Einstein In Math Class Early Days

your mind so filled with stars,
diminished whirling things
wandered from eclipse to eclipse

examining ellipses...

field flowers, near speeding trains.
o who will gather them then
admonished your angels

in the haze, tilting auroras,
sunspots mazed-if you won't?
that may times, Time itself

may stand still?
the flower filled worlds.

mary angela douglas 23 october 2015;rev. 24 may 2017

Christmas Twinkling

[to my Grandmother]

how forthrightly you carried Christmas twinkling
long after the presents were unwrapped;
the creche with the star

stashed, never far.
and you, yourself, the Tree
bedecked even in
]
sleeting February with little stories.
within is hearth and home
the old novels promised,

come in
sit close by the fire.
here's tea! of Coca Cola

in a tall glass, on ice

(and cake, I always hoped
for the heroes, heroines).
oh, don't forsake me now,

happy endings.
respites from the storm.
I will keep warm

and Christmas twinkling
cherry baked twice if
need be

and Christmas bedecked and glittering
though they wreck the whole world.

mary angela douglas 23 october 2015

The Story Book For Which You Were Looking

THE STORYBOOK FOR WHICH YOU WERE LOOKING

ah the storybook for which you were looking

had lilacs spilling over the palings;

all in a paler moonlight.

few scurvy knaves.

roses in all the pinks

of the princesses saved

and fewer frowns.

you turned the pages

and with them, the breezes of Spring,

daydreams invisible to the Onlookers…

Cartwheels in the grass, cakes

Of the upside down and sweeter,

sweetest holograms of cherry balloons,

the late made Soon,forever afternoons

the diamond window panes of

the reds and greens

of Christmas come early.

infinitely laden you were

with little homework.tiny worries.

with the school yard flurries

hinting, Home. and school let out to view

the newest constellations

with the old:

the silver

and the gold, the friendship songs.

Rainbows springing up with little warning

fortunate every morning.

mary angela douglas 23 october 2015;rev. 24 may 2017

This Orchid Day I Will Wear Forever

this orchid day I will wear forever
I dreamed then and now, again.
this petaled hour.

brimmed with stars, the rains
and the coolness after in the afternoons
I wandered in, and now, again.

greenness has not shattered in my mind.
though some would have it so.
though countless snows have fallen

on the gardens in my soul.
this orchid day... I sighed and was at rest.
the sun melting like crushed strawberries

into a cream sky.
and the gold leaf meets the silver mist
and I am still I.

mary angela douglas 19 october 2015

Suddenly You Are Aware In Your Far Tower

suddenly you are aware in your far tower
they no longer give you picture books.
this is called higher education or-

something. anyway, progress.
an improvement.
but you miss the pictures.

will they come into your dreams and night
plucking the starlight
and stealing the images there too?

you wonder, as you spin the moonlight
into no king's gold
still keeping watch.

mary angela douglas 18 october 2015

I'll Always Say No

the melancholy measures of the way
they used to write poetry
laying gold ingots side by side

then garnishing them with silver.
the moon disappearing every time
in the books on the cloudy Romantics

on my grandmother's/mother's bookshelf.
or they are edged with lace
as if they were valentines.

but they were, you insisted
and wanted to take all the poems
to school on Valentine's Day

to be read aloud.

who would listen
with the intercom blaring
every other minute with

announcements of school spirit
of snow days to come.pop quizzes popping
and talent shows full up

with tap dancing cheer leaders
brilliant in silver tap shoes,
modest showgirl costumes.

ask if I feel nostalgic for this:
I'll always say, no.

mary angela douglas 17 october 2015

Where Clouds Are

the future is not on earth;
the future is somewhere else.
where clouds are, thought the

children, being clouds themselves
and happy in that way
in the seed of the impossible

growing overnight from magic
beans in this, their guessing game.

the present is like the
jack-in-the-box
they keep on cranking,

that dubious toy
though it makes them
uncomfortable

every time;
the jerk in the music,
the bad surprise:

the jerk popping up
in its mustard outfit,
its tricolour hat-

with its scary grin.
but he won't win
the future is with the angels

secretly (within).

in the smile of the Princess,
it's disguised.
it's the valentine unsent

but always arriving.

mary angela douglas 17 october 2015

Three Bunches of Cherries

in your cherry brocade of a story
who would deign to live?
sniffed the princess

amazingly picky.
I mean, cherry brocade.
how could she?

so let's take a look at the larder
in a dream.
as before, it's much

larger than in real life.
fantastically so.
enough cherry preserves

for an army.
even twice on Sundays...
Cherries again?

sniffed the princess

all winter long.
how tiresome.
little stars came out in the dream

and yet it wasn't really night
you know how dreams can be.
we make allowances for the fantastical

as if they were children.
no one ever scolds the dreams:
oh why don't you grow up.

except the Princess.

mary angela douglas 17 october 2015

P.S. She sniffed a lot. I would have given her my pocket handkerchief as she always kept a cold, but it was embroidered with cherries...

