here is a little bit what I think
making up jump rope rhymes
at the sink
Antoinette in a gown of gold
was your story really told
Antoinette in a wreath of pinks
here is what I really think.
no one said how the poor people lived
keeping money in a sieve
eating toast without marmalade
barely even getting paid.
all you knew in a castle locked
was what they told you or did not.
what to wear with your new frock.
you had bread and cake besides.
how would you know the
courtiers lied.
you answered the riddle the best you could
merely seeking to be good.
wanting to improve their state
if they don't have bread, then they can eat cake.
how you were maligned my dear
by those whose motives weren't that clear.
no one told you how it is
you only wanted to assist.
still they mock you
in the grave
those still scuttling in Plato's cave.
mary angela douglas 28 september 2019
Saturday, September 28, 2019
Will Anyone Think
will anyone think because you have found it
you, a mere girl at best an afterthought of God
newly sprung after the long rains
a mass of flowers
that it is really what it is a pearl of great distinction,
better for it to remain at sea or in the tidal basins free
and still enclosed
than to be found by you
who can only give it greater obscurity
since it is you that found it
and not a king.
who could credit such a thing.
still you have it
in your pocket yet
or on your dresser with the dresser set,
a light perfume
a mirror into which you look to banish gloom
not at all vain.
what will remain of it
softly you ask of God
even though I found it in Your name
they strive to build on it to bury it under
an altar of mud
and I the mud streaked goose girl in the rain
not even a foot note in that history
of disdain.
mary angela douglas 28 september 2019
you, a mere girl at best an afterthought of God
newly sprung after the long rains
a mass of flowers
that it is really what it is a pearl of great distinction,
better for it to remain at sea or in the tidal basins free
and still enclosed
than to be found by you
who can only give it greater obscurity
since it is you that found it
and not a king.
who could credit such a thing.
still you have it
in your pocket yet
or on your dresser with the dresser set,
a light perfume
a mirror into which you look to banish gloom
not at all vain.
what will remain of it
softly you ask of God
even though I found it in Your name
they strive to build on it to bury it under
an altar of mud
and I the mud streaked goose girl in the rain
not even a foot note in that history
of disdain.
mary angela douglas 28 september 2019
Friday, September 27, 2019
From These Dark Angels
Lord God of hosts deliver us
from these dark angels hovering near
ruling the precincts of our fear;
from tides we cannot see
but feel when we are afflicted unreasonably
despite all signs of progress in the West
despite the faith that we confess
invisible armies gather innumerably
and lay siegw.
you know of these by rank and each as each
we cannot see them
yet we feel
an unexpected gloom and powerless to wield
as you the right commands to sunder them in two.
let them be banished from this blue green earth
before the accomplished time
we are sick from the dearth of it all
and we are small
to fight against invisible things.
and we are Thine.
let your bright rings dapple the earth and sky
and ripple through it all
the music we first heard
from every leaf and bird
restore to us, o God we pray
in everything we think or say
the garden invincible
at first we thought we knew
would always be ours,
with You.
mary angela douglas 27 september 2019
from these dark angels hovering near
ruling the precincts of our fear;
from tides we cannot see
but feel when we are afflicted unreasonably
despite all signs of progress in the West
despite the faith that we confess
invisible armies gather innumerably
and lay siegw.
you know of these by rank and each as each
we cannot see them
yet we feel
an unexpected gloom and powerless to wield
as you the right commands to sunder them in two.
let them be banished from this blue green earth
before the accomplished time
we are sick from the dearth of it all
and we are small
to fight against invisible things.
and we are Thine.
let your bright rings dapple the earth and sky
and ripple through it all
the music we first heard
from every leaf and bird
restore to us, o God we pray
in everything we think or say
the garden invincible
at first we thought we knew
would always be ours,
with You.
mary angela douglas 27 september 2019
To Rose Fyleman
I want to live in a fairy dell
though others tell me
it won't go well
that I'll be gone for 300 years
and come back when
it's all disappeared.
but what care I
where it's always spring
and I can live under a
sparrows wing
and fashion the dew drops
into bright rings
and live on berries
and never be queried
and Christmas could come
with every new sun
and snowdrops, sweet peas
whatever you please
we'll live in the past
and last and last
thinking up dreams
and heavenly schemes
to get there from here
in some other year.
mary angela douglas 27 september 2019
though others tell me
it won't go well
that I'll be gone for 300 years
and come back when
it's all disappeared.
but what care I
where it's always spring
and I can live under a
sparrows wing
and fashion the dew drops
into bright rings
and live on berries
and never be queried
and Christmas could come
with every new sun
and snowdrops, sweet peas
whatever you please
we'll live in the past
and last and last
thinking up dreams
and heavenly schemes
to get there from here
in some other year.
