IT IS NO LIGHT THING, TO SPEAK OF ANGELS

the angels are formidable in battle,

the archangels

weeping over the Flood

implacable in the face of things fated

standing snowlight in the doorways

forever announcing Christ to the Madonna

in all her sweet guises.

cut into the marble of the great cathedrals

defending the realms

they are whimsical on certain Christmas cards

in the pages of the child sized books

done up in pastels

solicitous in the breeze of one candle.

but in my dreams they flame

like burnished opal

forever on the brink of revelation

or poised on the bell towers in the films

of Wim Wenders, or surging with a pale green music

when the clouds parted at Duino, for Rilke.

I have seen them roar over caverns

lamenting the death of one child

silent with upraised hand, turning the cruel to stone

I have seen them in my lost home sifting the golden apples

from the rubble

in every kind of trouble

and out of the small things that I know looms this

one star sapphire half blinding certainty:

that whether donning all the sunset colors

or assuming the bruises of thunderheads

or bearing dire tidings of all the songbirds slaughtered;

their Music, risen again

or even a single blessed Word,

thirst to our blighted ears

it is no light thing to speak of them

much less, of God, who sent them.

mary angela douglas 16 november 2022

A CRYSTALLINE FEELING IN THE AIR

a crystalline feeling in the air

the airy prelude to snow

I hear, before it is played

on the blue piano at the poles;

above the several levels of earth's atmosphere

how from that white sky tree the cold flowers

will be blooming, blooming and falling simultaneously

and deliriously happy children will count on

days at home. 

days at home.

how mystically it seemed

in the treble of those petaled snows that

God had intercepted our dreams

and freed us for a day or even longer

to stay.

to stay inside looking out

not sick, with no malaise

gazing at such transformation

dreamy and free in our dreaminess

festive to not ride the bus

with no new homework assigned

I don't think in all the world in Time

there had ever been such a happiness

watching it all turn to pearl

young as we were then,

infinite in our joy.

mary angela douglas 16 november 2022;9 feb 2023

HOW COULD THEIR JUBILATION BE CONTAINED

how could their jubilation be contained

on that cold winter night, the angels proclaiming Him

the long awaited, Jesu, the heart's best gift;

heralding wildly over the shepherd's fold

exorbitant anthems in pure gold

to proclaim, Him, the long awaited Child.

and the constellations tinkling like bells

glass bells in hindsight over the long midnight of the World.

snuggled at home on childhood's Christmas nights

how often I thought I felt that glory

when thinking in glory was possible

as if thinking in light

still now, on yet another winter's night

it comes back to me that

superb and changeling music, each time

more radiant, even more Divine.

my Saviour!

mary angela douglas 15 november 2022

TO A FRIEND WHO CALLED ME UNKIND FOR TREPIDATION REGARDING THE CROWS

they say I am remiss

because if I hear crows conversing

it makes me afraid, unless in the fairytales of Hans Andersen

it seems to me unnatural, a thing of the sorrel wind's sorcery

a warning like a darkening sky

a chill in the wind and no sun's efficacy

on any planet, nearby

and I forever, passer by.

I know I'm not the only one

to want to run whenever I see them gather

hunched in the icy trees

what birds are these

they seem to prophesy

unease, cantankerous, boding no good

making the dark woods ever darker.

I will think lighter thoughts when it is spring

and I mean no harm

when I want to ward them off

like some dire charm

may they rise again in brighter worlds

and myths

I'm sure of it, rich indigo against the gold of heaven

till then I'll ride the crest as an unwelcome guest

and cautionary, when I pass their nests

emblems of a literary sorrow,

a something left unsaid

between the living and the dead.

mary angela douglas 15 november 2022

FOR SOMETHING HE HASN'T HEARD YET

I can feel from this far distance

something going right in the Heavens

though it has yet to announce itself on earth

or maybe the messenger got lost or hurt

or maybe it's just too hard for us, being simple

to decipher the sky writing.

who can say why

like angels, passing by

I feel it glistening

like God listening

to each breath in between

our faltering words for something He still

hasn't heard yet,

in the World.

