Wednesday, May 17, 2023

HOW FAR THE WEATHER COMES TO FIND US

 

how far the weather comes to find us

the song like an errant arrow of blue

that in the storm has lashed my soul to you only

Father, dreamer of us all

how far the stars and yet

we remember them so emphatically in daylight 

when the moon fades out from the blue

how far the light comes to find us through the glooms

the green mists parting

the Light in your pronunciation

has stirred the whirlpools of our sleep

and fastened the falls of music to the rock cliffs

where they tumble, cascading forever

over the precipice we were so afraid of.

mary angela douglas 17 may 2023

Tuesday, May 16, 2023

SQUIRRELS AND BEING

 

tell me how to be in the world

I wish I had said to the auburn squirrel

playing in the trees out the library window

when it jumped too far past the next branch over

and was making me laugh when it scolded

all the way down

God, perhaps to the absolute ground

kerthump

because he missed it.

how could I laugh when sitting there

a week from exams, without a rude stare

reading Aquinas or Copleston's something else;

do squirrels have souls?

I've thought about it and I don't know

but that squirrel thought

it should have made a perfect landing.

and it wasn't its fault that it didn't.

does that have philosophy in it?

mary angela douglas 17 may 2023

EARLY REASONING 101: PINK AND GREEN HILLS

the hills were pink and green
we painted them that way
with slight variations
in chalk pastels
each child's picture
different in some way
then we were happy
the teacher loved them all
we didnt' know 
even then
there was control
controlling them, controlling us
later, on the bus
the older students
from the junior high next door
taking their flutaphones home
to practice
band homework.
they looked serious
as if they had a job to do
but no one was paying them to do it.
that's what it's like to be old
we said, or, a little older.
but I still want to paint pink and green hills.
will they let me?
no one answers
no one knows the answer
no one knows
it is even possible to ask.
it's about control
who's controlling the sun
that it should be pink
always in the same corner of the page
if it is, you get an A.
but the sky isn't made that way
it never happens 
there is no corner of the sky
as there is on the page
no one says anything
we just keep drawing it the same way
with slight variations
into the mean that is not golden
that is not golden at all
because there is always
a control.
in the great experiments.

mary angela douglas 16 may 2023

AT HOME

lost on the tides, it seems forever

lost when the twilight turns to stars

lost with the hymns we used to sing there

my grandparents reciting

Crossing the Bar.

there by the lamplight reading us stories

sharing the glories of musical scores

sharpening pencils, shining our shoes

telling us always to do well in school

soothing our troubles with lullabies then...

the mists close in.

I know it's the same from age to age

and written on every family's page

till then there was one like a mystery story

when all whom you knew

have gone to Glory.

the years have scuttled, October's leaves

no matter how modern the future seems

for one glimpse of home you would pack it all in

for how it was

then.

but Be Not Dismayed I hear once again

the pines near our house sing in sweet accustomed winds

and I know that I'll be there with all the bells on

it won't be that long.

the last miles are best

when there's so much to win.

seek Heaven. they're all at home there.

mary angela douglas 16 may 2023

REFLECTIONS IN THE WATER (AFTER DEBUSSY)

sad things. sad things.

what shall I do with all the sad things?

shall I nail them to the skies

that all the clouds may weep

from the paintings

in the great museums?

willows have swept the pond

for the drowned stars.

niobe, blue and rose has settled the rains.

for one green moment, miragelike in the Spring

imagining I did God a favour

I have left my only home.

mary angela douglas 16 may 2023

WHY DOGS BARK

I have thought a lot about why dogs bark

why dogs barked in my neighborhood growing up

setting off a firecracker chain reaction of barks

why our dog barked at home but never inside.

except for the one time a cow was trotting down our

suburban street and she saw it from the living room window

and went into the crazy bark. once in summer my sister and I

saw her barking at her own curly shadow on the sidewalk.

whenever I read a magazine article on why dogs bark

it makes me laugh.

you don't get it I think

and I wonder if maybe I am part dog that I know this

but I do know this.

first of all, dogs in the backyard bark to communicate with other dogs

in the neighborhood. Whoever's outside at the same time.

it's saying: hey, something important happened today.

