NO MORE POEMS ABOUT THE MOON

like colorforms the moon and the clouds

the rose tint on faces when the day is done

the birds in purple shadows in the evening

we thought of the world that way and loved it

we were so happy feeling this way

and lemon splashed was the sun on the easel

where we painted with wide brushes made

for small hands

I remember this, that we were happy.

then later I read in the writer's digest listings

please no more poems about the moon

and later, also no poems about trees

I dreamed a nightmare

no poems about the birds

its all so trite outworn said

the gatekeepers who knew how things should be

and I thought of the skies without kites

birds without singing or flight

larks suspended and the trees they lived in

all at the word of the coeditors

it would come to pass

each in its turn, the actual moon from the sky

our rose tinted faces would vanish

when the day is done

each bird purpureal

would disappear at their word

no more adjectives

with their banishing submission guidelines

no more alphabet I thought will be the next dictum

no more air to breathe

because without poems

embroidered with these

and without the trees bending in the wind

there will never be poetry again

no matter how many issues they print

and if these things are not allowed in 

one by one they will secede

from dreams

from the paintings

banned from all art

stars blinking out in the skies

let go and from the universe

and where will we find them again

ourselves again.

if we side with the banishers.

who will we be then.

mary angela douglas 2 december 2022