mary angela douglas 14 november 2022

ALL THE COLOURS SINGING ON

let there be Light

though a billion candle snuffers out

wait in the wings, chomping at the bit

to cancel it

let there be Light

though choking shadows memorize their lines

to strangle it all in vines of ridicule

eclipsing all that's jeweled

don't pretend that it is otherwise

when you give all your heart

and then you see the darts flying through

a soon vacated room and it's high noon

stay out of the way

of the slayers when they slay

reside in God

Who's seen it all before

at every brightening door

and all inclement wars

let Light arrive to settle the score

with Love

and angels by her side with the Heaven sent Dove

on every Christmas Day

to shine it all away

the fears you feel inside

whenever they deride

and plan it to the max

no glory's coming back

to show us what we lack

but they are wrong

and I will join the throng

a billion light years strong

with all the colours singing

on

mary angela douglas 14 november 2022

THE SUN IN A YELLOW PARACHUTE SLIPPED DOWN

the sun in a yellow parachute slipped down

the southmost sky to a hidden lost and found

will you bury the sun?

I said to no one.

it can't be done.

the moon at her slipper soft loom

was weaving pearls

on a shipwrecked night

she fell from sight

into a dreamless world

go and tell me when

you'll excavate the winds

that blew her far away

in a slipshod day that saw no dawn

is it under the lawns of snow

the roses have to go

or only Christ instead

his heart of heavy lead arose pure gold

dont say that you dont know

we're

destined to go on

like a ladder with its rungs

and you'll climb every one

before your life is done

before your life is done

mary angela douglas 14 november 2022;10 february 2023

STUMBLING INTO YOU

if there weren't

eyes in the hurricanes

lights on the rim of Space

fragrance as of flowers

remembrance of the dear things past

still we could find our way

through the hypercritical alleys

the blind siding mazes

such disquieting dreams

the infinite disguises cruelly cast

stumbling into You oh Lord,

at last.

mary angela douglas 13 november 2022

GREEN INK

Lord that I may not squander these Saturday graces

caught in the dream of dreaming only

like faint stars in the spiraling nebulaes

their own motion deferred

these fleeting days like fleeing birds

oh let me net without regret and sighing

let me awake early or late

with all my heart vying to hear

your music of fine beginnings

never thinking of the endings

fountainhead, headwaters shine

and beckon again, this time

though it grows late

winter does not on autumn wait

may I arise

seeking lost beauty my enterprise

and chronicle it all

in small handwriting

green ink upon the strand.

the last wave home.

mary angela douglas 12 november 2022

AND THE RIVER TOO

collapsing the towers within myself

I swallowed the bitter ground

the pink and blue crenellations

the sudden upsurge of larks

the varicoloured clouds, in their flight.

and teakettle mornings.

they say villagers in some cases

slated to be captive. stayed up all night

changing their folkloric homes to mist

the little green gates

consigning the grain to stubble

swallowing both riverbank and meadow;

finally the river too.

that the marauders should have

no place to settle

not even air to breathe;

the fable of the pancake

rolling away.

mary angela douglas 12 november 2022;11 februaey 2023

ONSTAGE

it strains all credulity you said

in the middle of the day

that you find unbelievable

whatever's in your way

why shouldnt it be believed.

I walked away.

I thought about many things that day.

how much there seems in this world

an endless correction of our thoughts and feelings

as though we had somehow fallen afoul 

of ever possibly saying something right out loud

to please whoever is halfway listening

ready to pounce on even an ounce 

of observation.

oh surely on no stage at all

would anyone consent to play

this part

of a battered heart.

isn't that always the prologue to the dissonant music

or closing the matinee down

mary angela douglas 12 november 2022;11 february 2023

THAT CHEKOVIAN SUMMER

that Chekovian summer split apart

the soul going down one pathway

down the other way, the heart

such things are conclusive

keeping in mind the historical moment

or the moment when starlight fled

hiding her face on the other side of the earth.

nameless, among shadows.

absent in the evenings,

fading from view.

mary angela douglas 11 november 2022;11 february 2023

THE CHANGE IN THE AIR THAT SIGNALS DEFEAT

in the looking glass we sought to know

how everything had turned to snow

and how the crystals in the air

had formed into a pattern there

a web so hard it could not break

a web of delicate mistakes

ice at the portal we once knew

where hidden glory shone right through

now all transparency is gone

from mirrored light and ancient song

no more renewed.

and we will weep but not in stars

and sleep. dreamless.

far from all of this.

noting the change in the air

that signals defeat

played tinly on the party favor trumpets

with a slight flourish.