mary angela douglas 27 september 2019
Thursday, September 26, 2019
All Things In The Morning
all things in the morning will shine again for you
though every path seems useless
and almost nothing true
though with your heart unevenly
you try to see things through
and what you make with your own hands
every tide comes through.
still all things in the morning will shine again for you
and all that's latticed one day
will open to the dew.
and everything will bloom
and winter will not be
nor thorns nor endless curses
nor ships lost on the sea.
and weeping in a land of drought
will never never be
the way it was before you learned
there is a God that bleeds
for each and every lost thing
and every single wound.
and you will find the morning
and not the dread of tombs.
mary angela douglas 26 september 2019
though every path seems useless
and almost nothing true
though with your heart unevenly
you try to see things through
and what you make with your own hands
every tide comes through.
still all things in the morning will shine again for you
and all that's latticed one day
will open to the dew.
and everything will bloom
and winter will not be
nor thorns nor endless curses
nor ships lost on the sea.
and weeping in a land of drought
will never never be
the way it was before you learned
there is a God that bleeds
for each and every lost thing
and every single wound.
and you will find the morning
and not the dread of tombs.
mary angela douglas 26 september 2019
Wednesday, September 25, 2019
Cultwise by Candelight Or Stub
how clearly they see into Heaven
when their palms are crossed
with silver or the last dim dime
you own paid to those
with access to the Throne
that's what they claim.
the ones that preach
the right of their domain
eminent or imminent
it's all the same
so long as you not them
are funding it for their own gain
the ones who make stuff up
who drain the high life
from the loving cup
if not the Holy Grail
who won't wind up in jail
who own a train or plane or two themselves
and easily can conduct business
in the air or anywhere while you wring out
from your last loaf of bread or prayer
the last crumbs left
to make sure they are fed.
mary angela douglas 25 september 2019
when their palms are crossed
with silver or the last dim dime
you own paid to those
with access to the Throne
that's what they claim.
the ones that preach
the right of their domain
eminent or imminent
it's all the same
so long as you not them
are funding it for their own gain
the ones who make stuff up
who drain the high life
from the loving cup
if not the Holy Grail
who won't wind up in jail
who own a train or plane or two themselves
and easily can conduct business
in the air or anywhere while you wring out
from your last loaf of bread or prayer
the last crumbs left
to make sure they are fed.
mary angela douglas 25 september 2019
For Everything Beautiful That Was Made
we were the waifs of a language that was jeweled
I hear the poets ghosting it as a rule
just after dusk
and in November's spareness and in God I trust
I learned enough in school to know
they were cruel in their time
to the garret prone.
those who ate three meals at home or going out and more
with the port wine included, the Madeira.
I dont know anything about that.
or not that much.having been made
to live by the clock for most of my life
nickled and dimed but in love with the chimes
on holidays be that as it may with the tick or the tock
the fee simple
I know a price has been paid
for everything beautiful that was made
long before it ever
showed up on the auction block.
mary angela douglas 25 september 2019
I hear the poets ghosting it as a rule
just after dusk
and in November's spareness and in God I trust
I learned enough in school to know
they were cruel in their time
to the garret prone.
those who ate three meals at home or going out and more
with the port wine included, the Madeira.
I dont know anything about that.
or not that much.having been made
to live by the clock for most of my life
nickled and dimed but in love with the chimes
on holidays be that as it may with the tick or the tock
the fee simple
I know a price has been paid
for everything beautiful that was made
long before it ever
showed up on the auction block.
mary angela douglas 25 september 2019
Tuesday, September 24, 2019
The Way Trees Grow In Dreams
the way trees grow in dreams
their roots out toward the stars
when the great storms come
I wanted an art song made of this
in an unwritten language.
oh I felt wistful on the looking glass side
looking back at home and its inversions missed.
I wanted to grow like trees in dreams
and so I thought of this
sending this message, waking from one.
one dream like a sigh with a faint imprint on the morning
I have left for you here.
when you are clouded
reading your lines.
when the silver shoes you've shod.
things lined in velvet disappear
roots first, defecting,
into God.
mary angela douglas 24 september 2019
their roots out toward the stars
when the great storms come
I wanted an art song made of this
in an unwritten language.
oh I felt wistful on the looking glass side
looking back at home and its inversions missed.
