Mothlike, Lacunae. The Poets Gone. Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

mothlike, lacunae, I dreamed of that pale green shade

the hushed rose scented evenings of a former age

the truth plighted to love


and wrote it all down in a fragmentary way

dipped in silver:


when will the clouds awake let Shelley say

and then the wind comes through

laden with God.


after days I wait.

the burnished emblems sigh

orphaned after Yeats.


and his unmooring verses fly

to vaster worlds, Away!


to whom shall I cry

give notice to the violet skies, the shires,

the torch is gone.


the one they carried for so long

from ministering hand to hand


by God recalled.

men build tinkertoy walls, towers

what they will or may


out of the last few sticks, or clay


to wall it all in.as though this had never been...

to bury them again.

and leave us to technical English.


the minimal parings. the lacklustre kings.

the public shearing of wings.


mary angela douglas 22 july 2018