I'm going to tell you about it.

owners always think the dog is barking at an intruder

or just wanting attention.

well, sometimes.

but my dog used to bark in autumn every time a leaf fell down.

and then I know she was barking to tell the rest of the dogs

that her barking shook the leaves off the tree

as in: I am a powerful and clever little dog.

isn't it great? I may be majik.

and other dogs would bark back.yur not majik.

that's nothing. today I made the grass grow

just by staring at it.

or, I made the postman go through the hedges;

he split his pants (dog laughing bark)(other dogs,

laughing bark back)

but the cake topper was the dog that barked

hey, I made the sun come down.

barking and barking, wagging their tails

making sense of the dog world

and sometimes there was the dog

the last one out who thought if it just barked hard enough

the moon would fall down

into the back yard.

and it would all be on the front page of the newspaper

forever. or they would give him some chocolate ice cream finally.

and not just the fried chicken crumbs that fell off under the table.

mary angela douglas 16 may 2023

Monday, May 15, 2023

TO WATCH THE WORLD IN FLOWER AND TO PRAY

spending half a lifetime just to understand
whatever they call history
is not what you had planned
and what's the difference really
when no matter where you start
you're only going to really know
the lines that are your part
in the scheme of it all
the scheme of it all
it isnt summer board games
after you leave school
no one to tell you really
what on earth to do
you find by going
or you find by staying home
that only God is with you
when you're all alone
I hope you did.
there is no map to tell you
when the things you knew are gone
where they went or why they went
you just go on
the time you thought you had
was so much shorter than you knew
but no one then could tell you that
that you would listen to
you care less for history
than you did then
it's your history now
that's giving you a spin
and where you'll be tomorrow
or where you were back then
seems to fade and day by day
you think, well, I have been
grateful just to be here
walking under stars
feeling happy as a child
in the old backyard
looking into raindrops
like prisms to the sun
feeling, dreaming, being here
to run the race you've run
it doesnt really matter what the history books say
it's a privilege to be here
in yet another May
to watch the world in flower
and to pray.

mary angela douglas 16 may 2023

I DREAMED THAT POETRY WAS GOING AWAY

I dreamed that Poetry was going away

or had gone already like the aurora borealis

snapping its colours, from rippling music parted.

what has happened to the soul by candlelight

to the meanings of what there was left to say

to honour. to valour. to even talking this way

when the beautiful books were still hours

and not stowed away.

and held, in a golden reverence past all sundials.

even the moonlight snarls its silver 

on the back of the great winds and disappears

like a tear on Hans Andersen's face. stranded

at Elsinore and earth, earth I would say

has vaulted into

a wilderness of no pianos;if I could speak at all

in the snow hushed languages I used to love.

down the stark nights no angels can be called;

we have forsaken God

and down the Carolinas the seas are no longer jade

but have turned to murk.

speak in the ticker tape half light

on the diffident stage

bark into the land of no become.

in the Kingdoms of the Blessed

we have left our inheritance

and the libraries strike strange poses.

there is there is no resonance

but tears rain down

the children of imagination cannot be found

stuck from pole to pole learning their dismal roles

from East to West small numbers

take up all the rest we are numbered 

among the populations. 

the swift to the same old race.

I cannot stand this place.

we only watch the news

or hum for a little space

and the news is stale.

no I, to you such a tale

would unfold...

mary angela douglas 15 may 2023

Sunday, May 14, 2023

THE POETS WRITE OF CHRIST, AGAIN

 

writing in silver script on a perishing moon

was more than enough to keep us occupied

though hardly a career move;who cares

we came for other reasons

rechristening the ballads, making the shipwrecks shine

lamenting the kingdom of beauty

has passed;that the kingdom of sadness

may arrive, but the waves repeated themselves

and the skylarks;we dreamed that Beauty was still alive

and awoke in dungeons assured

that Christ was still beside us

all the same

and love to sorrow wed

became His name

magnified in the Resurrection

breaking great doom into

many small pieces

shattering forever the gloom

with heaped up flowers.

