Mary Angela Douglas Poems

lost saints wandered through forests of miracle
treading the light but never crushing it;
famished, making the music shine:
alone.
...

to my mother, (Mary Adalyn Young-Douglas)

losing the blue Madonna to the skies
the painters grieved in secret
...

I am lost in the
Kingdom of the Heart
I said to no one living
...

my fair copy of the rings around the moon
got into the wrong hands-
stashed in the pirate's hoard
...

to Christ in his sorrowful incarnations
(and after the film by Jean Cocteau)

the teardrop diamonds in your hand
...

if all the seas were ink...
Mother Goose rhyme

ink has spilled,
...

canary diamonds from the Antiques Roadshow.
I think I may have one of those mused someone's grandmother in her fuzzy bathrobe,
matching bunny slippers.
peacock feathers from the quills of Rilke?
...

for Olga Spessivtsova-
and to all the Giselles, the Swan Queens,
transformed and transforming
...

shadows of swans, snow tears magisterial
in this white valentine enfolded are
framed at the window from
which I cannot turn
...

well, this is to Ray Bradbury again, and I just can't do anything about that


imagine a forest of book-trees.
...