I sought the consolation of the world
and found it brick-bat hard
and God said: by whom shall I comfort thee
by the little stars I said by the brooks from
rivers fed by the birds in exorbitant song
by all of these
and on my knees I cried.
knowing my lot was to be the Comforter,
and not the comforted.
mary angela douglas 30 april 2020
Thursday, April 30, 2020
Before Which Wishes
you raise your head like a cloudy nebulae
but you aren't good for the GNP
the lilacs thunder, but you keep it to yourself;
who needs the visionary
when we have all this tv;
commercially commercials all night long
who cares if you see stars in the gutter
if you wear old dance dresses inside out
to make the most of the sprigged fabric
the bright tulle overskirt of light.
you spend your time sorting the clouds.
into various tints of the profound or the acrylics
who cares if you shed tears of pearl
on a silken route made specifically for you,
it's still your world;there are gardenias, somewhere.
your mind is the garden and you keep the gate
as Rilke said, even when he was dead
before which, wishes wait.
mary angela douglas 30 april 2020;rev. 7 may 2020
but you aren't good for the GNP
the lilacs thunder, but you keep it to yourself;
who needs the visionary
when we have all this tv;
commercially commercials all night long
who cares if you see stars in the gutter
if you wear old dance dresses inside out
to make the most of the sprigged fabric
the bright tulle overskirt of light.
you spend your time sorting the clouds.
into various tints of the profound or the acrylics
who cares if you shed tears of pearl
on a silken route made specifically for you,
it's still your world;there are gardenias, somewhere.
your mind is the garden and you keep the gate
as Rilke said, even when he was dead
before which, wishes wait.
mary angela douglas 30 april 2020;rev. 7 may 2020
Wednesday, April 29, 2020
A Person Longs To Say
these things happened to me
a person longs to say
and then to sit down at a reasonable table
for as long it takes to tell to tell the whole story
with maybe a sandwich and a cup of Joe
but who knows
maybe there just aren't those kind of angels among us
anymore who can stand to hear the whole thing
from beginning to end.
and not mention options.
so all those individuals have to stow it.
'
and meanwhile there is so much talk.
people go to school and talk some more
to conferences to seminars dreaming of
or draw up plans for those who live out doors
to be out of the way when the tourists come to play
because they are bad for business.
every year the Christmas play. Good old Scrooge.
mankind was my business old Jacob Marley said.
too late too late when he was dead.
it still sounds sweet on stage and sentimental.
but business goes another way.
for even those who saw the play and loved it.
and charity is just to keep them out of the way
the surplus population
so others can get on with their day.
I know rich folks have their problems too;
who doesn't, who lives long enough.
still a person wants to be heard.
to say what happened to them in life
and what they tried to do.
even if the only shoes they have
are with the soles flapping.
so that people are laughing.
and the only one listening is God.
mary angela douglas 29 april 2020
a person longs to say
and then to sit down at a reasonable table
for as long it takes to tell to tell the whole story
with maybe a sandwich and a cup of Joe
but who knows
maybe there just aren't those kind of angels among us
anymore who can stand to hear the whole thing
from beginning to end.
and not mention options.
so all those individuals have to stow it.
'
and meanwhile there is so much talk.
people go to school and talk some more
to conferences to seminars dreaming of
an impersonal self sufficiency by design
with all those folks in mind
or draw up plans for those who live out doors
to be out of the way when the tourists come to play
because they are bad for business.
every year the Christmas play. Good old Scrooge.
mankind was my business old Jacob Marley said.
too late too late when he was dead.
it still sounds sweet on stage and sentimental.
but business goes another way.
for even those who saw the play and loved it.
and charity is just to keep them out of the way
the surplus population
so others can get on with their day.
I know rich folks have their problems too;
who doesn't, who lives long enough.
still a person wants to be heard.
to say what happened to them in life
and what they tried to do.
even if the only shoes they have
are with the soles flapping.
so that people are laughing.
and the only one listening is God.
mary angela douglas 29 april 2020
Tuesday, April 28, 2020
It Was The Distance From The Sun
it was a long time
it was the distance from the sun
and God was One then
and not divided up into petty provinces
each one could rule over.
I could count up to ten
and knew my colours well
it was a long time.
it was the time when leaves were young.
why do they ask me my name
as if I never had one.
why do they claim I hid anything.
I knew what I was doing.
I knew what would happen then.
every time I opened my mouth
I knew that it was Him.
I knew he wasn't who they said
I knew he was more fair.
I knew no matter what they did
He still would find me there.
mary angela douglas 28 april 2020
it was the distance from the sun
and God was One then
and not divided up into petty provinces
each one could rule over.
I could count up to ten
and knew my colours well
it was a long time.
it was the time when leaves were young.
why do they ask me my name
as if I never had one.
why do they claim I hid anything.
I knew what I was doing.
I knew what would happen then.
every time I opened my mouth
I knew that it was Him.