mary angela douglas 15 may 2023

FARTHER INTO THE STORY BEYOND THE TRIAL

 

farther into the story beyond the trial

beyond the cross examined miles

the three saints with their attending angels

beyond the toll bridge

and the candy house you must avoid

there is no void but peace

and the wind with bells in it;

leaves dripping after the rains

the path of flowers and eucalyptus again

where you are on your way to Grandmama's

with a basket of bread, mint jelly;

imprinted with ferns, the pats of butter

she so loves the colours of music,

the poems of Conrad Aiken of Rupert Brooke

the occasional summer

bottled cokes and all our drifting piano notes

and I could tell you even with my eyes closed

citing Reader's Digest jokes

that the sky is plum in the early morning

in my wool dress with the embroidered stockings

and coat

are there brambles there

no I said to the child on her way out 

only among the wild roses

and in your mind that is still as a pale green pool

there is mystery but only

the mystery of goodness in a cruel expanse

do not step off

the spinning world

through some mischance plucking the honeysuckle

as though it were a harp

carry the white stones in your pocket

the ones resembling

reconstituted moonlight, after the fact

the pale birds glistening

reserving their songs.

the map that leads you

out and back.

the Good Book quoting you

right from wrong.

mary angela douglas 14 may 2023

Saturday, May 13, 2023

PERHAPS FROM THE MING DYNASTY

smash the vases comes the cry

and so they try

China smashing china

but to all, such astonishment

when the shards turn into constellations

in their dreams who could expect such a thing

what Magi.

thunderclaps over the peach orchards

gold ash over the mountains.

Art survives.

despite all forced confessions to the contrary.

and we. who are still alive.

Christ alive in me, the hope of Glory.

the moon dressed in our changeling tears.

mary angela douglas 13 may 2023

Thursday, May 11, 2023

IN WISH REALMS WE HAD RATHER DWELT

 

in wish realms we had rather dwelt

when we were children

in school they could not

spell it out of us

confine us to corners

that we might more practical be

we all resisted in our own ways

and found the great wars played out

in the Fairy Tales and no mistake.

and all our glittering liberty, Heaven waked.

looking back, how happy we are that we did

not get shamed out of cherishing the Beautiful

that God Himself led us to know

through perhaps no wind, and fire and quake

but in small star flecked nudges

no matter what their spiel

the magic of Him is real.

mary angela douglas 11 may 2023

MOVING DAY (FINAL VERSION)

 

dismantling the sunrise

they'll move through

no one knows

who they're reporting to

but jobs are plenteous now.

unhooking the stars

while you were out

in the afternoon without a shout,

tonight there's gloom

but little news

oh, all right.

tall was the grass an age before

now there isn't anymore.

be still.

we're moving soon.

anytime before noon.

at noon they'll all come back for the sun.

it has, they'll say, been such a nice run.

live like a mole.

soon they'll delete your soul

anyway, that's the plan;

how funny they think they can!

mary angela douglas 11 may 2023

HOW A POEM IS MADE (FINAL VERSION)

 HOW A POEM IS MADE

the inward collapse of an outward certainty

the glaze gives way

so that the white apple trees are suddenly within you

like a field of hidden stars, camera obscura

the Spring day and swaying and you are full of breezes, blossoms:

this then is a poem

the cracking of surfaces

the piecrust broken 

the delicious oozing of cherries

mixed in with the melted butter

or on a colder day

the tiny skaters glow within

on a frozen pond

with you as the snow globe

humming the skater's waltz over and over

you just can't help yourself

or sometimes, from the earth arise

in transparencies of Time

a thousand thousand Aprils

and all of them singing.

rhyme past rhyme

this singing mirage

for which I forage.

mary angela douglas 14 october 2021;11 may 2023

SCENES FROM A CHRISTMAS DOLLHOUSE IN THE CATALOGUE, IMAGINED

 

I will arrange the chairs and  tables

in the dollhouse and call them mine

though other occupants will sit there

and wear the green taffetas from the tiny closet or the rose

depending on my mood

or catch the bouquet of paper flowers so miniscule

a small wedding is all they may afford this afternoon

space being at a premium

a wedding in a nutshell, though gilded.

we will play this all day.

while outside the flimsy windows toward the handheld mirror pond

a curtain of snow is coating the tea set of the local guides.

the larger dolls. looking on)

while the nursery bears have gone awol and smeared raspberry jam

on all the upholstery.

mary angela douglas 14 october 2021;11 may 2023

TO GOD MY FATHER ON THE SUBJECT OF POETS, POETIC LANGUAGE (FINAL VERSION)

 

star we say

trying to elaborate on Your themes

flower we whisper ecstatically

or tree, bending low in the wind

we sway too in our naming, Yours again

like children finding words for the orange 

as its trickling down our chins

and feeling we have made such marvelous discoveries

without You where would all language be

and to whom would we repeat 

the phrases of felicity

forms without sound or musicality

that could not breathe, like us, without You.