mary angela douglas 11 november 2022;11 february 2023

MY FAVORITE STAR

my favorite star is very far

little blue white, white blue dwarfie

behind a bunch of star clouds at 

the back of the closet

the youngest to grow up in the serious universe

it hides behind a whole lotta tinsel

God hasn't even begun to use up yet

it likes it back there by the fairy lights

the clay bright models of the first nebulae

God likes it there

it's His favorite star too

He watches it do crooked cartwheels

my star, He calls out fondly

in several slightly gilded rose dust languages

I'll never transcribe:

the last one to hit the bricks.

meteorily speaking.

then it twinkles more

my star, in my Sunday best appearing

and sends out rogue tiny beams

faintly through the trees

mixing with the fireflies

of a forest Im not quite sure of

the scientists will never find it

nor the amateurs sleuthing.

on cold nights when the air is most clear

and everyone and their cat is out in the backyard

of the world with their telescopes trained on the

soon to be milky sky  

now biding its snows

it hides in God's supersugarplum pocket.

waiting for Christmas to come

and with a wish to be lilac

and warbling.

mary angela douglas 11 november 2022;11 february 2023

THEN SHOULD WE BEHOLD

so beautiful is the Tree of night...

  Pauline Hanson

then should we behold

through a fairy story peephole

the kaleidoscopic worlds

we were asked to leave behind

like unchecked luggage there, on the sidewalk.

would I be indicted 

as I was then for only mentioning them

I ask myself in the ghosting winds

and in these waning years.

who cares

they dont know everything anyway

some child's refrain who had my name

echoes down the years.

live free.whisper the mystified galaxies

not where the thieves snatched for themselves

the glass smile of the Princess, remember?

live where the meadow roses grow so multifoliate

on their own

uncultivated

on planets with several suns

and all of them meshing sunset impearled

myriads of them like clockwork jewels

going down in the West

we thought we knew or merely dreamed we did

when we were the guests

and the crooning moon

you could never reach

on any exterior expedition

says in soft serve vanilla or burnished peach to you only

reach now, pick the gilded apple

unbidden from the Tree of Night

and Beauty blighted, new leaved

the tearstained reprieve

of the immutable Easter.

mary angela douglas 10 november 2022;11 february 2023

A PAUSE IN THE MAELSTROM, AN OUTBREAK OF STARS

a pause in the maelstrom, an outbreak of stars

the moon gliding through translucent clouds

I keep the lace of it now as I did when I was 19

19, in the green unknowing 

of the mauve flowers cupping the snows

in the school's quadrangle, the tulip tree,

early April, with the music interrupted

someone's violin practice through an open window,

suddenly I am that too, remembering

lingering there, at school

in between worlds and worlds

the golden fables in my head

then to you oh Lord I pledged my

small insistent flag as unto the Living Word

over the field of language even if unheard forever

the early ache from home, departing,

still present, all prescience and little else yet

keeping in the inner worlds alive

after all, all this Time, now at 71

time lapsing in the keener winds:

the rushing of the stars, visibly shaken.

mary angela douglas 10 november 2022

SMALL FABLE: THE NIGHT SHED STARS

I will shed stars like the trees shed leaves

said night to herself pondering everything

then all the children will rake up the stars

and their faces will glow with me with

what is left of me that was brightest, that was good.

it will be this way,

and then it wont ever be again

the dews gathered until dawn

it was night weeping her lights away.

the autumn cried.

but the children were happy

in the morning.

mary angela douglas 9 november 2022

I STOOD IN THE BRANDED WOODS

I stood in the branded woods

that were all aflame

with the fairy light so often now disdained

reframed, given other names and quelled.

who were the listeners oh dear de la mare

who listened to squelch rare beauty everywhere

the hordes.

still in the woods I find the old despairs

the retreating horns of Elfland.

