Something About The Present Moment, Any Moment Really

breaking the fourth wall and then the fifth

everyone is out of character;no one can play the scene

or the puppeteers break rank in a chimerical household

and the rest of them change allegiances

the way their ancestors used to change pocket handkerchiefs

a million lines in the sand and all of them crossed

and criss crossed

who can add the sum

everyone wants to subtract from

only God is constant

and the North Star

the mothers calling their children in

when it rains.

mary angela douglas 22 february 2022

And Carry Us Over

there will be an end to all the inspections

of the bridges that washed out in Time

of the intervening angels

of the courts that signed off on

so many sorrows.

there will be an end to the days when no mercy was shown

to the casting of bitter stones

though we can't say when;

then true music will begin

overflowing, sparkling with hidden notes

with the refreshing of everything

and God will make plain

the reasons we were detained

and carry us over the flooding rivers again.

mary angela douglas 22 february 2022 

When We Ate Strawberry Ice Cream

on the days when we did nothing for the charlatans

how happy we were eating pints of strawberry ice cream

playing softball in the fields behind the church

going to visit the town attractions

keeping the peace and avoiding all factions

reading old library books

reading at all

and in the apple crisp Falls.

how disappointing we grew up to work for them

there being no other choice really.

still, we escaped in dreams

in twilight movie screens

and in time machines of our own design, however fragmentary

propping up the old fairy tales in our minds

while absently churning the butter.

snow blind in holy Decembers or in the early Spring

helping our Mothers

in stiff starched dresses and little doll coats

praying our way through the waltz's notes

recalling the gilded age,

the violets, the late roses.

mary angela douglas 21 february 2022

The Princess in the Fable

she had a heart like confetti glass

a something silver unsurpassed

the brightness of a cherry branch

a kind of resolute dreaminess

I see her castle soft as pearl

deconstructed in a stupid world

the signet ring she always wore

when calling never ship to shore

consigned to live among the dead

to a vast silence truly wed

a valentine beyond duress

and not a rose. pressed in a book.

mary angela douglas 21 february 2022

CHRIST LOVED THE WORLD LIKE TRYING TO LOVE A LANDMINE

Christ loved the world like trying to love a landmine

leading the blind to green pastures

seeing the signs

loving across Time

and beyond the fiery edge of it

how can the heart not break at it

knowing what he risked for our sake

why can't the music stand still

thinking of what he willed.

tittle tattle of the everyday

what has it to say  worth hearing

before such love

before such love

mary angela douglas 21 february 2022

So Splendidly

with the striped tiger in the picture book

the sun overhead like a lemon drop

your one good pink parasol

you would have been content to live

staring at the pale blue walls forever

imagining the stars.

fate intervened with her lavish bouquets

her way of always interrupting the music

at the critical point.

at the critical point you grew wise as a saint

abandoning all to God

in the crevice of time a red rose brightened.

the gift of the Magi, the wish to be free

came unexpectedly into the picture

so splendidly.

mary angela douglas 20 february 2022

Damask Roses

it's always sad and languorous

in the poems of that country

I can't go there anymore

bouncing like a pink cloud over the devastations

the lack of bread seems like a wedding to me

if there is any sun at all

and one true God to lean upon

there the brittle straw will never be spun to gold 

why would I want to grow old there

anyway, I won't be let in

should I say I am sorry the moonlight makes me happy

even behind the clouds

that I treasure a gulp of air more than wine

and still love the moss bright poems

of damask roses and eglantine.

mary angela douglas 20 february 2022

Music Shall Fade When Wandering Ends

music shall fade when wandering ends

when it pays the dear  Sender to rescind our coronating suns

and we have vanished, a thing difficult

to think upon and so we dream of it.instead

softening, blurring  the edges; shading the watercolour

aftermaths we shall not witness, alas;

dreaming feels closer to consolation and for the

dread of it, pondered on the back of that

taciturn blue black raven

as it is said, all devouring Time.

forever nibbling at the strawberries.

dreaming is best

for how can logic help us when we must disappear

yet snow does, every year and rains will wash away again

chalk pictures of the children from the summer  pavements

then

we will leave everything

mere dew on the roses that we are

in our glad trajectories, trembling a little

stray kites let go

as clouds leave the landscape and thus, the painting, bare of

the blazing tableaux

and stranger to the mind, to know put simply:

we will leave all homework behind and not be counted tardy.