mary angela douglas 15 october 2021;11 may 2023

Wednesday, May 10, 2023

CONSTERNATION CORRECT COURSE

if as a grownup in conversation

you suddenly feel in the situation

as you did in school as you did in grammar school

when someone punched you in the stomach

and stole your milk money

as if something was a little funny, straged,

off the rail

do not fail my child to flee

the skies are curdled

let them be

seek the shelter of the far off trees

murmuring,as if, to Dick Whittington

turn, turn home again;

murmuring in the soothing wind

the angels their protection lend there

uneasy currents do not lie

skip the need to say goodbye

to the artful bleeders of the light in you

and don't stoop down to tie your shoes

adjust your sash, get uninvited to the party

whether it's now or in the past

go back through the looking glass

find the swift way to depart;

guard the jewel of your heart.

mary angela douglas 10 may 2023


Tuesday, May 09, 2023

AFTER THE CELTIC

my shield my sun my Light of lights

my kingdom come my flight from flight

discerned, unearned in every age

my Tree of dreams

my uncaged Cage

my rift in waves that overtop

my gaze when blinded

my drop by drop of honeyed Time

and o most kind

my Lord my God

my flowering rod.

mary angela douglas 9 may 2023

Monday, May 08, 2023

DOLLS ON THE BUS

 

dolls on the bus 

out on a spree

going to see what the little folks see

a Disney matinee or Queen for a day

a soda shoppe reprieve

then dancing in the breeze

with bendable arms

no cause for alarms

dolls on the bus

oh deary me

where to get off

oh driver please

we forgot to write

our addresses down

how will they find us

and bring us from town

how to get home

not only that

we're chilled to the bone

and we've lost our best hats

just then I woke up

thank God for the dog

what a nightmare to solve

but not now

everybody's here

no need to fear

and it's still summer.

mary angela douglas 8 may 2023

START OVER AT THE BEGINNING OF THE MEASURE

 

having the bright Word close at hand

I do not falter

only the tip of the rose is glazed with frost

though wolves may range the Shepherd

still will keep us

out of the bristling coverts

and far from the lost.

dim though the lanterns be

we shine within

go back to the green beginnings

and start again

first of the measure

my Grandmother says

when I miss the notes

play to the tune of all the angelic hosts

washing the jeweled sword

in the mountain rains

hearing the music inside myself

and not in vain, the laurel and rose alight.

mary angela douglas 8 may 2023

Sunday, May 07, 2023

I DON'T CARE IF THE CASTLE IS PINK

I don't care if the castle is pink as ice cold sunsets

if the false queen reigns the one who

deceived the king

I don't care

if lilied ponds by the dozens

are arranged there

and an oven that can bake 10,000 loaves 

at a time as delectable as cakes

I don't care;

if the children are sent into exile

their slates broken

and must feed on what they find

in the wild;

tear the pink castle down

it is lurid among the strangled hills

and the songbirds fled

even before they could be banished

officialdom is that slow

at the first clip clop of the new bride

on horseback

and the horse reared over the drawbridge

almost causing a natural end

to all the woes to come.

mary angela douglas 7 may 2023

Saturday, May 06, 2023

ON BLUE LINED PAPER

 

I write on blue lined paper as if on the edge of the skies

the angel cried sing what you mean is the paper blue or the line

it's a sunset now I said thanks so much

I can't write anything on it

the angel flitters away with hurt feelings

I feel sad

I feel cold

I dont like to feel cold

cold makes me sad

someone said in D.C.

it was on a blog somewhere

people registered there a few laughing emojis

what is wrong I thought with a person saying

its been cold for so long I don't like to feel cold

I am sad

sounds real enough to me, clear enough

it wont win any awards but its how the person feels

and anyone feels who has to take a lot of buses and

transfer when its 20 degrees by breakfast time and only gets to 35

by rush hour for months

what is the point of ridicule its hard enough to hurt

someone's feelings by mistake without

doing it on purpose as if it's a career goal

do you want fancier language

do you want me to be obscure

to no one hurt for a moment in the butterfly

hummingbird span of their life fluttering away

does the moment of humiliation

feel obscure.