I knew he wasn't who they said
I knew he was more fair.
I knew no matter what they did
He still would find me there.
mary angela douglas 28 april 2020
Monday, April 27, 2020
When We Rented The Castle
this was when we rented the castle.
I threw myself against the ramparts;
You threw yourself there, with me.
and all the incoming documents
piled to the rafters in pastel triplicate.
I sought your fairy tale aid
your help in sorting the lentils from
the gummed stars because our taskmasters
were fiercer than iron
than permafrost than pig iron
and us the ingots melted down, Lord my God.
we kept files
and sang four alphabets under our breath.
and waited for the four o; clock bus
the sanctity of a postage stamp size home,
and the dolls well fed.
mary angela douglas 27 april 2020
I threw myself against the ramparts;
You threw yourself there, with me.
and all the incoming documents
piled to the rafters in pastel triplicate.
I sought your fairy tale aid
your help in sorting the lentils from
the gummed stars because our taskmasters
were fiercer than iron
than permafrost than pig iron
and us the ingots melted down, Lord my God.
we kept files
and sang four alphabets under our breath.
and waited for the four o; clock bus
the sanctity of a postage stamp size home,
and the dolls well fed.
mary angela douglas 27 april 2020
Slipper
its cut is for glory
its opaline shine
it's part of the story
like a tuning fork chime
you're taught to accede to it
make it your own
even to bleed for it
this far from home.
But something inside you
noting the hour
suddenly knows that it's not in your power
to wear it in style
at the cost of your dreams
to be as it orders you
all that it seems
so the slipper comes off
as if telling you so
this is, my dear, what you're
destined to know
far better to walk with your feet unimpeded
than to buy at this price
a fake kingdom so deeded
then it's back to the ashes
and down with the sash
of the window that opened;
the sorrow that gashed.
mary angela douglas 27 april 2020
its opaline shine
it's part of the story
like a tuning fork chime
you're taught to accede to it
make it your own
even to bleed for it
this far from home.
But something inside you
noting the hour
suddenly knows that it's not in your power
to wear it in style
at the cost of your dreams
to be as it orders you
all that it seems
so the slipper comes off
as if telling you so
this is, my dear, what you're
destined to know
far better to walk with your feet unimpeded
than to buy at this price
a fake kingdom so deeded
then it's back to the ashes
and down with the sash
of the window that opened;
the sorrow that gashed.
mary angela douglas 27 april 2020
Sunday, April 26, 2020
Love Only Justifies Love
oh God forgive me for rank bitterness
for insults hurled at me from cars for
standing in the rain for hours and being drenched
in the snickering driver's ill intent
and for my taking offense at everything
in a world so full of it.
oh God bring me in from the rain
from the self accumulated pain
I wont let go of because it seems so unresolved
forgive me for the wounds that just wont heal
for everything I feel when thrashing
through the world's dense gloom
I know that you have felt it all before
and so much more than I ever could
I know as hard as it may seem
the only feeling I should feel
is Love through you
all this I know
for every blow on blow.
mary angela douglas 26 april 2020
for insults hurled at me from cars for
standing in the rain for hours and being drenched
in the snickering driver's ill intent
and for my taking offense at everything
in a world so full of it.
oh God bring me in from the rain
from the self accumulated pain
I wont let go of because it seems so unresolved
forgive me for the wounds that just wont heal
for everything I feel when thrashing
through the world's dense gloom
I know that you have felt it all before
and so much more than I ever could
I know as hard as it may seem
the only feeling I should feel
is Love through you
all this I know
for every blow on blow.
mary angela douglas 26 april 2020
Saturday, April 25, 2020
Van Gogh In The Pineapple Winds Of Heaven
(to my Grandfather, Milton B. Young with love forever...)
van gogh in the pineapple winds of Heaven
I saw painting a new yellow house
fronting the stars.
he was there on the planet of lavender
its fragrance was in waves like a sea.
little stars burst in the air like milkweed
their small parachutes beloved by dolls
and I recalled
that summer we took lessons in art
at the Art Museum and watched a film on the Monarch Butterfly
and learned to identify so tenderly
the milky quartz
while my grandfather painted pines.
or painted gourds using the burnt sienna quite freely.
while Grandmother played Liebestraum and he perhaps was dreaming
of an old hammock strung between two trees in the back yard
the fresh mint in the iced tea picked from his own garden
when life got harder for him later
and no one ever told me.
mary angela douglas 25 april 2020
van gogh in the pineapple winds of Heaven
I saw painting a new yellow house
fronting the stars.
he was there on the planet of lavender
its fragrance was in waves like a sea.
little stars burst in the air like milkweed
their small parachutes beloved by dolls
and I recalled
that summer we took lessons in art
at the Art Museum and watched a film on the Monarch Butterfly
and learned to identify so tenderly
the milky quartz
while my grandfather painted pines.
or painted gourds using the burnt sienna quite freely.
