This Is A Dream Of Stars He May Have Said In A Dream

(to the memory of my Grandfather handing to us on a summer's day,
star wheels, star maps you could turn to see the summer constellations...or winter, or spring, or fall...)

this is a dream of stars he may have said in a dream
I had recently that I forgot when I woke up
the dream of stars the way they used to be seen

from our backyard?
when someone had that dream before you
and couldn't get out of their head the music of
the spheres, remember?

or was that earlier.
new mists have come to be and they
cloud everything now.

even in the National Geographic

but this is your dream of stars you won't remember
this is what they say to you in fairytales when
you see something rare before you're meant to:

you won't remember this when you awake.
go back to sleep. you're in the house
you used to know my Grandfather smiled

a far away smile when

my Grandmother lullabied and they were
eating ice cream in a midnight kitchen
and we were all laughing.

mary angela douglas 18 march 2015

I Weep For The Children That We Were

for my sister, Sharon

I weep for the children that we were:

blue cloudy day above

beneath us the green grass

we thought would last

we thought would last

now so many earth turnings later I review

the things that we knew then

we thought we would always know

time in its snows has taken everything away

I cried to God with nothing left to say

and then within my soul there came

the murmur of soft breezes, summers' sheen

a Voice that gleamed through the racked shell of my heart

there will come a new Eden

there will come a new Eden

mary angela douglas 17 march 2015

Not All The Pastel Airplanes Gliding By

not all the pastel airplanes gliding by

could miss the clouds

and hit the floor

it seemed to us then.

and then we wrote upon the wind

in several colours

depending on supplies.

and folded down, the heart

was a surprise

when it was opened

and whether the sky was

translucent and even if we

we were opaque

we learned to make

something out of construction paper

after a while

so that our time at school

was not wasted,

Grandmother smiled.

mary angela douglas 8 march 2015

Sweet Secrets Of Grade School Continents I Remember

sweet secrets of grade school continents I remember.
how the desk smelled like peanut butter
when you rested your head on it

until you heard like a sing songing bird
the teacher chirp
put your thinking caps on, little boys and girls!

we didn't think we were little
as we fastened on invisible hats
quite seriously.

we were there and so we listened
to the Grand Canyon Suite on the classroom record player
over and over

or saw Velvet win the National
on the auditorium screen
each and every spring.

or square danced on an early evening stage
for the P.T.A.

with lukewarm cokes served afterwards
the kind in the green glass bottles.
later it would be layer cakes and

cake walks, penny valentines on stiff cardboard.
I love. I love, oh who? just violets
because they're blue. and foldover bread

with butter and sugar

and Christmas parties on the last day of school
before the snow flies and the tinsel stars.

come out come out wherever you are

and recess when we can play anything.
and pinch frail honeysuckle off the vine.
and midday breaks for ice cream cups

are fine
with their flat wooden spoons
and one exact scoop of vanilla

packed to the rim.

and soon, you're home
in the twilight blue again
saying hello to

the backyard moon
your own favorite clouds
you chalked in pastels

on Art Day on manilla paper.

and when it hurts too much
these attics things put by I say
just remember the tall tales in the readers.

Babe the Blue (blue raspberry blue) Ox lumbering through.
and for a while,

The Princess Who Never Smiled.

mary angela douglas 7 march 2015;rev. 8 march 2015

To Tulip Beds In All Colours

to tulip beds in all colours

we wanted to travel

as though the world were

storybook painted

page by page

and so we read.

and breathed in golden apples

fireworks flocking over the castles,

the orange blossomed things they said

by indefatigable fountains.

and hardly dared breathe out

because of beauty, clouding there 

and all mapped out beside the

king's pear trees or we were revelers ever

of imprinted Christmas never

going away and side-by-side

our childhood's shelves displayed

the summer round-de-lays

the princess in her towers

the mystic hours, chiming we knew not how

faint music of all we felt before

yet could not name

left to our own rose
see-saw bright devices

the wind-up, toylike scheme.

oh roundelay rose or roundelay Noel!
when we stayed Home from school a little unwell

outside though thunder snows arose

mere History stirred

and barely gleamed.
while we saw dragons in the steam
above the buttered lakes of oatmeal.

mary angela douglas 7 march 2015

Beautiful Dresses

they could be lilac with a pale green sash

with full skirts that swish , small capped sleeves

or pale pink, sugared with rosebuds embroidered

on the bodice, ribbon of satin, whisper of lace;

Easter easter blue, polished cotton oh brand new

and petticoats of eyelet snow

and slippers of strange pearl and you want to whirl

and whirl, you can't help yourself.

so thought a little girl at a Saturday window

in deep reverie.