Rise! take up arms again, you fractured angel hosts

and ford the mossy banks of

what I loved the most

about my mother's words, my grandparents heraldry

the seas of imagination cannot ebb.

eternally.

mary angela douglas 9 november 2022

RAGGEDY, THEN AND NOW

every now and then when I watch the news 

or even just look out on the day I say to myself

I wonder what Raggedy Ann would do

sometimes I think she would just run away

not even gesturing with her sweet cloth hands

her peppermint striped legs flying willy and nilly

to try to get into the NASA training program

to launch into outer space and then just

mysteriously not come back

but other times I see her on the same

even track

always smiling

never saying anything but I love you

and that, telepathically

in the same blue and pink sprigged dress and the same hairstyle

orangey red yarn, tres low maintenance

keeping life simple 

ignoring all complications

getting stitched up now and then.

she could handle it.

she always was such a good friend.

mary angela douglas 8 november 2022

IN THE BLUE COUNTRIES OR SOMEWHERE ELSE INSTEAD

in deserts we dream of the countries in blue

the border of rain

but in the gully washers we dream of one dry leaf

and we store ourselves under it, one fern

containing just enough moisture to still retain the green

we dream what we lack

sometimes intercepted by what we dont want to look back on

who controls the transmissions of dreams why is the signal

like a departing music a beckoning light that disappears

you wonder when you're not too tired under the leaf of green

while you are still here wandering between the kitchenette

and the enchanted woods

making your picnic plans for

what isn't at all clear but must be good?

the plans of ferns beginning to curl a little

the plans of the blue countries 

training to breathe underwater

the plans of the distant longing to be near

or the near waiting to be far

in valleys brim full of roses and alpine stars and

the sharp points of fir trees on the pop up Christmas card

let glitter equal snow and ice.

mary angela douglas 8 november 2022

AN INCANDESCENT WORLD

an incandescent world

rainbow bubble pearled

to which we might still belong

despite the broken veined histories

and penitence prolonged

just for chipping the crockery

at the geological dig.

we children dreamed it all, dickery dockery

but we could not claim it

so we just were it

for awhile, cutting our paper dolls from the newspapers

painted over in milky pastels

or dreamed of it in little bits shining

magpie caught and silvery shelled

something beneficent longed for

in the dream clouds, swaying the trees

the spears of grass at our knees

the silent chivalries beyond all ken

whenever we walked toward, when?

through the red clover. 

it's not on any map they rolled down for us at school

you cannot compare apples to oranges

and pinpoint it at all on the dunce crowned stools

or even pronounce its name when the late rains

collect in the nightshade lanes and you are tardy

but you feel it, just the same.

so apple blossomed, framed

forever there in the time lapsing picture

the world you thought you were in to begin with.

one thousand Springs away

in the filmy distances, young sprouts

on their way, as my Grandfather would say

playing hide and go seek

by the light of the Milky Way.

mary angela douglas 6 november 2022

MADRIGALS THAT ONCE WERE GREEN

madrigals that once were green

in the lilied days, I heard

filled with sorrow, light as birds

and the snows of ages.

years have gone and then recurred

why I cannot measure.

I will keep their music still

far beyond all treasures.

music soft as mists declaim

what I cannot e'er disdain

footfall of the coming night

when I seek my Saviour.

though the darkness hide the song

I will find it glowing

though the night shall mantle all

far beyond all knowing.

mary angela douglas 5 november 2022

OF CHERRY RIPENING SONG

how did we live so close to the borders

of cherry ripening song then in the garden

nurseries of the soul watching the jeweled sun motes

come and go in the summer blue room

drifting they were and we, together though we did not

know so then with the reverberations of the piano strings,

wires coiled old gold on the inside beautiful hammers

striking 

the velvet

sounding board with each ivory key the raised jet keys in 

between

learning the scales as if they were the seas

of music swept over we were, my sister and I in that house

with the rose curtains by sunsets through the green darkening

pines and we made valentines of the dreamy moments

peach melba in the afternoons

time oh time who can measure this

or spoon the bright jelly of it from the golden saucepan

where we served the dolls at table

and they clapped for us without rue

almost leaving us small bouquets.

mary angela douglas 5 november 2022

PIANO OR STARLING OR MUSIC IN ANY DISGUISE

piano or starling or music

in any disguise surprises us

each time with sentiment from some other realm

unfurled like the flag of Rilke's far spaces

and makes me weep for something else somewhere

mislaid and filagreed

the traces of

how the music reaches

what can never be said hushed though the winds become

in so many complicated threads

each one, another shade of gold

like the rose gold near the heart

in the locket folded

the song you would wish to sing

if only you had, snow graced,

the aureole, wings to find it

in a celestial season

flashing like a star.

transcribed.

