SEA CHANGE (FINAL VERSION)

 

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

Shakespeare

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then poetry was the angel that troubled the water

an airlift of lemon drops over the painting

where the clouds are massing over the plains

and the ship moves sailing on pictured waters no longer;

stationary, ship in a bottle

for the birthday of the world: 

the Muse holding rose bouquets like a Saint

while all the uncomprehending keep murmuring

o how quaint or not at all 

the words that capture the other than

or if you can, not may, 

plod on and on

no once upon

keep your vagaries to yourself

intone the elves on the hall of fame shelves

but you know all along

poetry was the song chiming out at midnight

when with light steps we fled the ballroom

then the green leaves that faded not

remembered us; remember us

said the leaves of old books turning in the

wind, the ghosts of belles-lettres

the whistle down the wind

so ornamented my friend 

we could have spoken in diamonds and gold for that moment

in vanishing roses, the three lilies: 

leaving the glittering air in our wake

mary angela douglas 14 november 2021; 14 february 2022; 6 april 2023