while Grandmother played Liebestraum and he perhaps was dreaming
of an old hammock strung between two trees in the back yard
the fresh mint in the iced tea picked from his own garden
when life got harder for him later
and no one ever told me.
mary angela douglas 25 april 2020
Fern Curl
I believe every blade of grass that ever died on earth
is up in Heaven;God would be that much of a scrap booker.
and the red clover too
certain specimens of the wild onion.
some in glass cases clearly labeled in Palmer handwriting.
and albums of brown wrapping paper
to showcase the meadow lark, the finches
their feathers as they fell caught up by angels
or snowdrift, rising in the wind.
a jar of old marbles. the see through crystal blue
the tiger's eye.
and so many jams put by
the hobbits would approve.
what do I know of heaven.
just as much as you
reading my poem and watching the ferns curl
by some green river in the summertime.
mary angela douglas 25 april 2020
is up in Heaven;God would be that much of a scrap booker.
and the red clover too
certain specimens of the wild onion.
some in glass cases clearly labeled in Palmer handwriting.
and albums of brown wrapping paper
to showcase the meadow lark, the finches
their feathers as they fell caught up by angels
or snowdrift, rising in the wind.
a jar of old marbles. the see through crystal blue
the tiger's eye.
and so many jams put by
the hobbits would approve.
what do I know of heaven.
just as much as you
reading my poem and watching the ferns curl
by some green river in the summertime.
mary angela douglas 25 april 2020
Because, I Don't Know Why
days seem longer to you than they are
you can't explain this to your friends
when you mention you haven't seen them
for centuries
the blush roses are new
the stars hidden
on the other side of the building
maybe the clocks will be backwash
then when you wake up
you won't feel sick anymore
you went to sleep and dreamed
that the sky so full of pinwheels
was lifted off frail shoulders
by the angels.
mary angela douglas 25 april 2020
you can't explain this to your friends
when you mention you haven't seen them
for centuries
the blush roses are new
the stars hidden
on the other side of the building
maybe the clocks will be backwash
then when you wake up
you won't feel sick anymore
you went to sleep and dreamed
that the sky so full of pinwheels
was lifted off frail shoulders
by the angels.
mary angela douglas 25 april 2020
Throwaway Words
throwaway words should beam sonically in space
but throwaway words just hang around this place
in all the blue and green
no conversations to be seen.
I dreamed that words were rose leaf bright
icarian mode
and not the mintage of the bought and sold
three lilies sung for the world on hold
hello goodbye or who do you know
or weathervane summer or winter pane snow
it's all the same when it's on with the show
o throwaway stowaway go away words
what's the latest soup you've served
will gossip save us or the herds
that bellow through and ring the bells
to tell us it's not going well
and late at night I read the classics
and wear my fleece lined winter jacket
because the heat is running low
because the only thing they know
is throwaway, throwaway words.
mary angela douglas 25 april 2020
the three lilies are a reference to a song sung in Shostakovich's Symphony No. 14
but throwaway words just hang around this place
in all the blue and green
no conversations to be seen.
I dreamed that words were rose leaf bright
icarian mode
and not the mintage of the bought and sold
three lilies sung for the world on hold
hello goodbye or who do you know
or weathervane summer or winter pane snow
it's all the same when it's on with the show
o throwaway stowaway go away words
what's the latest soup you've served
will gossip save us or the herds
that bellow through and ring the bells
to tell us it's not going well
and late at night I read the classics
and wear my fleece lined winter jacket
because the heat is running low
because the only thing they know
is throwaway, throwaway words.
mary angela douglas 25 april 2020
the three lilies are a reference to a song sung in Shostakovich's Symphony No. 14
Friday, April 24, 2020
Rain Song (Revised)
the rain is rain all over the world
I heard the little girl sing to herself
who thought she was by herself
but the baby rain heard and gurgled at the curb beside her
where she stubbed a pebble some farther ahead
and then she said the rain is rain
all over the world and the rain blew past her on
a bright wind and sprinkled its sparkles on every fen
and whirled in circles and rivulets then the little girl
said I cant forget that rain is rain all over the world
and suddenly in the puddles it swirled and was configured
in rainbows and pearls and the rain said cooing
I am talking to you and talking and talking and
melting too and the little, little girl she never knew
the rain was falling and pooling for her
for her in her blue dress and ducky umbrella
her small galoshes and they were yellow
and the rain gushed on in its silver song
and cried, "Goodbye," when it all was dry
and soaked quite through when she was through
the little girl peeked through the lattice too
and her mother said oh, what happened to you
were you out splashing in the dew and the little girl smiled
and after a while she still, still sang
in a voice that rang 'the rain is rain all over the world...