mary angela douglas 4 november 2022

AND NO BIRD SANG

if a sad riddle is solved

regaling not, the rose rhapsodies

should the princess learn to smile again

or the would be prince cum bumpkin

be at least festive he did not perish

through finding it unsolvable

is it really all relative to the outcome

because the riddle even solved

is still tragic even if you solve how it

happened minus the seven swans and the pear

tree and who is no longer with us like a 13th

fairy

at the dining room table when we use the

pink linen tablecloth and napkins

and the cut crystal dish for the cranberry

sauce, the parfait trifle or

she is just rifling through antique magazines

for the fairy stories sniffed the neighbors;

the households strung with fairy lights

keeping the moon up at night

the worthless differences and shades of how 

she got lost in the maze

we always knew she would

once science killed off all the fairies

and the fairy rings faded colour by colour

and blossom by blossom

decolonizing the bees

so that truly in the world

nothing flowered anymore or sneezed

(and dream zeppelins went down in flames)

at least, not according to activist poets

and no bird sang

just because it wanted to.

mary angela douglas 4 november 2022

DREAMS ON EARTH

dreams on earth are flickering

like an old tv

you can't tune them in

there's only so much you can see

and the horizontal's out

the picture's on the wane

and all that I can tell myself

is nothing stays the same

then from an unexpected place

I sense the glory of His face

and all that's commonplace or cruel

well it just seems erased

and angels bend...

and in the wind, from far away

I know that it is early May

and I with flowers in my hair

again.

and Time like silver coins, to spend.

so readily.

mary angela douglas 2 november 2022

FOR JOAN OF ARC, A SIMPLE OBSERVATION

she came to save France, the Dauphin in hiding

bidden by her saints tormented by her Church

and others a rural girl her head full of

country dreams

she met fate bravely being a simple maid

that's what they say and said for centuries

but I say, softly to myself

no, I dont think, so simple.

mary angela douglas 2 november 2022

IN OR OUT OF SEASON I PRAISE THE ROSE

---------------------------------------------------------

why is it sometimes a springlike breeze invades another

season

unexpectedly is it the climate of Heaven making itself known

so that you do not lose the scent of the Immortal Rose

how can I or you our own maytimes put by not miss

in ourselves the former blossoming

who were born like Rilke to love roses also in the heraldic

sense as much as in the immediate bouquet

or like Yeats   with his lovely rose upon the rood 

of time, having read them, reading them still

I am deeply inclined to be aligned

with these many petaled meanings and especially

the Christian chrism which is, to find the gate of Pearl

the Pearl of our adoration by the end

as Tolkien said it, the one myth that came true

and so I sing to You, my Heavenly Father, or try to

and to your Christ that Rose unfurling in the darkest nights

of the World and in our own Time

the Rose most crimson the Rose we have in mind

in these latter days the rose e'r blooming is set as

on an eternal stage where we may find to our amaze

caught out from the nickel and dime of it all

in secret sweet illuminating instances

all things are wrought in beauty for a reason

in or out, of season bringing us back to You.

oh may we be blooming, too.

and always not forgetting

the souls you have lent us

for the long journey

mary angela douglas 1 november 2022;17 february 2023

CLOUDS AS THEY REMIND US WHOSE DREAMS WE WERE, WE MAY BE AGAIN

seeming to float above will they slip down in fogs

seeming to stray or follow the commerce of angels

the raspberry orange crepescular, the winnowing saints

dreading the rains, the diamond winds, will they? the snows when they

disappear again my ruby splintered sighs will you rise again

I do not know said the child so softly only the cherry cirrus heard

driven away to join the circus herds; the air bourne birds of other

zones in cumulus stratifications, nimbus haloed above the nations in

cotton candy birthday, birthday party clothes of

pinks and blues or summery or toward Oz

in lime green horizons, latitudes above the changeling, emerald seas

who are you where have you been and for how long

continue continue in silent bells, ballets above the stratospheres

above the Christmases, the lawns in peach coloured butterfly years,

the blizzards

to come snowbound in the snow globes as we meant to be

conscious of nothing but maybe the sun, the glazing moon

unexpectedly gilding you as though you were someone else's dream;

but aren't we, weren't we His dream? I mean, God's or else

meant to be or almost, still becoming and so the clouds portend

blown by as if you were harps of pearl and luminously

by the iridescence of trebling breezes seized

heart flung, creasing the stars, oh far catapulting swans

forming before huge storms and dim;.where will you end

drifting, never arriving between earth and sky

oh my quaint loves.my foremost citadels. my fragilest of friends.

