No More The Nightingale Regales Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

no more the nightingale regales in the space between words

fending off death in the Emperor's garden

singing in lillied music, reprieving the Soul



weaving the moonlight through the clouds irrevocably.



now the poets take pride in being plainspoken

so we have banished wings content to plod.

to build the house of sod



to leave the prairie meadowlarks the skies

tinted with roses. but not our children.

stick upon stone to leave this alone.



what the Romantics were known for.

what they died for.

how can I help but sigh.



how can I ever comply.

I was raised on Shelley



and on the 23rd Psalm

and I have qualms that truly

we have made



whole kingdoms disappear

becoming only integers.



mary angela douglas 23 june 2020