mary angela douglas 24 april 2020;revised 27 2020
I heard the little girl sing to herself
who thought she was by herself
but the baby rain heard and gurgled at the curb beside her
where she stubbed a pebble some farther ahead
and then she said the rain is rain
all over the world and the rain blew past her on
a bright wind and sprinkled its sparkles on every fen
and whirled in circles and rivulets then the little girl
said I cant forget that rain is rain all over the world
and suddenly in the puddles it swirled and was configured
in rainbows and pearls and the rain said cooing
I am talking to you and talking and talking and
melting too and the little, little girl she never knew
the rain was falling and pooling for her
for her in her blue dress and ducky umbrella
her small galoshes and they were yellow
and the rain gushed on in its silver song
and cried, "Goodbye," when it all was dry
and soaked quite through when she was through
the little girl peeked through the lattice too
and her mother said oh, what happened to you
were you out splashing in the dew and the little girl smiled
and after a while she still, still sang
in a voice that rang 'the rain is rain all over the world...
mary angela douglas 24 april 2020;revised 27 2020
That Angel Knowledge
that angel knowledge Shakespeare said
knowledge angelical Aquinas bled
on the frost of his reason
still, in a brighter season I believe
what are angels but the green of trees and their breezes
as we knew them then
and cloudlike dancing in the summer blue
and all that I had dreamed of You
in the first toy alphabet of time
loving rime, the clime of it still; its inducements
purpureal and splendid
what are angels but the breath of storms
calmed as our fears through years and years
and the roseate taken to its end
and found again, the jack=in-the-box surprise of it
we are children splashing in the fountains
of rain in the yard, silverly laughing, drenched in stars
as we were at home and not at Christmas only.
and wed to words in the story book sighing of the clock
by which we read, and were read to.
mary angela douglas 24 april 2020
knowledge angelical Aquinas bled
on the frost of his reason
still, in a brighter season I believe
what are angels but the green of trees and their breezes
as we knew them then
and cloudlike dancing in the summer blue
and all that I had dreamed of You
in the first toy alphabet of time
loving rime, the clime of it still; its inducements
purpureal and splendid
what are angels but the breath of storms
calmed as our fears through years and years
and the roseate taken to its end
and found again, the jack=in-the-box surprise of it
we are children splashing in the fountains
of rain in the yard, silverly laughing, drenched in stars
as we were at home and not at Christmas only.
and wed to words in the story book sighing of the clock
by which we read, and were read to.
mary angela douglas 24 april 2020
Thursday, April 23, 2020
Duduk
they did not realize the latter day tribes
one sentence in the fairytale could indicate five hundred years
the smoke rising over the village
and the fires banked throughout tears
innumerable roses in the garden and the banquet set I know!
and no inhabitants.
what do you mean the surly asked
missing the winter ingredients for the stew
i cannot rescue you
I cannot be rescued from this page this lapse
though I look on every map and clasp and uclasp my Soul
though I throw out the ropes of silk
made for us in a distant more prescient age.
there are the mermaid transformations
to walking on land. the knife of every step
and the song still glad in an infinitely sad way
rising over the ochre the forgotten roofs
forever while we pray
mary angela douglas 24 april 2020
one sentence in the fairytale could indicate five hundred years
the smoke rising over the village
and the fires banked throughout tears
innumerable roses in the garden and the banquet set I know!
and no inhabitants.
what do you mean the surly asked
missing the winter ingredients for the stew
i cannot rescue you
I cannot be rescued from this page this lapse
though I look on every map and clasp and uclasp my Soul
though I throw out the ropes of silk
made for us in a distant more prescient age.
there are the mermaid transformations
to walking on land. the knife of every step
and the song still glad in an infinitely sad way
rising over the ochre the forgotten roofs
forever while we pray
mary angela douglas 24 april 2020
Moving Day
unheard melodies are sweeter John Keats said
sometimes I feel they are the only ones left
the Emperor's nightingale sings on
over the graves of everyone
do angels listen then
do angels listen to those who have no friends
who mumble to themselves in odd corners.
perhaps an angel is standing right there
receiving it all into a gramophone
that plays in Heaven.
how to speak we learn our ABCs.
we form words.
sometimes our parents are pleased
we can ask for the bread and butter
we say small words and feel their glow.
I thought that words would be my coinage
in the world but I found the sound of words
drifting from me oblivious as snow when I turned
to another and said anything,
even the dictionary meanings ah sad gleanings
beautiful language has been evicted from the world
must fight its way through crowds
must learn to listen to its own pearlescent echoing
and someday to stop sobbing.
they kept returning like a letter sent
all the words that I had lent
to everyone in the world that moved recently
is everyone moving then
is this the general moving day
to escape the velocity of words
half heard and down a bruised alley.
everyone's moving away from the unheard melodies
I will collect them now like fallen leaves
and press them into the hold of
the Lord's quiescent, listing ship of snows
mary angela douglas 23 april 2020
sometimes I feel they are the only ones left
the Emperor's nightingale sings on
over the graves of everyone
do angels listen then
do angels listen to those who have no friends
who mumble to themselves in odd corners.
perhaps an angel is standing right there
receiving it all into a gramophone
that plays in Heaven.
how to speak we learn our ABCs.
we form words.
sometimes our parents are pleased
we can ask for the bread and butter
we say small words and feel their glow.
