Sea Change

"...into something rich and strange...'

Shakespeare

then poetry was the angel that troubled the water

a skein of lemon drops over the cloudless painting

and the ship moves sailing on pictured waters no longer 

stationary;rife with waves.

the ship of the birthday of the world:

the Muse holding rose bouquets like a Saint

while all the uncomprehending keep murmuring

o how quaint

the words that capture the other than

or if you can not may

plod on plod on

no once upon

keep your vagaries to yourself

intone the elves on the shelf

but you knew all along

poetry was the song chiming out at midnight

then the green leaves that faded not

and the leaves of books turning in the

wind, the ghost of belles-lettres

the whistle down the wind

so ornamented my friend in all the postwar lanes

we could have spoken in diamonds and gold for that moment

leaving the glittering air in our wake

it was

that kind of world

in which we dreamed awake

the sea churning in a locket keepsake.

mary angela douglas 14 november 2021;14 february 2022