I wanted to grow like trees in dreams
and so I thought of this
sending this message, waking from one.
one dream like a sigh with a faint imprint on the morning
I have left for you here.
when you are clouded
reading your lines.
when the silver shoes you've shod.
things lined in velvet disappear
roots first, defecting,
into God.
mary angela douglas 24 september 2019
When Snow Clouds Form (Final Version)
when snow clouds form in dreams about the prairie
I feel somehow reborn as if everything here
could be secretly made out of crystals
and the air itself holds so much crystal, pines
it is an amazement.
I wanted to walk for a long long time
tasting the crystal in a kind of prescient way
chill orange of the skies at mid day
I felt that bells rang out from the clouds or could or would
making it Christmas day haloed and hallowed
a glittering expectation not in a society way
not social at all
purely hushed for the soul and its reconfiguring;
invigorating so that your cheeks blushed cold
though you weren't aware of it
and you could hold the note in the song
so that the clouds chiding angels drift down
as if listening in a silver kind of way to that cantata only
with the doll like and lovely redundancies of jewel box ballerinas
implicitly on display covering delicately every fence I prayed
and the winds whistling as if from the far North
fairy tales; redundancies of the looking glass scattered
so that I remember only prisms and crowned with them then
passing the corner as I did then,
the out of date store fronts
it's all whirling I thought
there will never be anything more beautiful
mary angela douglas 24 september 2019
I feel somehow reborn as if everything here
could be secretly made out of crystals
and the air itself holds so much crystal, pines
it is an amazement.
I wanted to walk for a long long time
tasting the crystal in a kind of prescient way
chill orange of the skies at mid day
I felt that bells rang out from the clouds or could or would
making it Christmas day haloed and hallowed
a glittering expectation not in a society way
not social at all
purely hushed for the soul and its reconfiguring;
invigorating so that your cheeks blushed cold
though you weren't aware of it
and you could hold the note in the song
so that the clouds chiding angels drift down
as if listening in a silver kind of way to that cantata only
with the doll like and lovely redundancies of jewel box ballerinas
implicitly on display covering delicately every fence I prayed
and the winds whistling as if from the far North
fairy tales; redundancies of the looking glass scattered
so that I remember only prisms and crowned with them then
passing the corner as I did then,
the out of date store fronts
it's all whirling I thought
there will never be anything more beautiful
mary angela douglas 24 september 2019
When Snow Clouds Form/Dakota Snows (Final Draft)
when snow clouds form in dreams about the prairie
I feel somehow reborn as if everything here
could be secretly made out of crystals
and the air itself holds so much crystal
it is an amazement.
I wanted to walk for a long long while
just tasting the crystal in a kind of prescient way
chill orange of the skies at mid day
I felt that bells rang out from the clouds or could or would
making it Christmas day haloed and hallowed
a glittering expectation not in a society way
not social at all
purely hushed for the soul and its reconfiguring
invigorating so that your cheeks blushed cold
and you could hold the note in the song
so that the clouds drifting angels bent down
as if listening in a silver kind of way to that cantata only
with the dollike and lovel redudancies of jewel box ballerinas
implicitly on display covering delicately every fence I knew
and the winds whistling as if from the far North
fairy tales; redundancies of the locking glass scattered
so that I know only prisms and crowned with them then
passing the corner as I did then, with them,
the out of date store fronts
it's all whirling I thought
there will never be anything more beautiful
mary angela douglas 24 september 2019
I feel somehow reborn as if everything here
could be secretly made out of crystals
and the air itself holds so much crystal
it is an amazement.
I wanted to walk for a long long while
just tasting the crystal in a kind of prescient way
chill orange of the skies at mid day
I felt that bells rang out from the clouds or could or would
making it Christmas day haloed and hallowed
a glittering expectation not in a society way
not social at all
purely hushed for the soul and its reconfiguring
invigorating so that your cheeks blushed cold
and you could hold the note in the song
so that the clouds drifting angels bent down
as if listening in a silver kind of way to that cantata only
with the dollike and lovel redudancies of jewel box ballerinas
implicitly on display covering delicately every fence I knew
and the winds whistling as if from the far North
fairy tales; redundancies of the locking glass scattered
so that I know only prisms and crowned with them then
passing the corner as I did then, with them,
the out of date store fronts
it's all whirling I thought
there will never be anything more beautiful
mary angela douglas 24 september 2019
When Snow Clouds Form/Dakota Snow (Earlier Draft)
when snow clouds form in dreams about the prairie
I feel somehow reborn as if everything here
could be secretly made out of crystals
and the air itself holds so much crystal
it is an amazement.
