For Harold Bloom Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

the maps to the poems have been lost!
the king cried out in his sleep
till his sleep was worn quite through

and cried in unison his
royal shadows from the errant castle
no longer that distinct- but doomed

to a strange obsolescence.
never cried the Knight!
till his last breath countering

the murky stream
while dark angels proclaimed:

now you will weep no longer knowing why
and the blizzards lock you out
of the laceworks.

but I stood still in the clouded
woods waiting for the vagaries to arrive,
shaking their pearled manes-

did he exclaim? did I realize

or put another way, as all things will be, someday:
I have come to this courtyard
mused the merchant

to this particular courtyard and no other
to the wild rose hedge
glow in the snows;

cultivated roses, soothed the Invisible
(editor of all fairy tales then) .
anyway, he came. but then forgot to

pluck the rose and Beauty regardless of
this at home may go on to lead
her ordinary ordinary life though

somewhere the silver bells peal out
in ordinary time with a difference,
tone, that some are

called out of the world to
enjewel God and his prophets

or at least, the ornate calendars-
supping on cabbage soup, dark bread.
oh but he is a jewel on his own

I said (knowing that I remember
the silver names of God
and stand unshod on an

uncomprehending plain
as if to say, I remember light
when all is night and

we had lost our medieval way;
tearful, not even hand in hand
laid rail to rail in a fractured land

that Beauty may float over us unstilled
in the kingdoms of our sleep

mary angela douglas 29 august 2015; 25 october 2019