I HAVE BEEN CAPTIVE TO THE HIGH CERULEAN

 

I have been captive to the high cerulean

blue of all blues the music of small sapphires music box weeping

scattered over small children waiting for school

biding Time's great sweeping motions of the hands of the clock

you have not wound

the children in frocks awaiting Christmas on the ground

fan out  in the crimson and peridot the waking of gold

the Star's light foretold children sweeping up

in the storybooks rose petals from the weddings of dolls

and that's not all

replacing the cracked stars i in all we have sought

to do this, while robber bands called us fools

a backwards glance at music, babies on dunce capped stools

with their milk bar alphabets upside down

and you with your tight frown at the Alpha and Omega of it

truly I dont care anymore my palette is fixed

and knows its luminosity and throws the pick up sticks

wildly in neon colours now' indicating at random

or with sheer intent

the beryl and ruby glint of the early kaleidoscopes

the olive shards shoring the cerulean too the crouching topaz

how can you tell me I dont care about poetry

that God remains unseen among the roses

vapid among the stars

how can you tell me language is not a changeling fountain

a wild glacier moving in a green blue sea

one instant

an epiphany the next plunged into the turquoise

of eternities and icarian soundings

how can you tell me what I should do with the words I was cherishing

since childhood, opal and spilling out in profusion

or roseate, or lime leafed on the lawns or anything at all  purple as majesties

incorporate use of one diamond

word in a fit sentence crowning everything with no execution/

and hushed and muted are the strings

implying anything else than the peach stained

our shadows dark green on the winter grass when we played

than this that poetry is Beauty is poetry itself as it is my home

and as it diffuses through the snow minted air

unrequited and dazzling.

having no compeer.

mary angela douglas 7 april 2020