mary angela douglas 7 may 2023

SUPPOSE THAT A POEM CAN BE A TREASURE CHEST

 

suppose that a poem can be a treasure chest

that you find by accident in your own home

or if you are a child, your own room

or even as half a grownup, your own corner

stubbing your toe, big or little one

against its sharp unrounded edge while

at the same time somehow unclicking the lock

and behold the moon under clouds doesnt matter anymore

so many jewels, and antique coins. beads, from the Mardi Gras

tiaras of foreign princesses, and princely cumerbunds spangled  and

topaz hoops and loup de loups

are tangled all up in there with so much resplendence even

the dog who sleeps through ANYTHING is awake and playing with the pick

up sticks in sundry colours

so you catch your breath on a star and read no more by candlelight

because just the sparkliness inherent in the treasure chest poem

is enough to light up whole empires, much less one palace.

so here you are now, peach blossom or persimmon, with your treasure

poem

hope you have fun.

and you wont have to be spinning straw

into anything at all, into the bargain.

mary angela douglas 6 may 2023

Friday, May 05, 2023

IT'S LATE TO MAKE UP BALLADS FOR THE OCCASION

 

it's late to make up ballads for the occasion

but I know whatever woe I'm feeling

others surely know themselves the same

waning of the stars, the moon

the something unexpected, out of tune

and you may feel as well sometimes

whatever life may send

sometimes you feel you're only

singing to the wind.

keep singing anyway.

better to sing than to drift away and

come to a full stop.

don't be dismayed.

think of the good of the moment

just the way it is, with no spectacular spectacles

and be content

some moments just for simple peace are meant

if you don't ruin them by restlessness

a pause in the monumental monumentalness of life

and all the hype.

be happy just to still have your own life

the sky doesnt have to be lit up with skyrockets

over the castles in your honour.

take time to breathe.

to speak with God, he's there

no matter what cynic's told you otherwise;

do not despair.

He really is everywhere.

whatever you're feeling

He's felt too.

Be still He says;I'll comfort you.

mary angela douglas 5 may 2023

AFFIRMATION

 

I lift my aching head again

and wonder what's the world I'm in

why goodness should assaulted be

and in the name of liberty

I gather up what's left to mend

broke in two by charlatans

and how the former dream to heal

the former dream and all that's real

is my undimmed preoccupation

by God, enlightened, in utter darkness now

I see the victors over nothing smile

still flames the night with infinite candelabra

when second sight is given

and I see all in floods of light

and not the heart that's riven.

go your ways like ghosts uncomprehending

I will believe

in Happy Endings.

mary angela douglas 5 may 2023

SNOW HAS FALLEN ON A DISTANT PLANET

 

snow has fallen on a distant planet

for a while, an Age or two

no one will go sledding there

make snowberry jam for lost picnics

that is a thing I would like to do

only in imagination's dower

to visit there the blue cold hills

where it is very still

with no wilting summers

no special performances

of gold

falling off the rim

richly onto my mosaic's floor

colouring the frescoes in

for an Age or two,

forgetting what you knew

of the moon with its halo

of the planet where it is always snowing

and no words melt not being spoken

in the first place

such a quiet

where you may finally

get some rest.

where what is unexpressed

is jeweled.

mary angela douglas 5 may 2023

IF I COULD BUILD INSIDE MYSELF A HOUSE OF STICKS (FINAL VERSION)

 

if I could build inside myself a house of sticks

and decorate the gaps with holly or honeysuckle

well I would do that, just to have you know

a place to live or play in the way we did as children

not thinking about the rain

or the snows later 

the blistering sun

for now there is the little stick house

see I will draw it for you

like St. Exupery's sheep

it will look enchanted in my drawing

maybe I will put some doors in

outlined in green

with yellow knobs and a mailbox

with crayon blue chimney smoke spiraling

out of the red roof's chimney now

and a few steps leading up to the main door

won't you come in

we'll have soggy tea now

a few ritz crackers

and at least while I am asleep

not worry about where the rent will come from

just let the angels solve it

and go to sleep in fleecy God.

mary angela douglas 16 october 2021

IT WAS WHAT I DREAMED (FINAL VERSION)

 

to sleep in a parenthesis of silence

seeded under the snows;

was this poetry;

it was what I dreamed

an ice age ago

to be present at the Resurrection

the instant Light flung its tattered wing

over the darkness sung into gold;

the heart no longer,

broken flower on a stem

floating on the abyss;

the wolves no longer, oh how can I say this-

gnawing the moonlight away.

