In The Country

in the country, where one grows old
and the roses shadowing into their dusk
the moon held aloft, a pale green lantern

by whom are these things noted, gardenia soft;
the moon a wide ribbon woven through clouds
consumed for the Soul, that silver moth

it's the crescent of ending

I behold or you, as you were,
before the floods the candles'
drift on the snowy cakes

the present of it all
in star flecked tissue revealing

you,
on your small porch


looking out on your allotted ocean of time
and the foam of it aqua,

unto the stars, the swing's wide measure
on the playground dreamed
the dust rising from the shoe scuff of it

the blues and the greens in a whirl
on the carousel colored in; carillions counted,
blossoming pink to white;

the horses raving, frozen as they were

and turning into the Fair remembered
one was fire, singing the milkmaids
in a  dawn, the faun colored roses

the heart tuned to pearl
and the dew tinged hour

the freshness rose it was ever Easter
rising, sweets in the grass half hidden
the dime witched dial crumbling you thought

was diamond

the Disneyland beckoning,
reckoning,

of childhood tears behind 
dried, in the sullen a pinwheel wind
the music box wounding of it, forgo;

the purple rising,the iced tea clinking
of the glass you were drinking the purple of
what is past and that gleams

the gleams of it far behind now
the Star ahead
the may blossom falter of it;

the ones that loved you

when you were new,
the honeysuckle bright of it,
blazing up

renewed, it's Christmas;
the angels draw nigh;
Hans Andersen, in a sleigh

parting invisible snows.


mary angela douglas 4 may 2019

NOTE ON THE POEM:  would like to credit the phrase faun coloured rose (in the singular) to a poem I read a while ago written by a Catholic 20th century nun who died young and either she said faun coloured rose or faun coloured dawn but it was such a lovely image I wanted to use it too, so I did, in the plural also thinking of, in my reference, in childhood, that lovely piece by Debussy, The Afternoon of a Faun which I listened to over and over on a glass record belonging to my Grandmother.That is the only time I have ever used another poet's image unless you count occasional recognizeable allusions to famous works, and even then, I always credit it. I NEVER will steal from another poet. I respect them too much.