music shall fade then, kaleidoscope turned

when we will no longer, longer yearn

to add up old scores or explore the blue ranges of our thought

or Saturdays at the museums;

to live, folklorically.and drink coffee rich with cream

from a thick cup oh

fairytale, coming apart at the seams

ah lyric lyric, chirring  cricket, in the grass

how will I leave you whom I loved not last.

mary angela douglas 19 february 2022

Stories That Trail Off, Into The Mists And Never Ending

I favor the stories that trail off into the mists

like vague Queens drifting with their velvet trains

and nothing lost and nothing gained discernably

for the Princess sighs: how tiresome to be

always spelling it out for the jugglers who

may die at sunrise

or the picture puzzle that shows only

the small winter birds picking at the glaze on the puddles

as though seeking silver cherries from those boughs

in the pavement mirrors

what we shall call it, the need for mystery 

as to How Things Turned Out

if the chords ever resolved;and did the clouds move on?

or what it feels like in dreams to be stranded

waking up suddenly at an outside truck

shifting gears

a dog barking pompously on the lawn

because it cannot fetch the moon

or eat at table with a silver spoon

which one?

who wants a predictable predictable

when everything in us is a search for the vanishing

subtle music, play on

rose of no closing hour.in Time's millennial bower,

bloom. and we will leave you there.

 mary angela douglas 19 february 2022

In Love With The Living Day

may we be in love with the living day

we who have traveled far from

the realms of childhood or so we're told

or made to believe;

with the peach, the gold

and silver finishings of clouds

the fragrances of rain in all seasons

the halos around the moon

the cropping of stone.

I have loved the earth in a quiet way

alone

a small bell ringing in His vast carillons

still with the  mingled voices of the past to say,

in a fairy tale, seeming:

do not depart from me oh loveliness of evening

may I see still the rainbows at night converging

and never blind to music sense in my one true soul

when gathering all my beautiful suppositions, oh

the billion watt white gold

candelabras of the sun.

mary angela douglas 19 february 2022

All Storms Leading To Oz

remember when the school readers used to hold

a suffusion of fairy tales and rocket ships

in one jeweled balance

of the pearl swung day, the day swung up into the clouds

and the day brought golden apples to our doorstep

our doorstep of wine and cream coloured clover;

the fields of stars to the blue cast twilight

our sudden too early yet nostalgias

Christmas onsets, the Easter lilies tolling

turning the page and we learned to speak in preserving amber,

just about everything, and ate honey encrusted toast

and the honeycomb thick in the early mornings

honeycomb thick and fast upon the bread of the past

I can recall, the slate shadows of afternoons at last

and covered wagons crossing a stream that become a flood

the native tunes the bird tracks in the woods,

the parting of ferns

oh everything we learned

that poem about the mud and the yellow rose

and another one all cat shivery

with the red and gold of leaves

and the pumpkin frights, the child in the quilted bed

up late at night

and comforted by shadow puppets on mysterious walls

by the cradle hymns sung lowly

and the wind that is fluted where nobody knows

and called to you in dreams singing to you

of strawberries and the well sewn seam

and little paper cups of ice cream with a wooden spoon

when vanilla tasted so moonbright-velvety

or porch light lamp glow when you were Queen,

attended by the pale frenzy of moths

or the milk glass vase with the garden roses entranced us

beyond all Cause, the tinkling, glass bright of Chopin

on Grandmother's studio piano

and the stories where children ruled and were kind and

even benevolent, and all Time, all Time was lent to us then

new minted for us to spend willy nilly

as though we had centuries to linger here over summer board games

and be silly in birthday party crowns

and most of the time climbing the hills of green

if not, renown

beneath a mulberry sun our laughter full of flowers

won the day and the kite flown stars in vacant lot hours,

all of them, were ours, the heavenly chime of words,

the apple white maytimes, the angels smiling

almost hidden in the pictures.stop motion scene

the birds of night never eating the silver breadcrumbs

the milkweed under that butterfly sun, the heart not torn,

not torn at least, not permanently from its rusty hinge

in the Kingdom Come,

and all storms leading to Oz.

