Upon Their Banished Names

for Thomas Graves

folded down and no one's now
the poets oh of no renown to you.
why do we bury them again...

vow to vow and each to keep
I mourn their prolonged winter sleep
their springtime tread

upon the pages that I read
only decades ago.
so decreed the powers that be

the assumed, so assuming literati

that they should become no reverie even.
in season or out jeered by those with clout.
even our Shakespeare conscripted

to serve, the propagandist's lack of verve.
still, not for me their soul's lost foam and the long retreat.
sad vigil I will keep with Whitman, Poe

Dickinson, the best to know.
Keats and Shelley bright as beams
upon the unresting, forlorn seas

no more, the ships of gold.
oh find their valentines again
I whispered to a modern wind, an age

that stole what e'er they knew and trashed it
academic room to room.
think that you shall find again

in purple ink, such hearts to win

you know it isn't true.
languid at the cafes, parlez vous
anything but shame, riotous laughter

upon their banished names.
reclaimed.

mary angela douglas june 14, 2019