The Ghostly Toys

A-tisket a-tasket

A green and yellow basket

I wrote a letter to my love

And on the way I dropped it,

I dropped it,

I dropped it,...

old children's rhyming game

(I mean, the rhyme is old, not the children, of course)

sometimes I wonder where are all the dolls
the picture books the curlicued sleds of
the long gone children

surely there must have been myriads
more than can be seen in the museums
or private collections dusted, dear-

when did they disappear
like sugar snow,
in the cereal.

where did they stash them?
in the rooms of the houses
that all fell down?

in the rings around the rosies?

while playing hide and seek
in grass stained pinafores? or did the toys watch

and then repeat (as best they could)
o tisket and tasket
of the lime and lemon basket...

only, when it came time to

run out from the hiding place-
did they just stay there?
did they stray?

did they fall down knotholes
rabbit holes black holes
confusing the stars?

where are you?
maybe the children cried at first
missing their bears

we've looked for you Everywhere

mary angela douglas 17 october 2015

Life Then Was Like The Train Around The Park

life then was like the train around the park
with the compartments just your size
in pink and green

and you are traveling indeed and thrilled
but unafraid because your grandparents
waved to you at the pink and green depot

with all good wishes seeing you off

and you knew you were making the return trip,
in time for lunch with the little sandwiches
and pop

feeling the breeze in your curls
or down the slide, bravely

and grandfather is there to catch you,
scoop you up before the dust enfolds
your cherry dress

and best, are stories all around the world
told to you at dusk you'll fly to everywhere
whether with reindeer or not

but can't keep your eyes open.

and can't you think, perhaps,
The End will be like this?
a story told, a dream, the lightest kiss

and then you open your eyes
in a room filled with birdsong
and shining...

mary angela douglas 16 october 2015

A Child's Garden of Christmas

there it was always snowing
tasting like cream
like the sheen of things not said yet-

presently, poems
not read yet
held in the heart

glowing bulbs
of the pristine red green
blue orange violet

shimmering to be seen
when the Tree is brought
inside the house

and tinseled.
and missing its star-friends
overhead.

but it's shining,
roped with gold, with apples
dropped down from dream clouds

or the attic
whose creaking ladder
scares you a little-

and this is their scenery
(the clouds, I mean)
and this is where we kneel

the angels inside of us
heralding
the bells ringing like stars

mary angela douglas 16 october 2015

Let The Earth Be Decided This Way

if only the earth could be decided this way:
angel or star, which will it be on the tip
of the Tree?

either way will work.
one way is singing,
the other, only to shine.

let the earth be decided this way
from pine to laden pine
on His birthday.

all the snowpaths
we made by ourselves
to the selfsame doorstep,

home

mary angela douglas 15 october 2015

Goodbye To The Christmas Madrigals

goodbye to the Christmas madrigals,
the holly berries' sheen
whether of outward frost

or inner let bright candles
bright windows be lit
and the silver sun shine on

the brittle snows iced over.
goodbye to the fondness
towards old schools

so recently left;

the summer hallways
or late May
causing us grief

for the days
too suddenly gone.
who will retrieve?

I sang in my song
whole summers long
forever looking back

and beckoning.

goodbye to the madrigals
and to the Spring they promised,
they promised us

in white dresses.

we sang in rows,
our faces shining.

mary angela douglas 15 october 2015

To Cry Without Tears

[to pierrot, painted with tears]

they are plagarizing your tears
night and day night and day
sang pierrot

not to columbine
and the whine of their process
distresses me sorely

he sang to his small lute
they have stolen my tears
from furtive moments

in secret passages made public;
in the public square
the thief of griefs

can only shine.

get your own!
I cried but O
there were no tears left

mary angela douglas 11 october 2015

To The One For Whom Fell One Golden Teardrop

to the one for whom fell one golden teardrop
the blurred inscription read-
and then broke off,

jeweled telegram
lettered on grade school paper.
how wide are the lines

between us-
like lanes, our time and theirs.
or their time that never was or was:

the tear of before or after?
of the latent or finished disasters?
of the leaves that drift on-

flame on flame and then burnt sienna,
never minding the details

and glisten in the winds that will
never tell the name for whom was shed
where the wild trees bled their colours-

into the cold-

one teardrop of gold

mary angela douglas 11 october 2015

Sometimes I Think That Clouds And Trees Are Enough

sometimes I think that clouds and trees are enough.
the wind. a dazzle of birds.
when you're tired of making things up

to entertain yourself or keep from
thinking of things you'd rather not.
it's good to see them still there.

