Minimalism Has Its Little Daylight Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

we are zooming backwards dreamed Cinderella
as things started springing out of the carriage wheel
and I'm not talking fleur de lis

and golden bolts flew off
and the horses cough
grew squeakier

this I fear is not going well at all
what happened to the spell of words
that we should see bare branch to

flowery flower grown mysteriously
but now its soup without the bone
tree without leaves, and jamless scone or

cliff without sea
adjectives trimmed imperiously
primary colours less than three

and grim editors on the scene
blue ribonning the harangue or
letting it all go hang in

potato plain language,
pride in no ornament at all.

mary angela douglas 19 december 2016