I thought that words would be my coinage
in the world but I found the sound of words
drifting from me oblivious as snow when I turned
to another and said anything,
even the dictionary meanings ah sad gleanings
beautiful language has been evicted from the world
must fight its way through crowds
must learn to listen to its own pearlescent echoing
and someday to stop sobbing.
they kept returning like a letter sent
all the words that I had lent
to everyone in the world that moved recently
is everyone moving then
is this the general moving day
to escape the velocity of words
half heard and down a bruised alley.
everyone's moving away from the unheard melodies
I will collect them now like fallen leaves
and press them into the hold of
the Lord's quiescent, listing ship of snows
mary angela douglas 23 april 2020
Out Of My Life! The Meager And The Sour
out of my life! the meager and the sour.
the snail shadow feeding on the hour
the stinging insect cloud the gloomy dower.
I have seen the rainbow cast in shade.
I have felt the beautiful unmade.
shattering dissolve the sunset ray
all small things of evil pass this way.
this is the day the Lord sincerely made
and all for joy
you can just all set sail and ship ahoy
far far from here.
this blue and grassy starry sphere.
mary angela douglas 23 april 2020
the snail shadow feeding on the hour
the stinging insect cloud the gloomy dower.
I have seen the rainbow cast in shade.
I have felt the beautiful unmade.
shattering dissolve the sunset ray
all small things of evil pass this way.
this is the day the Lord sincerely made
and all for joy
you can just all set sail and ship ahoy
far far from here.
this blue and grassy starry sphere.
mary angela douglas 23 april 2020
From the Place of Exile To The Pearl Ear of God
why did the golden place flee into our dreams and lodge there
never to be seen again on earth
how we have wept for you, invisible country
how we have laid rose petals down and our lives
to make the magnetizing path for you again
the shadows of you have withdrawn inside of us
fleeing the persecutions
but even your shadows are light.
who will take the baby from its mother at the time of birth
will understand what has been done to us
and the murderers thrive
even after the Lord has risen.
roll the stone from over my mouth
and cry to the earth and sky
we LIVE
we LIVE
we LIVE
mary angela douglas 23 april 2020
never to be seen again on earth
how we have wept for you, invisible country
how we have laid rose petals down and our lives
to make the magnetizing path for you again
the shadows of you have withdrawn inside of us
fleeing the persecutions
but even your shadows are light.
who will take the baby from its mother at the time of birth
will understand what has been done to us
and the murderers thrive
even after the Lord has risen.
roll the stone from over my mouth
and cry to the earth and sky
we LIVE
we LIVE
we LIVE
mary angela douglas 23 april 2020
Wednesday, April 22, 2020
I Heard Sad Angels Whisper Rise Above
rise above. I heard sad angels whisper rise above.
though clouds may fester bringing bitter rains
rise rise above all of your pain oh rise above
cirrus decorate the summer skies.
rise rise above remaining lies
God is only really ever love
rise rise rise and do not cry
let the evening breezes shut your eyes
let the garden flowers soothe your heart
let the shy stars over you still
play their part and rise.
mary angela douglas 22 april 2020
though clouds may fester bringing bitter rains
rise rise above all of your pain oh rise above
cirrus decorate the summer skies.
rise rise above remaining lies
God is only really ever love
rise rise rise and do not cry
let the evening breezes shut your eyes
let the garden flowers soothe your heart
let the shy stars over you still
play their part and rise.
mary angela douglas 22 april 2020
Tuesday, April 21, 2020
Farther Out
when you're young you're still so close to the shore
you could reach and touch the leaves
you've seen since childhood the purple shadow on the floor.
you don't know yet as you launch farther out things will start
to float past you as though on a separate flood
or someone waving to you on the escalator
going in the opposite direction until
they disappear over the ridge you'll never reach.
and you think with a start: that was me
the way I used to be
and you adjust. and think It's not so bad.
I'm still midstream and suddenly you wake up
from a fairly long dream and think
my God I'm drifting farther out
than I have ever been
where are the moorings.
you would give anything to dive
into the beautiful foundering of your life
and bring out even one bracelet.
but you survived.
there has to be a reason why.
as slow as the clocks tick or as fast
you'll reach your cloudy destination,
home at last, among the strawberries
mary angela douglas 22 april 2020
you could reach and touch the leaves
you've seen since childhood the purple shadow on the floor.
you don't know yet as you launch farther out things will start
to float past you as though on a separate flood
or someone waving to you on the escalator
going in the opposite direction until
they disappear over the ridge you'll never reach.
and you think with a start: that was me
the way I used to be
and you adjust. and think It's not so bad.
