to Alfred Lord Tennyson
“…My children, who do not lie.”-The Holy Bible
I saw the ghosts of roses rise
the hour that the Princess died
that way of looking at the world
died with her.
then poetry unfurled
the thin silk scarf of grey
the thread of warning.
I saw the clouds disperse
but only to reveal blank skies
blank pages blank Ages
a spark gone out in the eyes
of everyone, it seemed that way
to me then when
I saw the henchmen looking for that spark
only to quench it.
the execution of children
by subtle means
the ones who still dreamt
when they slept
and in between assignments
on the crumbling steps of all parthenons
the unscheduled dreams…
we met in grottos
our candles of thin means melted down
and remembered when Song
was the highest art
for what it dared impart
to the human heart
of the Divine.
Oh King in exile
your children too
refuse to honor the wastelands
just like You
to drink from the professional cup
when the empty toasts go round
to sound the trumpet
of the vacuous – New.
mary angela douglas 18 september 2018
“…My children, who do not lie.”-The Holy Bible
I saw the ghosts of roses rise
the hour that the Princess died
that way of looking at the world
died with her.
then poetry unfurled
the thin silk scarf of grey
the thread of warning.
I saw the clouds disperse
but only to reveal blank skies
blank pages blank Ages
a spark gone out in the eyes
of everyone, it seemed that way
to me then when
I saw the henchmen looking for that spark
only to quench it.
the execution of children
by subtle means
the ones who still dreamt
when they slept
and in between assignments
on the crumbling steps of all parthenons
the unscheduled dreams…
we met in grottos
our candles of thin means melted down
and remembered when Song
was the highest art
for what it dared impart
to the human heart
of the Divine.
Oh King in exile
your children too
refuse to honor the wastelands
just like You
to drink from the professional cup
when the empty toasts go round
to sound the trumpet
of the vacuous – New.
mary angela douglas 18 september 2018