I wanted to walk for a long long while
just tasting the crystal in a kind of prescient way
I felt that bells rang out from the clouds or could or would
making it Christmas day
a glittering expectation not in a society way
not social at all
purely hushed for the soul and reconfiguring
invigorating so that your cheeks blushed cold
and you could hold the note in the song
so that the clouds drifting angels bent down
as if listening in a silver kind of way
and the winds whistling as if from the far North
fairy tales
passing the corner as I did then, with them,
the out of date store fronts
it's all whirling I thought
there will never be anything more beautiful
mary angela douglas 24 september 2019
I feel somehow reborn as if everything here
could be secretly made out of crystals
and the air itself holds so much crystal
it is an amazement.
I wanted to walk for a long long while
just tasting the crystal in a kind of prescient way
I felt that bells rang out from the clouds or could or would
making it Christmas day
a glittering expectation not in a society way
not social at all
purely hushed for the soul and reconfiguring
invigorating so that your cheeks blushed cold
and you could hold the note in the song
so that the clouds drifting angels bent down
as if listening in a silver kind of way
and the winds whistling as if from the far North
fairy tales
passing the corner as I did then, with them,
the out of date store fronts
it's all whirling I thought
there will never be anything more beautiful
mary angela douglas 24 september 2019
Monday, September 23, 2019
Aladdin
suddenly will it flare up in the story book
in a cloud of fuchsia smoke
the lost lamp's answer and its antidote
the last words beryl and beckoning
life is long without wishes;
will he wait
not that far from the caves
though he thinks there's still a long way
to go
through centuries.
sand blows in his eyes
he thinks it is stars
its just the way you are I think
the way you would be
even if you were lost at sea
mary angela douglas 23 september 2019
m
Sunday, September 22, 2019
The Last Bit Of Cake (Final Draft)
(for Eleanor Farjeon, forever)
you should have come in when your mother called you
in from the damp and the dew
in your swiss dotted dress
with the transparent sleeves, your soft cloth shoes.
now all you will have from tea is the leavings
and only the raspberry cream.
only the raspberry cream, you began to sing
making up songs out of anything
the swan's feather
honeycomb, chimney smoke spoken bluer than blue
like a hair ribbon matching your petticoat
and in a foreign wind.
in olde tales the melancholy few
in the damp and the dew
you would have died of fever
on the day it rained
fading with the dreamers
down the lane
and when the sumac yellow
and leaf like flame fell in token
of your leaving
november would reign.
but in my poem
you'll only get a scolding
and the last bit of cake.
mary angela douglas 22 september 2019
you should have come in when your mother called you
in from the damp and the dew
in your swiss dotted dress
with the transparent sleeves, your soft cloth shoes.
now all you will have from tea is the leavings
and only the raspberry cream.
only the raspberry cream, you began to sing
making up songs out of anything
the swan's feather
honeycomb, chimney smoke spoken bluer than blue
like a hair ribbon matching your petticoat
and in a foreign wind.
in olde tales the melancholy few
in the damp and the dew
you would have died of fever
on the day it rained
fading with the dreamers
down the lane
and when the sumac yellow
and leaf like flame fell in token
of your leaving
november would reign.
but in my poem
you'll only get a scolding
and the last bit of cake.
mary angela douglas 22 september 2019
The Last Bit Of Cake (Earlier Draft)
for Eleanor Farjeon, forever
you should have come in when your mother called you
in from the damp and the dew
in your swiss dotted dress
with the transparent sleeves, your soft cloth shoes.
now all you will have from tea is the leavings
and only the raspberry dream.
only the raspberry cream, you began to sing
making up songs out of anything
the swan's feather
honeycomb, chimney smoke spoken bluer than blue
like a hair ribbon matching your petticoat
and in a foreign wind.
in olde tales the melancholy few
in the damp and the dew
you would have died of fever
on the day it rained
fading with the dreamers
down the lane
and when the sumac yellow
and leaf like flame fell in token
of your disappearing
november would reign.
but in my poem
you'll only get a scolding
and the last bit of cake.
mary angela douglas 22 september 2019
you should have come in when your mother called you
in from the damp and the dew
in your swiss dotted dress
with the transparent sleeves, your soft cloth shoes.
now all you will have from tea is the leavings
and only the raspberry dream.
only the raspberry cream, you began to sing
making up songs out of anything
the swan's feather
honeycomb, chimney smoke spoken bluer than blue
like a hair ribbon matching your petticoat
and in a foreign wind.
in olde tales the melancholy few
in the damp and the dew
you would have died of fever
on the day it rained
fading with the dreamers
down the lane
and when the sumac yellow
and leaf like flame fell in token
of your disappearing
november would reign.
but in my poem
you'll only get a scolding
and the last bit of cake.
mary angela douglas 22 september 2019
Nets Of Gold (Final Draft)
let's get away from rubber stamped poems
at over cheerful workshops, the pained smiles
of the resident MFAs on the back covers
the chopping off of refulgent vines and lines and lines
to our detriment
the musk rose and the eglantine
let poetry shine embroidered again
with everything the soul requires
or ever did.
