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Poems By Poet mary douglas  1/25/2015 6:14:10 AM
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In Blue December Breaking Off The Icicle's Chime

the cold of the blue December sky breaks off
the little icicles and glazes the berried bushes
that you cannot name;

swing high into the snow clouds brittle
children, before Christmas. afterwards, too,
still far from homework.

I have loved the December blue the blue the
blue shined wind the chill we wandered through the dream
of being glazed over through and through, piano

fingers freezing in our rose bright mittens;
playing outside! imprinted with angels-
and the sun turned to silver turned to silver

like a chime

mary angela douglas 26 december 2014
mary douglas



Last Minute Christmas Eve 1964

last minute drugstore gifts are best for pure excitement!
someone's sure to want just one more box of
chocolate covered cherries-

look around...the greeting cards are gone
but it's too late to mail them.
I buy rose colored lipstick for my sister

(as we planned) . in exchange she'll bring
her coin wrapped change to bear on
the lilac creme sachet I had my eye on

last Saturday. we conspire this way
considering ourselves true friends, true elves.
how surprised our Grandfather seems

each year unwrapping the same Old Spice aftershave
in a porcelain bottle: will the blue ship sail him away
to destinations he dreams of in the easy chair

perusing issues of the National Geographic?
Anxiously he peers over his glasses:
do you think she'd like this?

wonder of wonders what find is this
this late on Christmas Eve?
a jewelry box beyond compare in tiers, with

rainbow opal figures from some chinese screen
inlaid on an ebony surface lined with
(it looks like) bright red silk!

oh yes, we breathe! my sister and I.
he seems relieved; we take our bundles home.
and wrap them poorly (too much tape)
with bright good will. scissor curled ribbons.

on Christmas morn I remember well
my Grandmother's fingers trembling at the lid
of the beautiful, beautiful box; more beautiful than jewels themselves,

my Grandfather's face-
a quiet Christmas to itself
a little sublime.

that was our drugstore Christmastime.

mary angela douglas 22 december 2014
mary douglas




[to the prophetic Hans Christian Andersen,
for his fairytale: 'The Emperor's Nightingale']

[to the tune of Vaughn Williams 'The Lark Ascending' played more and more faintly...]

it's so important to cry out loud
whenever it is you're with that crowd
and suddenly they've come to displace

the real bird with the fake-
though it is jeweled;
though it knows all the variations

clockwork, on-demand and hops with one wing folded!
giftwrapped! they'll exclaim yet you have lost
the nightingale forever, it may be

while looking down at your shoes;
examining the wrong clouds. or standing in line
at the cafeteria, phrasing it another way-

just to get through your day.

gone in an instant! wept the kitchen maid;
the goose girl in the hunting blind,
tending the geese

while the skies turned to glass
and then, shattered.
this- mattered!

ah echo this, echoed this through angelic realms

so vital it is to cry out loud
and not prevaricate
when this much is at stake:

the life of an Emperor-
the future state of Poetry on earth...

(too late) .
the docked wings of the Soul

mary angela douglas 22 december 2014
mary douglas



Can Anyone Steal Your Soul

Dear Fellow Sincere Poets:

Today I found 6 poems online with someone else's name attached. (Not anyone in this community) . These poems have been previously copyrighted and documented by me in several ways. This is just to let you know that if you see these poems online with anyone else's name attached, that person is perpetuating a fraud.

Here are the names of the poems:

The Doves of My Mind
May This Reach You Where
Blossoming Sea And
Since You Fail
Exile, I am
The Waves That Almost

I am in the process of keying in these poems today.
Can anyone steal your soul? Of course not. But here on earth we do have the right to claim title to the things that come from our own hearts and minds which is why, Michelangelo, for one, got up in the middle of the night long ago in Italy to carve his name on his own sculptures the day after he heard a conversation attributing them to someone else.

Who can steal the flowers of your soul? When the soul returns to God from whom it came, those flowers will be there. Before that time comes, the words sincerely crafted and sincerely felt know to whom they belong.

All I can say to you dear poets if this happens to you, claim them back and be careful who you trust.

God Bless You. I pray you all write everything you have to write in this life and the next.

Most Sincerely Yours,

Mary Angela Douglas
June 16,2010

copyrighted! (why not?)
mary douglas

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Poems By Poet mary douglas