mary angela douglas 18 february 2022

God At His Lonely Outpost Tracks The Stars

God at his lonely outpost tracks the stars

answering random calls

responding with

the aurora borealis

keeps up with things

waiting in the wings

outside of Time

watching the angels climb

gold Jacob's ladder

what if the paint splatters

because He is dreaming other things

like Daedalus, of wings

while painting the clouds again

peach or is it pearl, weeping for the world

it is no sin to think of Him this way

in love with the Milky Way

hearing each thing that we say

sensitive to a fault

and trying so earnestly

not to be in the way.

what train could we build him

he could arrive on

who made the earth

where the tracks run now

and every brindled cow

and each least motion of the seas

but more than these, more than these

I hear Him say through the conch shell wind

through the icy turning of the leaves

I have loved relentlessly

the broken kingdom of men.

mary angela douglas 17 february 2022

I Found The Word "God" Languishing Under Its Own Palm Tree

I found the word 'God" languishing under its own palm tree

what have you done with my starry Hands it wept

while I slept dreamless.

I found the word "God" fugitive in the mirrors of the world

of you and I when all fairy tales crept by

even perfecting the tiny streams, snow melt in the early Springs

by my lost violets in the diary of the great befores.

it kept calling after me in triolets

of ravishing bird song and it was on the diamond wind prolonged

for the poets who refused to let it in

see, it said, shyly

I have taken my heart and cut it into all the rose pieces

and left them in the sky only for you

I have spent every coin of light

the treasury of the snows

and everything that grows

please may you only

mention My Name in one or two refrains

or think of me again as you would of clouds,

in reverie

or as a somewhat melancholy friend, archaic

anathema; though you hold me in disdain,

wounded for Beauty.

my dove. my dove.you are all I love.

take me out of the root cellar

and plant me in your desolate language!

my errant lambs.I am that I am.

mary angela douglas 16 february 2022

The Last of the Snow Queen's Reign

we'll dream the flowers back to life

so sprightly they will arise again

in this eternal spring we'll win

co conspirationally with God, (our friend)

each petal blazing like a heart defiant

on a forbidding wind and sailing

past all the drear days

and that quite airily

merrily in the unseen meadows

soon to be seen; perfumes made visible

and the lilies laughing.

let the snow queen leave

no fond  farewells in her calligraphy on

frosted glass.

untouched by her disdain,we'll pass

and wearing our mittens of rose

and singing, singing by the holly berry bush

we will breathe out the clouds of cold

at the school bus corner

and make impossible summer plans

under a zinnia coloured moon

and read the poems of Spring

of the pale, pale green

in between ice storms

the prisms rainbow-shattering at our feet

the February sleet, departed.

mary angela douglas 13 february 2022

For The Blessed Balm Of Chosen Words

for the blessed balm of chosen words

I give you thanks oh Lord and for the cloud wrought 

day in vivid display sunrise or sunset of your

alpha and omega the circuit of beauty

thou, and thou alone

returning to us in every wave;

have made known to us even as children

your ineffable colours, fragrance of earth

and the blossoming of everything

perceived and felt in quiet hours

you are all ours in a hundred thousand ways

how should we forget you now

that we lean into the wind like the grasses

before winter's sheers

or feel ourselves to be ebbing toward Heaven

a little at a time, with the music of the years

a little at a time the stars climb  the skies and to our eyes

seem then to descend

but what if everything we dreamed then we dream more and more

this close to the shore

of our disappearing.

mary angela douglas 13 february 2022

Credo

 under the spiraling galaxies

lodge no plea make no demand

learn to live in a hidden land

not to speak in the startling winds

only to weave the moonlit Strand

deeper than ever and stronger than time

the golden song and the silver chime

into a music none can fault

the hint of His heart so finely wrought.

mary angela douglas 11 february 2022

Is That Your Real Name

is that the name you go by or is that your real name?

some people get asked that a lot

many people who have nicknames

or maybe this is a question I remember

that has now gone out of style

some people get laughed at for their names

especially on loud  raucous classroom

afternoons

some people despite their outwardly beautiful names

are still made fun of

there is a certain negative creativity in the world to

account for that or on the playground

so, that they will require of you your soul

pronouncing it into blizzards

but what I am drawn to now is the feeling of that phrase

your real name

in whose language

on what spectrum

for what reason do you need to know my real name

my name is a stone I will drop down the well of antiquity

rather than to disclose one syllable of it

to the scorners

my real name will echo location radar beyond the beyond

in a wind flecked with reticent stars on the outer crusts of  

jeweled Space

or splash invisibly over the realm the thin rim of gold on the 

coffee cup, demitasse or break like a glass wave on a glass

shore forevermore

and be stirred into the cream

in a dream where no one drinks it but me

my name will melt like tin and splash down the Tin Woodman's

chin past emerald safaris;

my real name will whirl up in a pink paper airplane 

circling the demesnes of God

where perhaps on a heart coloured non day in Eternity

it will wind up on his bulletin board on display.