I'm still midstream and suddenly you wake up
from a fairly long dream and think
my God I'm drifting farther out
than I have ever been
where are the moorings.
you would give anything to dive
into the beautiful foundering of your life
and bring out even one bracelet.
but you survived.
there has to be a reason why.
as slow as the clocks tick or as fast
you'll reach your cloudy destination,
home at last, among the strawberries
mary angela douglas 22 april 2020
Teletype
my father gathered scripts from the teletype machines
and took us randomly to the paper my sister and I
to hear their mystical clucking to see the press run
to feel the thunder of the afternoon editions or the evening ones.
now Im far from that and so is he. and I think suddenly
what if God sent messages over the teletype what would they be
as in a dream it came to me: the words flashing on an inner sea
with wild lament:
this is what the teletype sent:
I make something beautiful and they trash it. I make something beautiful and they trash it. I make something beautiful and they trash it and trash it
and trash it...
Ill make something beautiful...
mary angela douglas 21 april 2020
and took us randomly to the paper my sister and I
to hear their mystical clucking to see the press run
to feel the thunder of the afternoon editions or the evening ones.
now Im far from that and so is he. and I think suddenly
what if God sent messages over the teletype what would they be
as in a dream it came to me: the words flashing on an inner sea
with wild lament:
this is what the teletype sent:
I make something beautiful and they trash it. I make something beautiful and they trash it. I make something beautiful and they trash it and trash it
and trash it...
Ill make something beautiful...
mary angela douglas 21 april 2020
Housekeeping
you couldnt really call it that.
beating the scorpions out of the mat.
barring the door to the bruin attack.
watching the soddy ceiling cave
with hidden nests the snakes had made
watching the blizzards sweep right in.
and the locusts too. what was it so sustaining you.
how did you fight so tooth and nail
you who came from the leafy east
to face the wilderness in the Beast
who cried because there were no trees anymore.
how did you fight against the dust the whirlwind'S sky
the lightning 's lust
the poisoned berries and the musts
that never could slow you down
or else a child might drown
or be stolen by tribes.
Good God the fight you fought just to stay alive.
while making the candles and the soap
and everyone's clothes
nobody knows.
how can we gripe at chores
who merely mop the floors
when every second of your day
keeping the fire and the gloom at bay
drawing the water from the well
you made a home at the mouth of hell.
mary angela douglas 21 april 2020
beating the scorpions out of the mat.
barring the door to the bruin attack.
watching the soddy ceiling cave
with hidden nests the snakes had made
watching the blizzards sweep right in.
and the locusts too. what was it so sustaining you.
how did you fight so tooth and nail
you who came from the leafy east
to face the wilderness in the Beast
who cried because there were no trees anymore.
how did you fight against the dust the whirlwind'S sky
the lightning 's lust
the poisoned berries and the musts
that never could slow you down
or else a child might drown
or be stolen by tribes.
Good God the fight you fought just to stay alive.
while making the candles and the soap
and everyone's clothes
nobody knows.
how can we gripe at chores
who merely mop the floors
when every second of your day
keeping the fire and the gloom at bay
drawing the water from the well
you made a home at the mouth of hell.
mary angela douglas 21 april 2020
Monday, April 20, 2020
The Shine From The Water
some folks take the shine from the water
the glaze from off of the snow
the air from the top of the mountains
what else, I dont know.
but when you are passing by them
you suddenly feel so cold
though you're at the zenith of summer
and the sun is buttercup gold.
the red from all the tomatoes
the heart from out of the will
dear God please keep and preserve us
from all they so slightly kill.
mary angela douglas 20 april 2020
the glaze from off of the snow
the air from the top of the mountains
what else, I dont know.
but when you are passing by them
you suddenly feel so cold
though you're at the zenith of summer
and the sun is buttercup gold.
the red from all the tomatoes
the heart from out of the will
dear God please keep and preserve us
from all they so slightly kill.
mary angela douglas 20 april 2020
Initial Lament Inlaid With Opals
once there was turquoise and a silver sigh
a herd of dreams, no word for goodbye
once there was.
once there was snowdrift spun so fine
and I thought every day was mine
when I looked out on all the pines
all the pines.
while I was sleeping free from care
there came a noise upon the stair
there came a noise.
it promised peace and such ideals
a place to rest with all my meals.
all my meals. and I'd sell flowers from the fields.
how long ago that day seems now
when all my life without a row
they swallowed, swallowed whole somehow
when I went with a gipsy band
and left my mother and my grands
without our even knowing then
my lot was cast
but not with friends.
mary angela douglas 20 april 2020; rev. 14 may 2020
a herd of dreams, no word for goodbye
once there was.
once there was snowdrift spun so fine
and I thought every day was mine
when I looked out on all the pines
all the pines.
while I was sleeping free from care
there came a noise upon the stair
there came a noise.
it promised peace and such ideals
a place to rest with all my meals.
all my meals. and I'd sell flowers from the fields.
how long ago that day seems now
when all my life without a row
they swallowed, swallowed whole somehow
when I went with a gipsy band
and left my mother and my grands
without our even knowing then
my lot was cast
but not with friends.
mary angela douglas 20 april 2020; rev. 14 may 2020
Where There Are No Lies
are we just ruled by thieves then
thieves of a finer light
that we must scrounge for the honeycomb
the amethyst bees in flight
are we just ruled.
it's difficult to find out
after many a marigold day
the telegram they sent you
has somehow been mislaid
embroideries that you finished
that brought the pale green rains
must now be done all over
under a watchful disdain.