I want to hear what Matthew Arnold
imagined Sophocles heard
in the retreating wave
or felt on a moonlit balcony
overhearing past imminence, the sounds of war.
you have all traded your birthrights for
no something elusive, beautiful and strange.
rearrange your priorities as they say.
I should say so, if I dared
colouring the moon a different shade.
abiding time and the political hoi polloi.
and manage to sing the red rose bordered song
the way Yeats meant: and may it soar!
music and word as one.
from an individual core.
the strings struck murmuring Thy heart,
God has lured back, no longer cold
into forever His nets of gold.
mary angela douglas 22 september 2019
mary angela douglas 27 september 2019
at over cheerful workshops, the pained smiles
of the resident MFAs on the back covers
the chopping off of refulgent vines and lines and lines
to our detriment
the musk rose and the eglantine
let poetry shine embroidered again
with everything the soul requires
or ever did.
I want to hear what Matthew Arnold
imagined Sophocles heard
in the retreating wave
or felt on a moonlit balcony
overhearing past imminence, the sounds of war.
you have all traded your birthrights for
no something elusive, beautiful and strange.
rearrange your priorities as they say.
I should say so, if I dared
colouring the moon a different shade.
abiding time and the political hoi polloi.
and manage to sing the red rose bordered song
the way Yeats meant: and may it soar!
music and word as one.
from an individual core.
the strings struck murmuring Thy heart,
God has lured back, no longer cold
into forever His nets of gold.
mary angela douglas 22 september 2019
mary angela douglas 27 september 2019
Nets Of Gold (Earlier Draft)
let's get away from rubber stamped poems
at over cheerful workshops the pained smiles
of the resident MFAs on the back covers
the chopping off of refulgent vines and lines and lines
the musk rose and the eglantine
let poetry arise embroidered again
with anything the soul requires.
I want to hear what Matthew Arnold
imagined Sophocles heard
in the retreating wave
or felt on a moonlit balcony
overhearing past imminence, the sounds of war.
you have all traded your birthrights for
no something elusive, beautiful and strange.
rearrange your priorities as they say.
I should say so, if I dared
colouring the moon a different shade.
abiding time and the political hoi poloi.
and learn to sing the red rose bordered song
the way Yeats meant: and let it soar!
music and word as one.
from an individual core.
the strings struck murmuring Thy heart
God has lured back no longer cold
into His nets of gold.
mary angela douglas 22 september 2019
at over cheerful workshops the pained smiles
of the resident MFAs on the back covers
the chopping off of refulgent vines and lines and lines
the musk rose and the eglantine
let poetry arise embroidered again
with anything the soul requires.
I want to hear what Matthew Arnold
imagined Sophocles heard
in the retreating wave
or felt on a moonlit balcony
overhearing past imminence, the sounds of war.
you have all traded your birthrights for
no something elusive, beautiful and strange.
rearrange your priorities as they say.
I should say so, if I dared
colouring the moon a different shade.
abiding time and the political hoi poloi.
and learn to sing the red rose bordered song
the way Yeats meant: and let it soar!
music and word as one.
from an individual core.
the strings struck murmuring Thy heart
God has lured back no longer cold
into His nets of gold.
mary angela douglas 22 september 2019
Saturday, September 21, 2019
You Don't Know That Now
being new to schooling
we thought we would always be
April's tiptoe daughters
on the verge of spring
why shouldnt the starrise
be for us always
we knew little but the colour
of the leaves how they launched
from pale green
into the mist, the rain.
what was pain
but a twisted ankle
in a crystal shoe
the news from home
when you were at school
a shadow on the wall where flowers clung.
I will be writing this
many light years from you
my insistent soul
but you don't know that now.
mary angela douglas 21 september 2019
we thought we would always be
April's tiptoe daughters
on the verge of spring
why shouldnt the starrise
be for us always
we knew little but the colour
of the leaves how they launched
from pale green
into the mist, the rain.
what was pain
but a twisted ankle
in a crystal shoe
the news from home
when you were at school
a shadow on the wall where flowers clung.
