Spring At The Academy, And In A Floor Length Gown Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—

from The Highwayman, Alfred Noyes

from the dais the tears drop slowly if at all
think multitudes and in their party dress at
home watching the Awards

how nervous the shimmering ones appear
at the gathering year after year under the sequined
chiffoned revolving sphere is a world a world

within a world it's not projected anymore and the
click of the threaded reel to reel isn't what I feel
it's no circus balloon no cotton candied sun that's

setting on a blank canvas hit and run the moon in clown face
oh you exaggerate I'm sure but what you feel
is pure and wafts like the scent of heavy flowers

in the garden heavy with dreams with the scent of
violet rains are we washed clean, not yet there's
someone, I forget, Someone-

I didn't mention in my speech, accepting everything
but the role of myself and we watch movies, movies,
movies thinking they know something we don't, maybe

it's time to leave the camera alone for awhile, the phone, the
contract talks, the moon floats ghostly galleon clouds tomorrow's another day I want to say no few words at all but something's in the

way of the viewers viewing
God's in His castle weeping weeping weeping
they have stripped my Spring away, the ground is covered

with blossoms everywhere you walk, but
you never see them

mary angela douglas 14 august 2014