Circumvention Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

Sometimes I wonder
If the guardian angels of artists
At times hijack the work of art that is turning morose
And tilt it toward the Light laughing
So that suddenly leaden skies over looking the city
Flame up all cerise roses
I don't know what happened
The artist will say, sing, paint, write, explain
I know I was seeing it all in black and white
But the film came out in colour
Water into wine, sunken into climbed
Elegy on the street converted to hands in the air Praise
When the music skips a beat
And the children start dancing
In the summer sprinklers
All crowned with purple clover from the vacant lots.
mary angela douglas 23 june 2024