a wisp in a frame of Pearl.

mary angela douglas 9 february 2022

Advice To Be Followed In The Worst Part Of The Fairy Tale Or That Awful Dream About The Balloon Poppers

when and if the things around you start to change shape

or meld and gel around you in a terrible jello mould

salad with pistachios and cream cheese and somebody

has really stubbed their toe on the dark green food colouring

or something, the tiny seasick marshmallows

or you are being squeezed

somehow turned into something someone else's

tubed toothpaste or

rather like a balloon animal twisted into a circus

thing

and in a nation of people

wielding pins

swiftly excuse yourself from the birthday party;

forgetting the strawberry ice cream or

you are advised to call a halt to the proceedings which are probably

happening in dreams or at least like the lillac fairy in the Sleeping Beauty ballet

have SOME say so for hecks sake in what happens to you, around you and PRAY

even if you dont carry a wand that works

so that they dont change you into something too bad

that you can't fight your way out of patiently

this is my advice for the things that happen to you

that were never supposed to happen

at all.

take it or leave it.

mary angela douglas 7 february 2022

1Mary Angela Douglas

COMPOSITION

when the last cell flickers like a waning star

may we still be found believing as we always did

that the last breath mattered

in a foreign wind;

the last note in the native song, prolonged and crystalline

that music should go on and on

no emerald lost from the setting;

for each note carried on the page composed

a secret and unfailing angel.

mary angela douglas 6 february 2022

And This Is A True Story

say farewell to the pearl moon through the clouds

drifting no more;goodbye

to the orange and lollipop sun

to the rose beds when the wind is free

and scatters the tea roses endlessly

to the scent of new mown grass

to the Cinderella carriage gold and glass

to the kaleidoscope raspberry and olive in

its configurations shaken into flowers

to hours and hours of pretending to be the queen

the swans in transformation to sing to sing the

songs about the rose and briar

of Joan of Arc passing through the fire

to a  white gold glory and, and the Fairy Tree besides

but she said no. I never will.

and this is a true story.

mary angela douglas 5 february 2022

It Won't Make A Difference To The Stars

it won't make a difference to the stars

if my nebulous name floats among them

scarcely breathed

but how I would like to be at least somehow

written in the margins of the book of God

perhaps in lime crayon, or to be a pink cloud

on His faultless horizon

in the chapter of what unfolds,

when a mysterious rose appears there

and cannot die

even amid the snows of all those pages.

mary angela douglas 5 february 2022

Yellow Diamonds

who had written on the page of morning

this sky as bright as yellow diamonds to our eyes

and factored in the rose wave glowing

and sent to us the birds in silver singing

the night has passed arise my child arise

Him will we follow and not lose the thread

of all the beauty said and left unsaid

and sense the ranging tenses of His heart

wherever we may go

whenever we must depart.

mary angela douglas 2 february 2022

The Stage Sets Historically Speaking, The Rollercoaster At The Time

sometimes did it seem to you on the roller coaster

it wasn't we who moved, but the scenery flickering behind us

as in old movies it sometimes happens

when the carnation sun perhaps the little cerise cloud  are sepia 

toned and the film score lavish with violins

and we are not ourselves alone

but attended by mystical angels keeping the camera still.

then we were invited to participate in certain world events

manufactured, on the sly with the whole carnival going by

on wheels, the other direction

so it is to live with our imperfections

and yet to be flooded with Grace

how it feels in the slipstream of Time

as imagined by the newspapers

with supra fantastic headlines:

somewhere we seem to be lined up

our heads counted as if we 

were on a field trip

and at the end we may go home

and gold painted summer will be ours

but oh my friend 

school days are over

and some should have always been

never about to begin

and yet in the heart a secret lily is tended

that by now, has bloomed into the stars.

mary angela douglas 1 february 2022