mary angela douglas 31 october 2022;17 february 2023

INCONSOLABLE

shaking out hidden embroideries

on the run in slippers of the ghazal

she stumbles almost to fall

at the city's gate of pitch

becoming pearl

fled into moonlight

none to explain her spectre

turn the page ivoried with age

or tea stained as was the rage back then

and on parchment as by order of the king

explain to the children why o why

who made the holes in the sky

where once there were stars.

mary angela douglas 30 october 2022

BLUE RIBBONS

"Johnny's so long at the fair"

old English folk song (Oh Dear, What Can the Matter Be)

hey there and nonny nonny

talk about your fair bound johnny

Blue Ribbons.

why is he so late.

forget all that and bake a pie

a very cherry triple berry

crust that's pinched

and you're a cinch

for Blue Ribbons.

betcha win First Prize.

and hurry home it's half past one

the damage to the pumpkin done

there's no more coach and you are broke

and all that's left of fairy gowns is

Blue Ribbons

oke, hoof it back from town

how the world goes round.

when it wants renown

each froggie in the puddle deep

and all the tadpoles cannot sleep

they want

Blue Ribbons.

Blue Ribbons.

mary angela douglas 30 october 2022

FACING THE DRAGONS WE WOULD ALWAYS BE

facing the dragons we would always be

a little lacking in chivalry

but one must discern from the things one learns

I heard them say between the lines

in memoirs of the finest kind

the knights of glass hills and the next in line

perhaps to be kings when the midnight chimes

on all the barrows that we could see

in a vision meant for you or me

that no one else will ever believe

as much as the world counts on sheer greed

yet there were knights and they were true

is more than fiction

I promise you.

mary angela douglas 29 october 2022

THE WINTER MUSIC HERE AT HOME

frost fills the room quite quaintly,

delicately, daintily

and I expect no less a miracle

than that it should snow here in my book snug rooms

because of the window that will not close

that cannot be fixed or so I was told or it was inferred

that clouds should form near the low ceilings

rococo as you please in tints of pink and gold

and caves of crystal too where implacable angels reside

keeping you alive when the thermostat won't do

when the winds come through as in Scandinavian folktales

star crossed, from the Great distances

to a dollhouse apartment imprecisely heated;

turning all, all into the ice blue notations, phrases

glazed phases of the moon tree shadows shivering

gusting into the tiny living room the kitchen niche

the teakettle

staffed on every line with curio tunes

that I may inscribe

the imprint of two thousand Christmases,

the opulences of pines; aurora borealis

in three quarter time of a music box waltz

composed and recomposed into the sublime

glorious repetitions of the Christ child codas...

christening,

how jubilation does not cease from age to age

even if not candlelit creamy but overflowing

filling every page with sainted transparencies

stained glassed coloured in the waning days

when you fold the crease in the music and move lightly on

to become the Song itself as it is prolonged 

even to the point of freezing time in its rudiments

and in its gemlike chimes finding the sound is

mine like the carolers depicted on old sheet music;

come to life!

your mouth like a cherry o

the way we sang at school so long ago

or in the odd dream with the forest glade rippling

once again in your cameo appearances to reprise

the frail assurances of all those early Springs

the pale green surprise

that was and will remain my fondest glissando

even trailing off into the winter stars

peering into the little matchstick girl

scenarios

that spurt of flame bejeweled,

inexplicably beautiful:brine, on the incoming wave

down to the chilling bone

this winter's visionary music, here at home.

mary angela douglas 28 october 2022;29 october 2022;18 february 2023

PIERROT STAND FAST ON THE WINDS OF GLASS

Pierrot stand fast on the winds of glass

everything hurts you in the blast

Pierrot

wink at the sun and blink for the moon

everything's jangled in your tune

the moon in old gold braclets,

Pierrot, that glints

centuries pass and it's still the same

a valentine of sugar snow pain

lost oh lost in an antique frame

wait for the earth to turn round again

mazed in a maze bemusing the Muse

and eyes so sad they could melt the stars

can anyone tell you who you are,

filled to the brim with vague regret

offering to no one the white violets,

Pierrot

mary angela douglas 26 october 2022;18 february 2023

THE RIDDLE BEFOREHAND

how is it that we live

till the next communique

through a sieve

or floating backward on the tide

only glad to be alive

in rippling music, until then

when we reach the shore

where we may begin

mary angela douglas 25 october 2022

BEFORE THE VOYAGE

See, where He traces in the skies

the maps of stars for us to go by

and tribulations cast in stone

the anchors of our grievous sighs

Cast off!. my soul-

shall not abide.

