Mary Angela Douglas Poems

{enter, Desdemona, singing}

lost in the dream of the seventh willow
where was her testament of flowers, she mused
...

the picture book at the end of the world
stamped with the king's foil roses
I breathed in:
...

to C.S. Lewis

and to Dr. Louis Markos for the intensified magic of Lewis - reinterpreted
...

it isn't enough to go into the mists;
you should be mist yourself
to find him;
...

[to the immortal voice of Ethel Barrymore-
to all the outriders of our language]
...

He may be filled with Light with birds with maytimes.
ultra violets, He may be tender as sudden showers
hinting at snows before they fall and
...

to John Keats


you were in love with the opal-branching skies,
...

it's threading the point too finely
chided the godmother
tapping a lilac toe shoe on the pavement
...

the cream of words that frothed the rim of
poetry gone by poured into the sleeping village overnight,
the one semicircling the Christmas boughs,
...

whose lacework once again is gathered forming
in the pewter skies erasing time making of trees
a freezing of light and the child heard 'chimes'
...