I MISS THE TROUBADOURS I SAID

 

folktune, out of tune

I miss the troubadours I said

or how I once envisioned them

wed like the saints to the Beautiful

three lilies and an embroidered hand

granting grace in every place

and heart's ease

for those 

who dreamed on chivalry

backed up by tapestries of the most elaborate kind

the unicorns I have in mind

three lilies and a silver strand

heraldic arms, illuminated calendars

forever the charms of music bind you

vowed forevers

vowed and wept

the angels of chanson

all the heart cannot forget

three lilies and the embroidered stars

in the early, earliest Springs

singing the green leaf

into a finer green

the Rose into farther distance.

mary angela douglas 1 september 2023

NO MATTER HOW THE SEEMING SEEMED

 

so that the Beautiful should not be left here to starve, 

to be subject to the rack still shining among the ruins

to be nibbled by quibbling rats and those infatuated with darkness;

to the last crumb of cheese croaking their blue bruised carols

who despise the Fair and the Virtuous

and bellowed counter commands to the Brave

who would slaughter sunrise if they could

can it even be said anymore the dimming word of Good

and meant

but we were the sayers once

in the greening woods when we were knights or knighted

or troth plighted

and stood for something more than

enough coffee to get through the day

who would have done without all the stars entirely

to keep it alight

even the notion of Right 

the boat of loveliness afloat

the rainbow dovelike singing over the Ark

the angels at all thresholds

though we are mocked down to the last shreds

of our dubious shoelaces

by those who would blow on our watered down soup

to make it colder

we shall not be counted among the dead

by the arrogant archers;

we sought the truth

who knew with Christ both truth and beauty bled

and startled the anemic imagination into pearl blinding Glory

and that this like all pertaining to God

was incontrovertible

no matter how the seeming seemed.

this is what in fact I dreamed.

in the evening pale as lilies

in the morning without cease.

Resplendence.

mary angela douglas 1 september 2023