The rebel angels have dancing eyes
that glow in the dark in high passes.
The rebel angels have hair that flies
and haloes of luminous gases.
The rebel angels have wings that hide
propellers of arcane dimensions,
by means of which they fly high and wide
all night in dynamic ascensions.
The rebel angels are beasts of light
and lanterns of Lucifer’s fire,
they reel in tune with all stars in sight
and jig to the twang of the lyre.
To every hideout, to every den
they’re sneaking through top-secret portals;
the angels cherish the haunts of men,
they are fascinated by mortals.
In every outpost, in every nook
the angels will make their appearance.
They take down notes in a golden book
and do it with great perseverance.
The rebel angels are always right,
defying all prim vindications.
In wanton moments they hug you tight
and shower you with scintillations.
You’re likely to meet them any time –
don’t reckon that they never knew ya;
the rebel angels have found you sublime,
they cheer you and sing hallelujah.
If you have any comments on this
poem, Jane Røken would be