting left in the bowl, I think so,
the little seed cakes out of Tolkien
or on the brink of snowfalls wishes for us
a thousand thousand Christmases
all at once
arriving as
we get off the bus
in a cold and sleety January
to a slightly unheated apartment.
oh he's a Department store
on every floor you'll find Him taking the escalator to...
especially the perfume aisle with his white floral notes
a hint of orange blossom, citrus, citrus, He smiles
sighing in jasmine, ruffling the coastal waters
oh sons and daughtes or look for him
out in the mists herding the clouds of mignonette
and even in this
impossible possible poem.apparent
in mirror writing.
mary angela douglas 20 august 2018
momentary novas
how can he help it
try to hold a conversation with him just once
and you'll see what I mean
don't ever challenge him to a colouring contest
He's the Colour Wheel!
before you can even get the blue crayon out of the box
he's coloured Everything and added red rainbows.
take music for an example
you've got a tune in your head
he's got cathedrals full, gushing waterfalls and Messiaen
the whole works and the fourth of July too
not only Sousa and the 1812 Overture, boom boom.
He likes Charles Ives. And being Alive.
We're all fireworks to him and my friend,
he doesn't ever use stencils.
he's all the worlds fairs and all that's fair
not only in love and war;
he has the scars to prove it
and the wherewithall to be
the peddler of all peddlers
come and see
the vintage scarves over canyons, the shawls to brooches wed
the hoarding of valentines one single Iris
extended from the child with the grubby hand
treasured.
he's without overhead on luncheonettes
with banana cream pies; he likes to riddle you or I
the tiny riddles in the Bazooka wrappers, bubble gum
in pink or green. treading the boards incessantly
in every Shakespearian scene.
he's without measure, measuring sticks, clocks that tick
he doesn't need Time
or a thousand doves on his Birthday
he hasn't got one. or Mercury dimes, come to think of it.
sometimes he longs for a rose piped cake,
the frosting left in the bowl, I think so,
the little seed cakes out of Tolkien
or on the brink of snowfalls wishes for us
a thousand thousand Christmases
all at once
arriving as
we get off the bus
in a cold and sleety January
to a slightly unheated apartment.
oh he's a Department store
on every floor you'll find Him taking the escalator to...
especially the perfume aisle with his white floral notes
a hint of orange blossom, citrus, citrus, He smiles
sighing in jasmine, ruffling the coastal waters
oh sons and daughtes or look for him
out in the mists herding the clouds of mignonette
and even in this
impossible possible poem.apparent
in mirror writing.
mary angela douglas 20 august 2018