I will be writing this
many light years from you
my insistent soul
but you don't know that now.
mary angela douglas 21 september 2019
Friday, September 20, 2019
The Room
they ask everyone in the room
before they will ever ask the one going through it,
whatever it is.
the one going through it is not even in the room.
could not even get through security if they tried.
saying I have a silver message wrapped in gold
they may want to know, the people in the room.
the people who know things without considering
the people who go through things
who are not invited to the room.
or anywhere. who are lucky
to be seated on a bus
and afterwards, not to have to wade through floods.
or wake up at night to fire and calamity.
so that the angels will come
for the great roundup.
and those souls who had so much to say because they lived it
who never got in that day
with the silver message wrapped in gold
are ushered into heaven
while those in the room
with well appointed furniture with the carpet to die for
still flounder
seeking not to know
but to be known.
mary angela douglas 20 september 2019
before they will ever ask the one going through it,
whatever it is.
the one going through it is not even in the room.
could not even get through security if they tried.
saying I have a silver message wrapped in gold
they may want to know, the people in the room.
the people who know things without considering
the people who go through things
who are not invited to the room.
or anywhere. who are lucky
to be seated on a bus
and afterwards, not to have to wade through floods.
or wake up at night to fire and calamity.
so that the angels will come
for the great roundup.
and those souls who had so much to say because they lived it
who never got in that day
with the silver message wrapped in gold
are ushered into heaven
while those in the room
with well appointed furniture with the carpet to die for
still flounder
seeking not to know
but to be known.
mary angela douglas 20 september 2019
Wednesday, September 18, 2019
For My Sister In Former Dreamlands
the good ravens lived in Hans Andersenville
they fetched wonder bread crumbs dipped
in lambs milk for lost children
I havent read that one yet
chimed my little sister
in a dream of home
you will I promised
but later on.
now it's time to sleep
within a sleep as if you were a rosebud again.
in my pnk party dress? she sighs
oh yes I say and pale blue
patent shoes.
that's all it takes for her to go
with her pink parasol into the land of naps
we hated so in the afternoons
in real life.
we'll go on a little while
and find the cottage in an evergreen wood
so that it seems like Christmas even in april
spreading honey butter on the toast
and never running out of loaves.
in real life sometimes it may have been different
at least in later life
but in the dream its not that way.
you wake up in a parenthesis
a dream within a dream
to strawberry malteds
and everything you say in school
merits a gold star
you play on a translucent piano and on the monkey bars
so that the stars
never can, fade away.
mary angela douglas 18 september 2019
they fetched wonder bread crumbs dipped
in lambs milk for lost children
I havent read that one yet
chimed my little sister
in a dream of home
you will I promised
but later on.
now it's time to sleep
within a sleep as if you were a rosebud again.
in my pnk party dress? she sighs
oh yes I say and pale blue
patent shoes.
that's all it takes for her to go
with her pink parasol into the land of naps
we hated so in the afternoons
in real life.
we'll go on a little while
and find the cottage in an evergreen wood
so that it seems like Christmas even in april
spreading honey butter on the toast
and never running out of loaves.
in real life sometimes it may have been different
at least in later life
but in the dream its not that way.
you wake up in a parenthesis
a dream within a dream
to strawberry malteds
and everything you say in school
merits a gold star
you play on a translucent piano and on the monkey bars
so that the stars
never can, fade away.
mary angela douglas 18 september 2019
Tuesday, September 17, 2019
In The Arkansas Woods
the bridge is broken where it stood
the bridge of stone
the mill wheel will not turn again
and I miss home.
November's startled leaves by some mysterious angel, jinn
by some weird turning of the wind
will lift in random flight
the earth, rich loam, it seems my own
the skies filled with their ransomed light.
I used to feel with every leaf
like Shelley, my whole soul could lift
and in far childhood with a small wagon
i carried whatever I could of drifts
time has drifted now
I am the same somehow
sifted by love and grief
for this little bit
in the woods at dusk
but turn I must
through all this gold that now has set
and the leaf mold's beauty
I can't forget.
mary angela douglas 17 september 2019
the bridge of stone
the mill wheel will not turn again
and I miss home.
November's startled leaves by some mysterious angel, jinn
by some weird turning of the wind
will lift in random flight
the earth, rich loam, it seems my own
the skies filled with their ransomed light.
I used to feel with every leaf
like Shelley, my whole soul could lift
and in far childhood with a small wagon
i carried whatever I could of drifts
time has drifted now
I am the same somehow
sifted by love and grief
for this little bit
in the woods at dusk
but turn I must
through all this gold that now has set
and the leaf mold's beauty
I can't forget.
mary angela douglas 17 september 2019
Monday, September 16, 2019
After Years
you with your bent wings
trying to float through the empyrean
who dreamed the traffic would be this bad
you ,looking so sad out the rain streaked windows
how bad can it be in school
all the schools you remember
you went forth with a lilied smile
after awhile an aeon or so
it comes back to you
how happy you were at home
in between chilling sessions
heartfelt in all your lessons
why was it always so cold
even with the windows closed at school
the furnace bellowing.