mary angela douglas 24 october 2022

note: original title was to my father with dedication reading for Robert R. Douglas

some problem in this needs to be fixed it doesnt sound completely clear, I mean it to sound like a send off for my father I couldnt articulate at the time of his death but in fact my father and I did NOT have this kind of relationship although I did pray so many times that the hour of his death would be free from fear and I did remember a conversation we had once about the Resurrection, that this was the main point of Christianity: Easter, the Resurrection and the sun was setting a faint pink in the skies and we were outside on the carport talking as it did so.  That needs to be in the poem.

I keep thinking of the word l'envoi that goes in the front of some rare books...

Pilgrim's Progress??

WHAT CAN NOT BE SOLVED ON EARTH

stars mired in the labyrinths, casebooks closed.

beautiful volumes still

immortalize the Rose

canny the imposters

pounding at the door

don't answer.

whistle and I'll not come

the motto of this hour.

those who can will wield again

illegitimate power

God alone stands ready

luminous on the Field

yield to Him and you will have

the shield of all that's real

casebooks opened by the watchmen of the night

what cannot be solved on earth

in Heaven, will, in Light.

mary angela douglas 23 october 2022

MYOPIA

world wide weather has become The Cause

nothing else but the Continental Shelf

the hurricane names

and who's to blame

lets pivot and focus on the hole in the sun

not what's to be done

about anything else

keep fear alive

to feel alive

and joke and jive at God Alive

God battering on the door

where all the captives are stored

forget the heart shattered

only weather matters.

mary angela douglas 23 october 2022

THE SHIFT IN THE MUSIC

what at first seemed strangely beautiful

revealed itself to be strangely terrible

too late they spied the window left open

in the horror show of the world

too late to trade the black magic in

for the one True God

true tardiness

and then

a shifting in the wind

the air of dream

you breathe and you breathe again

beauty that has no flaw

Beauty that died for us all.

to Live.

mary angela douglas 23 october 2022

LOFD OF THE VEIN OF GOLD IN THE SUNS

  for Jesus of Nazareth, the risen Lord

Lord of the vein of gold in the suns

weep for me, my only One

cover the ground that I may not see

tears of blood you shed for me

at beleaguered Gethsemane

leaf of green on a withered tree

dove of the ark since infinity

crack the tomb with lightning speed

Door of Heaven be for me

Door of Heaven be for me.

mary angela douglas 22 october 2022

PUMPKIN TIME IN THE OFFING

drawbridge in across the moat immediately

isnt it funny how the intuition grows eyes and ears

this time of year while the princess wears cornsilk

to know: that footstep light as snow and ghosts is wrong

batten down, seize quilts from attics for that North Wind is ill

bind no cherry bright frill of thread tonight

upon the tapestry of light

by candlelight and with a good will

eat candy corn from noon till morn

see by the moonlight the blank form forewarned

seeking a farther stair and worn

beware. say a prayer.

carve letters of orange and black

get back get back from the sizzling cat

tack the nightmares downy down down.

all safe and sound way under

the Evening Star.

mary angela douglas 22 october 2022;18 february 2023

AMAZING HOW MUCH LIGHTER I FELT

amazing how much lighter I felt

imagining I was the sky

and held all colours letting them go at sunset and to sleep

and sleeping the dream of clouds of the various declensions

then the clouds lined with moonlight, with gifting snows

or with the violet rains replete

above the trouble below above the forest green oil

of the treelines in the mystical paintings

and farther up, there are angels

semiprecious, a ladder of heavenly commerce

the singing of nations of birds in flight

the winds of the inner and outer worlds

the softer wind from the seashell gale

touching holy palm to palm

the becoming of stars, their imprints unraveling

the fairy tales in jubilation of bells,

the concourse of Heaven, pristine

in all the shades of blue.

and I in a lemon dress

by way of contrast

dreaming this dream

and the golden seams of it all.

mary angela douglas 22 october 2022;18 february 2023