Q

            Quartz

Door-stop of white quartz,

Shutting experience out

Or keeping it in?

All that rough imagery

Worn to hand-warmed smoothness.

 

I have seen children

Behind the glass of years

Wearing my childhood’s clothes,

Their too-bright eyes

Unfocussed on my books,

Their wax fingers

Playing with my toys.

 

Unspoken words

Alert my inner ear;

I reach towards

The perfect painted egg

My daughter brings to me

Every Easter Day,

Her cupped hands cradling love.

She fills my silence

With her chatter song

And joy irradiates

The lovely oval

Of her unborn face.


          Question for any mother

How much do I love you, flesh of my flesh and bone

Of my bone - enough to leave you free

To seek your ultimate good by ways unknown,

Whatever be the cost to me?

Enough to let you tread your path alone,

Even to Calvary,

If that's the way your road lies, or to see

You sweating blood in some Gethsernane,

Nor lift a hand to strike away the cup

From which you choose to sup?

That I would give my life for you, you know,

Nor stop to count the reckoning up.

But do I love you enough to let you go?

 

Dorothea Spears


        Quiet a Mountain Knows

Mountains, blue in the distance,

White clouds scaling the heights,

Grey rock breaking the velvet slopes

With soft reflected lights-

 

How old they are! How peaceful!

Long years have taught repose –

When we are as old shall we have found

The quiet a mountain knows?

 

Or shall we die in the distance

With all our hopes and schemes

Before we have learned that perfect calm

Beyond our mortal dreams?


 

          Quiet Mind

I am only a little voice, a small

Inconsequential traveler on life’s way;

When I declaim, no sonorous organs play

And few will heed the clamour of my call.

Yet I have knowledge of this fabulous wall

that blocks the blind Outsider from the day

And makes a mockery of every clay

Creation ever moulded or let fall.

 

As real is the figment of the fevered brain

As sane reality, as deep the woe,

Unbearable the bitterness and pain.

It is the way the stateless soul must go

Till separation proves its battle vain

And merges in the one resistless flow.

 

Dorothea Spears

 

 

© Rosalind Spears 2021