Mary Angela Douglas Poems

waiting for the news to come of where to go or why or how

is easy for no one to bear especially those who have had
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(cradlesong for Titania)
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I Read Of A Book On The History Of Glass

I read of a book on the history of glass
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the blue skied books of andrew lang
I longed for as the colour of rain
if rain were the colour of violets.
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if we have written in sand
if we have spoken in snows
if we have died like roses die
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when and if the things around you start to change shape
or meld and gel around you in a terrible jello mould
salad with pistachios and cream cheese and somebody
has really stubbed their toe on the dark green food colouring
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the poem I love chimes out of Time
impossible to be mistaken for something else
small brushstroke before the venerable mountainin a silken
wind,
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when the ground gives way

we walk in dreams
hopscotching over the earthquake seams
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especially when I see them a little crowded

in doll museum vignettes
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once we had roots of gold, dreams of gold, light,
peach light, the light of long ago stars
the clouds in magenta, the sudden flare of meteors,
autumns, the berries in cream
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