Scribes And Their Marginal Blackbirds (Final Version) Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

alluding to the true story about a medieval monk known to have scribbled blackbirds in the margins of the fair copied manuscripts he was toiling over perhaps in a fit of daydreaming
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the blackbirds in the margins of their songs
are long past earth
and poured out gold that
you can't see

my silence breaks apart
but not from theirs
on branches of anomalie.

this is the rippled singing
I believe, and God,
I'm not ashamed of there or anywhere at All

while here the meatless
spaghetti boils over again..
in the vegan kitchinette of my assumed penury

for it's wreathed in stove-top mists
that I am rich with
the blackbirds in the margins of
their sighs will rise with grace notes, duly noted...

sweet cherried jubilee

just when you are reading in your room
or prescient, in the back garden
by the tangerine nasturtiums...

over your shoulder,
flocking jewels-
and in your heart as on no other day the
sparkling arrows of the inexplicable-

mary angela douglas 4-6 september 2011; 5 october 2023