I will leave the party
I will wander far
free from palace gossip
in beauty's foreign car
in a rose lined carriage
in my satin shoes
in my dress of pale bright silk
my gloves of latin hues.
far from all the scoundrels
and the evening news.
pitch the pennies forward
let them be of gold
I'll turn back like Whittington
my blue lined dreams unfold.
basted to a pattern
never bought or sold
in the navy evening
with a pearl whorled sound
speak with all the angels
when God is still around.
yonder is the lattice
and the garden close
there the attic of the stars
and infinite repose.
I will find it shortly
in the bridesmaid night
there I will remember
all the former flights
all the hopes of music
and the hydrangean skies
truth still like a chiming bell
where there are no lies.
mary angela douglas 20 april 2020;rev. 14 may 2020
thieves of a finer light
that we must scrounge for the honeycomb
the amethyst bees in flight
are we just ruled.
it's difficult to find out
after many a marigold day
the telegram they sent you
has somehow been mislaid
embroideries that you finished
that brought the pale green rains
must now be done all over
under a watchful disdain.
I will leave the party
I will wander far
free from palace gossip
in beauty's foreign car
in a rose lined carriage
in my satin shoes
in my dress of pale bright silk
my gloves of latin hues.
far from all the scoundrels
and the evening news.
pitch the pennies forward
let them be of gold
I'll turn back like Whittington
my blue lined dreams unfold.
basted to a pattern
never bought or sold
in the navy evening
with a pearl whorled sound
speak with all the angels
when God is still around.
yonder is the lattice
and the garden close
there the attic of the stars
and infinite repose.
I will find it shortly
in the bridesmaid night
there I will remember
all the former flights
all the hopes of music
and the hydrangean skies
truth still like a chiming bell
where there are no lies.
mary angela douglas 20 april 2020;rev. 14 may 2020
The Sign Freshly Painted
breakers of words liners of pockets
when will we see you
washed up on the shore
fleecers of hearts changers of sockets
you need to move it out of the door
we paid the ferry covered in lice
we once were merry
you are not nice
casting us farther
from God we implore
breakers of promises
come here no more.
mary angela douglas 20 april 2020
when will we see you
washed up on the shore
fleecers of hearts changers of sockets
you need to move it out of the door
we paid the ferry covered in lice
we once were merry
you are not nice
casting us farther
from God we implore
breakers of promises
come here no more.
mary angela douglas 20 april 2020
Sunday, April 19, 2020
We Were Given Little Cakes
we were given little cakes and apples
and told to be good and later there would be more
the feasting went on in the castle for days.
we had song sparrows to play with.
chinks of light through the kitchen door.
we didn't know we were ignored.
silver and china and finely worked damask
we saw going out on the trollies to the guests.
And the fleur di lis plates piled high oh everything, the best.
We made shadow puppets on the walls.
And comforted those who started to cry.
At night we dreamed the King of Heaven came down
and made us shifts of gold
mary angela douglas 19 april 2020
and told to be good and later there would be more
the feasting went on in the castle for days.
we had song sparrows to play with.
chinks of light through the kitchen door.
we didn't know we were ignored.
silver and china and finely worked damask
we saw going out on the trollies to the guests.
And the fleur di lis plates piled high oh everything, the best.
We made shadow puppets on the walls.
And comforted those who started to cry.
At night we dreamed the King of Heaven came down
and made us shifts of gold
mary angela douglas 19 april 2020
Saturday, April 18, 2020
Icons
(A POEM I WROTE IN COLLEGE IN SEPTEMBER OF 1970 WHICH SEEMS TO PREDICT THE BURNING OF NOTRE DAME CATHEDRAL IN APRIL OF 2019)
ICONS
alone.