mary angela douglas 16 october 2021

PEACOCK FLEDGED AND MYRIAD (FINAL VERSION)

 

lifting up the stone to throw

at the least provocation or worse

no provocation at all

how I wish then suddenly

for the earth to open beneath your feet

just enough to cause you to drop the stone

and to realize

God's eye is everywhere 

sunflower seeded, peacock fledged 

and myriad

upon the innocent.

mary angela douglas 16 october 2021

Thursday, May 04, 2023

ON WHAT TO DO WHEN THE SECOND BEST WISH COMES TRUE (SECOND VERSION)

 

maybe it won't turn out to be

the first thing you wished

on the second best star in the Heavens

still it may be better than real butter

on scraped toast

than learning you didn't flunk math after all

just, almost=

or botch the experiment taking too many notes

so that you have to do it all over again

the day before Christmas vacation ends

so what if you get the green coach and not the red

the sparkly ribbon and not the scarf instead

be thankfull look at the snow moon after awhile and sigh

be glad you're not the sun in the summer sky.

mary angela douglas 16 october 2021;4 may 2023


IN MID OCTOBER (FINAL VERSION)

 

the pearl of layer cake clouds appears

beyond the windows laced with rain

although this summer's intransigent green

allows not yet the hint of flame

to trace the trees to me it's clear

it's mid October of the year

a rubied hush is in the light

an ochre timbre in the wind

and to myself I can't pretend

though summer lingers

there's an end

to certain chapters I've not read

the haunt of living and the dead

memories crowd the thickening air

and catch the heart out, unaware.

oh God to me some moments more

of this Ocrober I implore

to line the lemon stars at dusk

with all that soon must turn to rust.

mary angela douglas 16 october 2021

IN THE DEEP SHADE OF LUSCIOUS CHERRY LANGUAGE (FINAL VERSION)

 

in the deep shade of luscious cherry language


I do not count the missing



I am an angel at
your every doorway

whenever your heart
is torn like paper

wherever you stand

undefended

in the worst part of the fairytale-

mary angela douglas 8 august 2007





EN LA SOMBRA PROFUNDA DE LA LENGUA DE CEREZA DELICIOSA

en la sombra profunda de la lengua de cereza deliciosa
no cuento a los desaparecidos.
soy un angel en su cada puerta
cuando su corazon se desgarra como papel
dondequiera que usted estaria en pie
invicto
en la parta peor de las hadas

mary angela douglas spanish translation of original poem in English
 july 5, 2011

Wednesday, May 03, 2023

MAYTIME

 

pale blue ribbons and the May Queen crowned

Mary beyond all care, crowned with pink rosebuds and

the shadows of lilies that keep the shade;

the shadows of lilies

and graduation's near

perhaps;not yet

the last one permitted us.

without regret I may name the myriad flowers

I will see the beauty of starlight

undiminished not cannibalized

by those who would monetize it all

by those who refuse all innocence and gladness

but welcome with pomposity the era of lies;

the myth of leadership.

I see still in the vivid colors of

the maypoles and the dancing,

the children's sunrise

still illuminating our minds

all the may colours heralding the

schools, silent and dusky all summer.

and we stand under the flowering boughs

knowing Forever

will always be this way

despite all the lies;

the cult of sinecures

beauty is otherwise; always sustaining.

this emblematic May

always to me, this way.

mary angela douglas 3 may 2023

PLAY SOMETHING ON THE VIOLIN FOR RILKE (FINAL VERSION)

PLAY SOMETHING ON THE VIOLIN FOR RILKE 

Rilkean birds flew out of my heart
startled by the nearness of the skies.
cloud music I have loved you
with an unseen love
imagining the winds at Duino

and the first gold fissures of
angels floating nigh
the pale green parapets in
dangerous weather, the
Poet almost blown overboard;

who can forget to love
the poet born
to be wounded by roses,
business letters and the unrecorded
covert sniping glances along
th evening pavements worn
through by starlight

where you walked- a strange solitary.

now leaves whirl up as high as the sunset
bouquets tendered to you by God
though you're no longer here to gather them.
or ever at home on earth...

children gazing through isinglass wonders
unused to the battlements of High Song-
suddenly-began to dream…

began 
to notice the teacups rattling
on their own-
and the far distances…

as though they woke up to be
strange neighbors
in the same music,

Shining-

mary angela douglas 27-28 february 2012;
16 july 2018;10 june 2019;3 may 2023;14 may 2024