these are the dresses I'll where everywhere

when I'm grown.
and who and what and how

who knows but I won't forget sheer

dresses of lawn, too, and branching taffetas of

cherry; the frothy gown of Cinderella

threaded in gold and with the moon the moon
caught shimmering through vast panels of cristal

or ballet tulle, pastels, depending on your mood

coasting over the difficult

or the arco irised she said in small Spanish

coinage of the vivid.

with jewels that do not match

because they don't have to!

they're sparkling!

she laughed only a slight ruffle

a dress like a valentine or old posies

in an album.

later on

much later.

she dreamed beyond

the boxy little jackets

when what you need is christmas velveteen

with tiny rhinestone buttons

not all this

dressed for success.

the job fairs giving the illusion

of carnival, merriment and all the rest:

still all all you want

is a beautiful dress.
cathedral bright

of lilies, of lilies
pale happiness.

mary angela douglas 4 march 2015

Jellybean Poems In A Jar Of Summer Glistened

jellybean poems in a jar of summer glistened.

we scoop them by handfuls and never one by one

splurging on flavors under a strawberry sun

with whipped cream clouds

I added pinkly waiting for summer paperbacks

to come: ordered six weeks ago.

they're here! brown paper wrapped but not for long.

the dog barks by the embroidered divan intuiting fun:

a candyland of summer reading; screen doors shielding, sodas

creaming, deeper lemon shadows on the kitchen walls are dreaming:

banana splits with Hershey's syrup surfeited; fireworks on the lawn;

linen dresses on Sundays, or seersucker striped in pastel hues;

piano pieces in the cool cool house of the cut gardenias...

barefoot dancing down the hall.

when we were small.

mary angela douglas 3 march 2015,14 april 2015

Cinderella Dressed In Green

it's gooseberry green chiffon perhaps we thought

kicking the legs of the small table

eating up our fruit cocktail.

(the stepsisters would have worn maraschino...

or diced peach; they hadn't any table manners.)

Cinderella's dress of the jump rope rhymes...

I wanted to hear the whole spectrum of her wardrobe

but got caught in the lines too early missing the beat

with my jumping feet on the school playground.

then again,

it was more verite that way, I guess...

she probablhy had just the one dress.

mary angela douglas 22 february 2015

Reading The Poem All On Her Own In Her Grandfather's Chair

the cream cannot slosh in the strawberries

when you spoon them out.

the almonds on the trout are cut so fine

the rainbowed scales gleam through.

you take small bites. your dress is new

with a pale sash

a paler sheen.

all this is in a dream that you had yesterday

that you're still in

geographies are useless here.

contexts forbidden. pure meaning's hidden

or trellised like a rich vine

like light itself like the wind that blows

the next page forward

and the page after that is Christmas.

tissue guards in sunrise colours

and over the snows

the first intimations of

the Rose.

mary angela dougas 22 february 2015

The Nocturne Played As A Child

the cut velvet draping of the evening

the sequined sky

the elegance of God the sprigged trees

is it always april in her mind
on a terrace as quiet
as one jeweled cloud?

she plays the nocturnes simply

on the piano of green breezes

and wears a nosegay of pale pink

and only dresses in rose.

all this was at the beginning of music

the nocturne played as a child

the spinning out of the frosted ballets

in wide skirts like flowers

and this is ours

until the last note fades into the green green

darkness that He made

and where we want to live

mary angela douglas 21 february 2015 

Carnation Lily Lily Rose

[on the beautiful painting by John Singer Sargent]

]

we hold the lanterns in our gaze and they shall not go out

the lily, the rose, the lily rose shadows their carnation

stillnesses the children will not ravel

the edge of this twilight ever softly they blossom

in the borders near the clumps of the flowers familiar to them

and the lanterns sway in the painting as if it were a real garden

and only slightly it is, the wind of the carnation, the lily,

the rosed lilies

the light the light

we hold within our hearts within within

the coloured lanterns swaying in the

purple instant this cannot fade

the lights go out or

the lanterns stir in the evening breeze

the carnation breeze, the beautiful the beautiful

weaving of the lily and the rose all before and afters

shining, the self-same lanterns in our gaze

the night that will never come
the distant song forever distant
time and the flowers at a standstill
the children, murmuring

mary angela douglas 19 february 2015 rev. 11 june 2015

Now It's Your Problem

[a childhood memory a little embroidered, but by whom..
and in not so fond memory of all the horrid word problems in my grade school math books....]