everywhere. clouds and trees.
and in the yards their shadows blow
as well

and it is well to gaze on clouds and trees
to feel the wind again.
the freshness of all this.

the evergreeness.

mary angela douglas 10 october 2015

Ghosts Around The Altars (With Chrysanthemums)

will they remember that we were here?
their voices soughed around old houses
growing farther than this, away,

into deeper mists, try to remember this
that once we played near the shade trees
venerable, even then-

trees they are loping down now
and the branching shadows
to make way for whatever it is 

they are always making way for.

then, let there be ghosts of trees
said the drizzling winds
I brushed aside

fearing their tears.
let there be ghosts of roses, grasslands, sun motes,
ghosts of years.

ghosts of brides
and of their rhinestoned shoes.

soon too soon will you
no longer long for your place in the Scheme,
the coach lined with green silk and the 

plumed horses;
all landmarks having vanished with their 
gleams

where the wind has gone.

mary angela douglas 10 october 2015

Motion Picture

the motion picture you've waited to see:
the one with the high sierras
and a matching soundtrack.

you know; music that swells around you
like the swells of an ocean
and you're in the little ship there

the one that could fall apart
at a whisper.
SHHHH.

they say in the row behind you.
be quiet!
this is the good part.

mary angela douglas 10 october 2015

Winter Had Come To The Emerald City

the ultra linen of the snow wrinkled counties
we set out to seek.
would we wound them with the rubied slippers

having come too late? the snows so deep,
and no one at the Gate.
the poppies underground and in the sleet

making our way and half snow blind.
the munchkins all indoors; not there to greet us.
winter has come to the Emerald City

we sighed we sighed
slogging, not dancing, this time.
oh give us wings, lost Emperor in disguise

we cried, o marvelous shopkeeper!

and for the daunted lion,
strength to war
where old scars were.

to win again, the winsome towers.

and like an emerald tinker's cry
through all our hours-
that carries far beyond the Zone

through an Unseen Power
came the reply:

new souls for old,
new souls - for old.

mary angela douglas 10 october 2015

Sleepers As They Dream

sleepers as they dream
glissanding through pure violet canals
displace their own weight

in music; in the silks of the soul
raging, racing toward a moon that vanishes
and then reappears, but differently-

as you may appear to yourself
not as yourself exactly, occasionally-

as though it became
a cloudy room,
a lopsided night.

the glass bells rung.
the honey thread spun.
and will they go- will they surpass

all earthly sight one day-
where God Himself cries "Stay!"
etching the stars like a heartbeat

floating free from sorrows?

or knotting the golden thread
before they awake,
lest it all unravel.

mary angela douglas 10 october 2015

Ours Were The Emerald Currencies Of Oz

(for my sister, Sharon)

ours were the emerald currencies of Oz
the slipstream of the fairy tales regained
the loop through time

of the fanciful,
barnstorming over
spent fields of grain.

I have saved the paperbacks from school fairs
the books redolent as apples.
such cloud filled music, as you played:

tree filled, with birds
singing without stint
and mother-of-pearled,

for these relentless hours.

and vivid flowers in
fading precincts;
yards and yards of

the home flowers
that I may be cut from
that pattern only

and all the neglected bowers of Keats.
against the dream quenching-
this laborious world

a faery bright defense;
the arc of infinite colour
unsubmerged

the kingfisher flash and burn
of God
whose phoenix Name-

who, o who dares tarnish.

mary angela douglas 8 october 2015

I Wanted China The Colour Of Geraniums

I wanted china the colour of geraniums.
teacups with golden rims.
a small porch.

so many books that people passing by
would say, oh, that's the book house;
isn't it lovely?

come and read the sunrise here.
the sheer winds
I would say to my soul-

the sheer winds that blow only,
through the high trees.
fear no disease;

breathe freely the words on the page
whether ornamental or plain spoken.
and within your heart keep silence

in the rains.
these and many other things
I dreamed as many do

though Grandmother said don't dream,
but do.
yet I have seen in daylit hours

and no mistake-

wild angels on their sorties
mending the breached realms
of Poetry.

mary angela douglas 7 october 2015

Would Life On Mars Be Ruby Red

would life on Mars be ruby red, we wondered
through our summers.
sometimes in between the

lemonade days,our butterscotched hopscotch
a little out of sorts or bubble gum
bazooka comic- faded out in last week's wash...

will there be porch swings?
a slight, honeysuckle breeze?
will there still be cinnamon toast, oh please-

well this was what Ray Bradbury partially
came to say, apart from Green Town.
Mars is Green Town

seen from a certain angle
in the funhouse mirrors.
wherever you go

your home goes with you:
be not afraid.

mary angela douglas 7 october 2015