Tuesday, May 02, 2023

IF YOU ARE THE CHILD WHO STANDS TIPTOE AT MIDNIGHT (FINAL VERSION)

 

if you are the child who stands tiptoe at midnight

weighing in the balance of your small hands

the sparkle of snowlight against the stars

one miracle compared with another until

all is miracle I do not pity you that rains later

will wash all this away into the seemingly desultory January

that the brine of salt will line your tears along with opals, rainbows

because I know you will retain

both star and snowlight in equal radiance, measure

the tenderness of that Nativity in the spectroscope of memory

the endless unwrapping of the gift of life;

sleigh bells on the wind mixed with songs of the angels

and no one will own you.

mary angela douglas 17 october 2001;3 may 2023


STOP FOR A MOMENT AND READ THIS POEM (FINAL VERSION)

 

stop for a moment and read this poem.

let the greenery of it rustle in the wind

and there you are again can it be so

that child you were a long time ago;

a child of the wind yourself

that blows with attendant angels all corners of the map

whimsical geographies of this and that

the old antique inaccurate maps, be their tigers or dragons there

remember? in silver party hats while expecting cakes...

you were Time said strictly, at work and now you're not and you can

breathe more like a metronome in search of music

and in the poem are all the roses you had forgot

each individual rose scent, colour, contour and the petals 

drifting or not drifting in the backyard, painted on china

embroidered on a screen

or you are at home and hear your mother calling you in

from the blue grained dusk

look up from your invoices for a moment, from the dusting

from your latest to do list in the kingdom of what must be done.

oh shun. shun everything but the clouds in the afternoon sky and

later on while you are still on the bus, the train

you still keep your work face on while

they are turning to rubies emeralds yellow diamonds.

this is for you then

when it happens:

remember the poem that told you so

time isnt always what you think it is...

you know.

mary angela douglas 18 october 2021;3 may 2023

I'D RATHER DREAM IT SO (FINAL VERSION)

 

perhaps they migrated from a fairy tale

the secret unseen birds I sometimes hear at night

or long before dawn seems to have streaked winter's light

across my filmy windowpane's blue chill;

green was their clime, perhaps by emperors designed

it may be from an emerald time and really distant gardens.

or have they sifted through a high angelic view

with their unlooked for serenades?

I'd  rather dream it so

than more precisely, know

mary angela douglas 19 october 2021;3 may 2023

.

Monday, May 01, 2023

O ROSE ENCRYPTED;THE BATTALIONS OF LIGHT


o rose encrypted;the battalions of light

the child forgetting the way to the Castle

and the violet skies

o rose on my left hand

and on my right

what is this seeming

metamorphosis and flight

of the heart not remembered here.

I remember the early light of summers

the fragrance on a thousand breezes

and infinite mercy

while we were at play

the children encamped

beneath the brittle stars

o rose encrypted

o rose of the summer nights

together with the gardenias

the lilacs

what has passed has passed

insists the evening news

but they have all forgotten

immortality blooms

and blooms and blooms.

politics cannot own it.

and who can be disowned

when dreaming under the fragrant spell of God

beauty forever enumerated

the battalions of light

the banishing banishing

of the cryptic aside.

and the cruel.

mary angela douglss 1 may 2023

AS IF IT COULD BE THAT WAY (FINAL VERSION)

AS IF IT COULD BE THAT WAY

let me exchange

as if it could be that way

three more wounds later on

for the silver crumbs scattered

under sudden moonlight

for I'm misplaced

in this kingdom of glass

where anything breaks into

prisms if you just look at it

and always picking rose petaled words

too fast to be believed

by the nursery floor lions

split at the seam

half-splayed in their pink night-lighted dreams

and always butternut whispering

"why is she always this far

from the castle

and no further


waiting to be believed?

as if it could be that way

that I may not distress

any further the voice

of darling God caught in the

brambles, every time;

moving that stickily on Lily-pad Paws

too beautiful to be believed

oh my savannah.


to be believed.

as if it could be that way

when I have closed my eyes

too far to see

and no one comes to find.

I will exchange

one small rosepetaled kingdom

misplaced in the kingdom of glass

for three more wounds, later on

when this has passed.


there's too much shattering anywhere

so that even the roses know it;

the rumpling lions.

mary angela douglas