Sea Change Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

'...into something rich and strange...'
Shakespeare

then poetry was the angel that troubled the water

a skein of lemon drops over the cloudless picture

and the ship moves sailing on pictured waters no longer

stationary, rife with waves

the ship of healing, the Muse holding rose bouquets like a Saint

it all diffuses in the words the words melting on the page

not even now called quaint

the words that capture something other than days that

plod on in which you are told to keep your vagaries to yourself

poetry was the song chiming out at midnight then

green leaves that faded not, and the leaves of books turning in

the wind

when there was no end, the ghost of belles-lettres

the whistle down the wind so ornamented my friend in all the

lanes, the mystical coach in which we rode

we could have spoken in diamonds and gold for a moment

leaving the glittering air in our wake

it was

that kind of world.

mary angela douglas 14 november 2021