in a blue uniform you dreamed resigned to the seating
not so uniform there.
who cares now.
it has slipped like the moon through thin clouds
all the things you would not say out loud
within anyone's hearing
in a green language
you can say now.
sweet and clear.
mary angela douglas 16 september 2019
trying to float through the empyrean
who dreamed the traffic would be this bad
you ,looking so sad out the rain streaked windows
how bad can it be in school
all the schools you remember
you went forth with a lilied smile
after awhile an aeon or so
it comes back to you
how happy you were at home
in between chilling sessions
heartfelt in all your lessons
why was it always so cold
even with the windows closed at school
the furnace bellowing.
in a blue uniform you dreamed resigned to the seating
not so uniform there.
who cares now.
it has slipped like the moon through thin clouds
all the things you would not say out loud
within anyone's hearing
in a green language
you can say now.
sweet and clear.
mary angela douglas 16 september 2019
Sunday, September 15, 2019
Making It All Up By Moonlight
What is going on I said wondering how or why
everything I try to say keeps drifting toward the sky
and wont allow, somehow somehow
a single second seen from now
to blossom like the paper flowers
in fingerbowls set by the hours
by lanterns holding just the moon
my making up this rhyme for you.
mary angela douglas 15 september 2019
Friday, September 13, 2019
Herr Rilke's High School Reunion
oh to the drill and the picking apart of the heart remembered
at dinner is poetry's orphan picking at his food
impossible to imagine the perjuries
in the drawing room
where pupils learn manners
and how to cloak mockery
beneath it all. fall in.
its the fall of the year
he walks the footpaths endlessly
and the leaves are with him sympathetically
and the roots of trees
the stars, far from military occupations.
robot student expectations
click heels. it comes again
endless misery to the dreamer
perched as if before death
on an unseen branch
that weeps in the constellations
only for him.
mary angela douglas 13 september 2019
at dinner is poetry's orphan picking at his food
impossible to imagine the perjuries
in the drawing room
where pupils learn manners
and how to cloak mockery
beneath it all. fall in.
its the fall of the year
he walks the footpaths endlessly
and the leaves are with him sympathetically
and the roots of trees
the stars, far from military occupations.
robot student expectations
click heels. it comes again
endless misery to the dreamer
perched as if before death
on an unseen branch
that weeps in the constellations
only for him.
mary angela douglas 13 september 2019
To William Butler Yeats
as far as day is from night then
you would be tuning your harp
near the rills down to Benbulbin
or where I cannot wind
because I've never been there.
but I have been in poetry
thick as field flowers up to my chin
in it so that the gold rubs off
and I would remember clouds
and their roselit aftermaths
and so much then
that could not be said
any longer, in words.
where has the treasure gone
and who has filched it now.
who will find them again
the lost longings crystallized
the music, measure by measure recalled
the strains of immortal language
falling on the air
like thundering pearl.
and hold it in due reverence.
mary angela douglas 13 september 2019;31july 2023
you would be tuning your harp
near the rills down to Benbulbin
or where I cannot wind
because I've never been there.
but I have been in poetry
thick as field flowers up to my chin
in it so that the gold rubs off
and I would remember clouds
and their roselit aftermaths
and so much then
that could not be said
any longer, in words.
where has the treasure gone
and who has filched it now.
who will find them again
the lost longings crystallized
the music, measure by measure recalled
the strains of immortal language
falling on the air
like thundering pearl.
and hold it in due reverence.
mary angela douglas 13 september 2019;31july 2023
Wednesday, September 11, 2019
So What If We Threw Words Into The Air
so what if we threw words into the air
repairing nothing
they were all we had
aspirant jugglers that we were
but sometimes merry
spinning our plates
while Time waits at the Gate,
the garden one.
beyond it are the Fates
spinning the gold of Shakespeare,
Keats, the clarion greens of Rilke,
all those letters.
from high towers he called the angels
and his words grew little wings
and they have gone so far
into my heart
as to become a landscape
littered with stars.
we wrote in cloud breath on the panes
of Christmas;
punctuated in offices on our own
keeping the dream of appled home
amid the tiny exiles.
the sword upraised from the Lady's lake.
brush your rosebud tears away
for what seems to have come to you
too late. the amber birds of Mahler rise
to stay your executions.
maybe the heart gives out,
but Music remains
like the golden ball in the well
the frog kept fetching back
alas alack the goose queen, princess, cried
stepping out in the moonlight on the Other Side
where she never can grow wise
because she can't leave lace like
wonder, ever, behind.
