Shelley, My Shelley Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

bright as the wanderer on the beckoning air

Shelley my Shelley whispered Blake

presciently above the tree line


as viewed by angels.

Sistine as it was then and setting

the several suns


through the holograms of autumn

the beckoning ones

and the sky all Depression era


white and rainbowed glass

the angels of glass falling to earth

and their parachutes useless.


you have wings Shelley my Shelley

far above the treelines and the dullness

that dreams it is shining


earth, oh earth you should be heaven too

the poets sang

when they remembered you


mary angela douglas 16 august2018