I want a gown of maraschino velvet cried the doll
stamping her spooky foot at night (sideways)
where she had fallen

behind our dresser and we scared ourselves silly

thinking of her there having watched way too
many twilight zone episodes and reciting them
back outloud and then making up our own

versions until we were goggle eyed.
let's think our way out of this then. could she be bribed
with marshmallow creme?

with Mardi Gras beads our teachers brought back for us?
with Grandmother's peony fan?
we said a little too loudly.

and you can guess
since I'm still here writing this
it must have worked out o.k.

unless of course
the spooky doll took over
and is now writing this poem

still in the same bad and highly unpredictable mood!

mary angela douglas 18 february 2015

My Grandfather, King Of The Drugstore Sundaes

[to Milton B. Young (forever)]

vanilla ice cream crowned with chocolate syrup

(and this was in a sunflower kitchen)

my Grandfather served us as if we were

Queens. small queens in high chairs.

we had our own methods.

with the royal spoons you mash and stir until

the vanilla becomes pale chocolate soup

still cold and grainy like thick snow

and Grandfather beams as though

this were his masterpiece of a

Saturday afternoon...

mary angela douglas 12 february 2015

Green Dress With A Sprinkling Of Roses, Hydrangeas

in Spring or just before she sighed

the soul longs for a floral dress

one of polished cotton with

a generous skirt tnat swirls

and you want to whirl

without dizziness as if

you were a child when the

green grass seemed everything

to you then the green grass

seemed like Heaven could be

and the Soul with its foreground

of polished green, its generous

sprinkling of roses, spiced 

carnations, blue

hydrangeas of pale lilies, intensified moonlight

is dancing even without the tune

mary angela douglas 12 february 2015

The Clouds Fall Down They Call It Snow

did she spill rose light on the floor she thought perhaps
or pull the curtains and then it was night and if you
pull them again will it be day

the clouds fall down
they call it snow
music comes out of my Grandmother's grand piano

whenever she sails the ivory keys she dispenses
the chocolate squares wrapped in silver foil
the dog wants in when it rains and joins in

all our games did
we spill happiness on the rugs, on the pale sofa with
the bright pillows?

i drew the curtains back and it was summer
glorious summer said Hans Andersen
giving the flowers their names

and I thought, cornflower blue
are the mermaid's eyes she must be crying
how are rainbows made through prisms

what are willows? what is on tv
Walt Disney lives in his own kingdom.
so do we

mary angela douglas 8 february 2015

Etagere

its the dreamy mint green that intensifies

around the rose, violet pattern

of the demitasse bone china cups on the etagere;

of the demitasse bone china cups

perhaps they are rimmed in gold

or afternoon sunlight

for the child that can only stare

at a rose garden world represented this way:

as if the angels slept the dream of the roses

whispered Garcia-Lorca from somewhere

in Spanish en el jardin.

you know, the one where there are fountains

of rose perfume and a little room where

the angels dress for supper

of lightly toasted cheese and

chocolate afterwards.

and stories of princesses,

their collections on the etagere...

mary angela douglas 8 february 2015

Black Cherry

black cherry in the dusk

sparkles and fizzes

(what's left over

that you didn't drink.)

and in the grass

or still playing in the street

the neighbor children linger

as if it were sweet

twilight's sequined birthday.

black cherry is the taste

of the cola in the glass;

the richest ice cream.

you would always choose

at last, on family vacations.

the screen door creaks

when you go on remembering

black cherry in the ladened cream

of a dream you're dreaming it again

perhaps your sister chided

wearing all her gumball machine rings

at the same time.

what rhymes with black cherries

is a black cherry dress you dream on:

a sash like moonlight

sleeves of pure lawn...

mary angela douglas 8 february 2015

Small Landscape Done In Crayon

splitting the difference between the blue-green, green-blue crayons

we were paid in lemon drops, strawberry skies.

the pale pink dress for the recital.

living at the edge of vacant lot sunsets

on the corner of the stories told.

and dewdrops on the front lawn

are diamonds we said;

let us gather them fast.

but it was too late.

and now we are colouring the evening sky in salmon.

and the shadows of roses

in gold.

mary angela douglas  6 february 2015

Department Store Christmas Window, 1958

oh christmas window in the downtown area

where the dolls move from side to side carefully

pouring their infinite tea;

dressed in christmas velours! by a doll-sized Tree!

wide eyed, will they never look directly at us?

but then, they might spoil their attire.

their mothers might scold.

who cares, there's snow on the glass;

behind us a sky like cranberries

hand painted and an otherworldly lighting

from somewhere we both feel

(my Grandmother and I)

beauty stricken at the same time

standing before the scenery if not yet, the Play

in the same candlelit hush:

pre-Edison, branching angels

mary angela douglas 3 february 2015

Did I Arrive Too Early In My Apple Green

maybe I should have regretted

almost treading on your shadow;

removing one charm from the bracelet of the sun:

the one shaped like a treble clef?

the tiny piano with the hinged lid?

these were my crimes

the winds never whispered through the lilies.

the fir trees.

there was a meeting somewhere.

did I arrive too early in my apple green

confounding the centuries

and steeples with their glitter snow.

it comes down when you shake it.

I should know.

mary angela douglas 28 january 2015