mary angela douglas 11 september 2019
repairing nothing
they were all we had
aspirant jugglers that we were
but sometimes merry
spinning our plates
while Time waits at the Gate,
the garden one.
beyond it are the Fates
spinning the gold of Shakespeare,
Keats, the clarion greens of Rilke,
all those letters.
from high towers he called the angels
and his words grew little wings
and they have gone so far
into my heart
as to become a landscape
littered with stars.
we wrote in cloud breath on the panes
of Christmas;
punctuated in offices on our own
keeping the dream of appled home
amid the tiny exiles.
the sword upraised from the Lady's lake.
brush your rosebud tears away
for what seems to have come to you
too late. the amber birds of Mahler rise
to stay your executions.
maybe the heart gives out,
but Music remains
like the golden ball in the well
the frog kept fetching back
alas alack the goose queen, princess, cried
stepping out in the moonlight on the Other Side
where she never can grow wise
because she can't leave lace like
wonder, ever, behind.
mary angela douglas 11 september 2019
Tuesday, September 10, 2019
Age Isnt At All What Youd Expect
AGE ISN'T AT ALL WHAT YOU'D EXPECT
its moonrise and sunset all at the same time
maybe you dont want it to be this evergreen
the door opening out
the window coming in
counting the clouds
from way back when
the lost wish for gold
you dont recognize the planet that you're on
the songs you sing are carols
but it's only Spring
your soul is straight as arrows
they don't know a thing to ask you
so you let them
tell you whatever they want to.
they say you are old.
how could they know you
intend to live centuries
and that you already have
wearing down some path for them
until its smooth as pearl
you're still a girl inside
you might take flight at
any moment, a shy bird
singing the invention of song
the whole thing
by memory
and from a green heart.
mary angela douglas 10 september 2019
Christ Died For
there are angels with flaming swords
at all the exits and entrances of the lies that can be told
to justify throwing people out in the cold
who have no where else to go
you may talk of the founding founders
get mad at the out of towners, out of bounders
I am telling you
you will be full of rue
if you continue in this vein
leaving out in the rain
the lowly and the disdained
Christ died for
mary angela douglas 10 september 2019
at all the exits and entrances of the lies that can be told
to justify throwing people out in the cold
who have no where else to go
you may talk of the founding founders
get mad at the out of towners, out of bounders
I am telling you
you will be full of rue
if you continue in this vein
leaving out in the rain
the lowly and the disdained
Christ died for
mary angela douglas 10 september 2019
Monday, September 09, 2019
A Few Metaphors On Working For A Living
"Work is Love, made visible" Kahlil Gibran
we have felt half measures, quarter measures
we have felt half measures, quarter measures
and measured words, too
slogging through rain, or sleet, or snow
almost as soldiers do or simmering summer parking lots
like deserts
to make up the city plotted distance from the bus
to where our warehoused duties wait.
probationed like prisoners from the word go
in some places
you know, to show us who's in control.
and you're on trial, or even, on loan.
and don't know anyone this far from home...
oh, my soul by planetary wars be not disturbed
the poet wrote. I add as a footnote.
this is what is called
working for a living and we are grateful
and forgiving
considering the alternatives.
yet when push comes to shoving us out the door
because you know they want to make more
and the easiest way is to cut your job
whatever it is
to make a Merry Christmas for the shareholders.
how can we not have a stake in this
when our lives are at risk, our families too
or maybe, only, our modest hobbies.
what we consider our life. our shabby home library,
more than shabby chic;
astronomy, keeping the goldfish fed.
other countries, torn by strife
by bloody civil unrest we know, we know
and children on their own
in every kind of zone
have suffered more than we, than me,
in the land of the nearly free on weekends
and I bow down and on my knees
for them.
but one small hymn
I sing for all my peers
who are counted failures.
wait. wait for the Gate swinging open
for your tears are heard
despite your being herded.
by the one who is the Word
that cannot be broken
who won't use you like a token
to barge through the golden turnstiles.
though from the time that we sign on
each day survived seems like a miracle.
still to be there.
but for how long.
each day feels a little
like the French Revolution.
new heads may roll.
so you perfect your role
in the enterprise avoiding the tumbrils
the best you can
being pretty far out
from the chain of command
and they're not sending the
Coast Guard
to find you in the flood.
though the One they crucified will.
_________________________
(the poet I cited is Elinor Wylie)
P.S. may God truly bless companies, managers,
coworkers who still retain the milk of human kindness.
and forgive those who dont.And may we do all, endure all for Divine Love
has surely done the same for us.
coworkers who still retain the milk of human kindness.
and forgive those who dont.And may we do all, endure all for Divine Love
has surely done the same for us.
mary angela douglas 9 september 2019
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