Mary Spain Poems
|41.||The Prisoner's Wife||8/2/2006|
|43.||Homes Or Gardens?||8/4/2006|
|45.||The Phoenix Needs The Ashes||8/7/2006|
|47.||How Thomas Felt||8/1/2006|
|51.||I'M Sitting Here...||8/5/2006|
|52.||An Early Night||7/31/2006|
|54.||A Deaf Musician||8/5/2006|
Comments about Mary Spain
A Deaf Musician
As though a deaf musician, I am part
Of some great orchestra I cannot hear.
The only notes that fall upon my ear
Are those which rise unbidden from the heart
And offer teasing glimpses of the art
Of harmony. Yet have I heard, in clear,
Still moments of perception, what appear
As distant drum-beats; pulses that impart
A rhythm to the cosmic melody.
Then, with a quick'ning joy, I see that I
Am moving to creation's symphony.
As birds that wheel and dart across the sky
To secret music, so it seems that we
Can sometimes see the patterns as we fly.
An Early Night
He said he'd ring as soon as he returned.
At nine, indulgent of her eagerness,
She settled down with joy to wait and turned
Her chair to face the 'phone. At ten the stress
Of waiting prompted her to make some tea;
Eleven found her mind in disarray
Imagining some dire calamity
Or accident encountered on his way.
At half-past twelve... should she dial 999?