The Starving Minor Poet Before He Finds Himself Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

sometimes half asleep random sentences flare
like occasional fireworks firing in a dim dusk
so much so that I wish I could go back and

insert them in an old theme, school papers
by the ream, you know:
the ones we had to write

using our imaginations. (groan)

things like, I met the Marquesa with the parquet floors.
or silence came sifting down a silver shore
and the moon was sullen.

or waxen rubies flowed down the candelabra
while the princess remained stoic.
what will I do with these sentences.

why can't they come to me with a little practicality

like for instance, enumerating once in a pink moon,
the things I'll forget at the grocery store.
tomorrow at noon: something to the tune of:

red onions, pearl onions, green
and red peppers shone:
tomato sauce for the meat loaf, ..

waffle cones

or Easter ham's on sale or things I could eat up:
baked pineapple in an ice cream cup
or eggplant, breaded with a pork chop

not, His head on a chopping block
the Duke wished he had shown less temerity.

it's always: the queen commands you go but she won't say
where. or sampling his own wares Simple Simon bid
the Prime Minister

go buy double cherry tarts and butterscotch custards by the score...

Ye Angels of the English language,
what are these sentences for?

mary angela douglas 29 october 2017