I fold within, suspend my moon-paled wings
to mourn
the undreamed flight
the music no
one
hears
cathedrals rupture
with the inside windows
screaming
burns through me
these broken bells
these birds hurled
flaming
through the citrus
dark
mirror
kaleidoscopes
to mirror
contemplative, I
break only, rage
at beauty clouded (medium dash)
and your image
undisclosed (long dash)
Angela Douglas September 22, 1970
Fontbonne College
St. Louis
Last Spring As Notre Dame Burned
last Spring as Notre Dame burned
I felt the world coming apart in my hands
as if it were a pomegranate bursting with stars
and this was its stain in space and a garnet Infinity
where so much beauty rose released into Heaven
and angels were seen walking along the Seine
walking along the Seine and saying their beads
with a terrible concentration and no gestures at all
and fisher folk putting out to sea all the changelings
when the Floods dreamed inland to douse
our souls
is this a sign or can it be told and time time
to leave the Museum of sighs
facing forward launched into an unknown
so vast where Beauty cries out to be saved.Alas
When Notre Dame burned and I felt the spire of
words crumple inside me and the shards of
such colours never again to be seen on earth
by little children turning their kaleidoscopes
at Easter
and histories weeping inwardly and the book of
Life opening suddenly on the snows on no lilac page
then Spring itself stepped back Eurydice
taken into the plum darkness or Persephone,
I felt the world coming apart in my hands
as if it were a pomegranate bursting with stars
and this was its stain in space and a garnet Infinity
where so much beauty rose released into Heaven
and angels were seen walking along the Seine
walking along the Seine and saying their beads
with a terrible concentration and no gestures at all
and fisher folk putting out to sea all the changelings
when the Floods dreamed inland to douse
our souls
is this a sign or can it be told and time time
to leave the Museum of sighs
facing forward launched into an unknown
so vast where Beauty cries out to be saved.Alas
When Notre Dame burned and I felt the spire of
words crumple inside me and the shards of
such colours never again to be seen on earth
by little children turning their kaleidoscopes
at Easter
and histories weeping inwardly and the book of
Life opening suddenly on the snows on no lilac page
then Spring itself stepped back Eurydice
taken into the plum darkness or Persephone,
all myths being clouded over now
where there are rivers of an immense sadness
and the poets wind down to no avail and perpetually
turning to stone the moon to dazed pearl
as in Plutonian realms
where the dream walls are shattered with the antiphons
where the ice cannot glaze the leaf
and I am not the self I was before this grief
under the luxuriant shadows of the great cathedrals
where the almond trees chimed
and God collecting up all our tears
in crystal bottles.
and the Sun going backwards
in full throttle.
where there are rivers of an immense sadness
and the poets wind down to no avail and perpetually
turning to stone the moon to dazed pearl
as in Plutonian realms
where the dream walls are shattered with the antiphons
where the ice cannot glaze the leaf
and I am not the self I was before this grief
under the luxuriant shadows of the great cathedrals
where the almond trees chimed
and God collecting up all our tears
in crystal bottles.
and the Sun going backwards
in full throttle.
in golden adieus to the little children..
mary angela douglas 18 april 2020;16 may 2020;rev. 23 march 2021
mary angela douglas 18 april 2020;16 may 2020;rev. 23 march 2021
Friday, April 17, 2020
Starting Gate Redux
what if we thought of ourselves at the start of the race
not in the last hour
what if we dreamed ourselves into the buds
not yet the flowers
seems like a trick of the mind a mind at play
some may say. and turn away.
I think that it might work
to tell the mind there's so much more
for you to find on earth
to see and to be
to find your place in the mystery ever shifting
ever gathering stardust in the whirlwinds.
let's try. not to rust.
or turn too early into dust.
to find ourselves again
lostin the morning skies.
mary angela douglas 17 april 2020;rev. 16 may 2020
not in the last hour
what if we dreamed ourselves into the buds
not yet the flowers
seems like a trick of the mind a mind at play
some may say. and turn away.
I think that it might work
to tell the mind there's so much more
for you to find on earth
to see and to be
to find your place in the mystery ever shifting
ever gathering stardust in the whirlwinds.
let's try. not to rust.
or turn too early into dust.
to find ourselves again
lostin the morning skies.
mary angela douglas 17 april 2020;rev. 16 may 2020
This Flowering Of Leaves
God will dispense with the flame throwers
that apples of silver may not recede into pictures of gold
or the pitcher be broken at the cistern of snows the moon
a scrim on the well waters indisposed
while Jesus wept and wept stars
and they will chide me this green is deceiving
this flowering of leaves and you are mute
and the muted stream but I am not
I cried with violet intensity I am not
the speaker behind the scenes
and the Holy Ghost drifting out to sea
and standing still yet I am the Presence
whenever I stand and I don't cut the whirlwinds in my hands
and I will pray through the ink bright day in the clauses of the april winds
and bend not
nor break
though the weight of spurious language
drive me to the ground
mary angela douglas 17 april 2020
that apples of silver may not recede into pictures of gold
or the pitcher be broken at the cistern of snows the moon
a scrim on the well waters indisposed
while Jesus wept and wept stars
and they will chide me this green is deceiving
this flowering of leaves and you are mute
and the muted stream but I am not
I cried with violet intensity I am not
the speaker behind the scenes
and the Holy Ghost drifting out to sea
and standing still yet I am the Presence
whenever I stand and I don't cut the whirlwinds in my hands
and I will pray through the ink bright day in the clauses of the april winds
and bend not
nor break
though the weight of spurious language
drive me to the ground
mary angela douglas 17 april 2020
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