Mary Angela Douglas Poems

[to the poets of World War I]

the missing detail in the picture, the white roses.
why do the white roses
...

and do you have a museum of sadness?
your very own? scattering the flowers before
you as you walk the trees may be while you
...

to the forgotten, or the unacknowledged, lyric poets of Earth; forgive us…

as many times as the spectrum shatters
and undeniable music is disbarred or
...

to my Grandmother, Lucy W. Young
and to my mother, Mary Adalyn Young Douglas

ah breathlessly exquisite the carnation nosegay, pink spiced
...

to my mother

breaking off pieces of the stars, she tried not to cry.
and this is for you, and half of it, for your sister.
...

weaving the fabric made of clouds
and of the retreating armies-
I whisper to myself, again-
maybe it's not too late
...

winged music starts awake in a clouded chamber
at the turning of the rose stair in a dream
we came to life or wished we could and
...

to live in a house with rose patterned wall papers
overlooking a rose garden
and when it snows, the roses merely sparkle
...

these things happened, though you will not believe.
but I am not obligated to tell you what didn't happen.
first, the skies turned green.
...

waiting for the light to change small things occur to you
and the bees of drizzle gather under your umbrella
walk, flickers the ivoried, don't cross yells the sign in
...