Mary Angela Douglas


Mary Angela Douglas Poems

681. Writing Your Name In The Upper Right Hand Corner 3/2/2016
682. Bride Doll: Her Poem 3/2/2016
683. Teakettle Song To Anna Akhmatova 3/2/2016
684. To The Blue Knight Wandering 3/2/2016
685. My Alphabet Grows Pale 3/2/2016
686. I Dreamed Of Ancient Music 3/2/2016
687. Rainbow Picture For God's Refrigerator (On Manila Paper) 3/2/2016
688. Lilting, With The Lemon Stars In Love 3/2/2016
689. Ancient Maps Defined 3/2/2016
690. If You Had Let Them 3/2/2016
691. Oh World Where It Often Happens 3/2/2016
692. Oh Life Of The Deep Dish Cherry Pies And The Sudden Discrepancies 3/2/2016
693. In A Silver Province 3/2/2016
694. Parasol 3/2/2016
695. Here On Apple Island 3/2/2016
696. To Hans Christian Andersen's Little Fir Tree 3/2/2016
697. All This Singing In The Color Red 3/2/2016
698. And Yet I Salute The Flag Of The Golden 3/2/2016
699. Confessions Among The Jeweled 3/2/2016
700. These Evening Shadows 3/2/2016
701. Here's Where I Keep My Costume Jewelry Words 3/2/2016
702. To Cry Without Tears 3/2/2016
703. Icarus' Daughters Dream Of Moonlight 3/2/2016
704. To Percy Bysshe Shelley 3/2/2016
705. There Is No Death But The One That We Imagine 3/2/2016
706. For Harold Bloom 3/2/2016
707. A Rhinestone Covered Castle In The Evening Snows 3/2/2016
708. He Only Smiled 3/2/2016
709. Four Summers Gone Now 3/2/2016
710. The Transfiguration Of The Crayons 3/2/2016
711. Clockwork, The Pricness Shedding Crystalline Tears Is Still Required To Fill Out Forms 3/2/2016
712. Thumbelina On A Bad Day 3/2/2016
713. How Can I Think They Gazed At The Sky 3/2/2016
714. Her Favorite Way To Say Goodbye 3/2/2016
715. Sublime Rhyme With Three Scoops Of Dream Cream, Please! 3/2/2016
716. Nostalgia 3/2/2016
717. With Almost No Rustling Sound 3/2/2016
718. Learning Mozart All Over Again 3/2/2016
719. Beneath The Dripping Trees, Midsummer Or May's 3/2/2016
720. All His Infinite Labouring At Bright Coincidence 3/2/2016

Comments about Mary Angela Douglas

  • Prabhata Kumar Sahoo Prabhata Kumar Sahoo (5/8/2017 11:54:00 PM)

    I love your poet'page.I am tempted to read more about your works after going thru a few.

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  • James Mclain Is It Poetry James Mclain Is It Poetry (11/15/2016 10:55:00 AM)

    Few have the honesty
    As do you
    To have like you the truth
    As you speak in your
    Biography .. James

  • Mary Angela Douglas Mary Angela Douglas (7/2/2016 4:10:00 PM)

    Thank you for your kind comment Odiete. I believe that poetry and being a poet is from God. If there is any vastness in my poems it comes from my being happy to think about the vastness of God. We are all vast in Him I like to think too. My versatility comes from having a scattered, butterfly like brain that likes to flit from flower to flower in terms of topics to think about (why I always had trouble with writing research papers in school at the last minute; not from procrastination, just from liking too much to research and keep finding things out without drawing conclusions. Heaven will be at least in part, for me, I think, the joy of NEVER AGAIN HAVING TO DRAW CONCLUS9ONS! God bless you a abundantly in your continuing (and already eternal) life as a poet. Thank You. Mary Angela Douglas

  • Ovi-enita Odiete Ovi-enita Odiete (7/2/2016 3:44:00 PM)

    You are such a Vast, Versatile and talented Poetess.....

Best Poem of Mary Angela Douglas

The Names Of Things

to Ray Bradbury, looking back, or forward

the names of things we held in our heart
when alphabets foundered and worlds came apart
and the clouds drifted over mindless borders

and were crucified.
the names of things, the orange and the lemon
the midnight zither and the bluebird plans

the tissue paper birthdays at a secret command
all disappeared, their ribbons curling.
all but the names we taught our children to revere and

year past year,
never to split the silver from the rains,
to refrain from negating the Soul.

and ever to stow the...

Read the full of The Names Of Things

Vivid

in memory of my grandmother, Lucy White Young

these peripheral fairy stories
I still wind
on a reel of gold

even if the pictures are flickering
in this Celluloid mirror
and the glass slipper slips to the stones

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