Idris Mears

Edition XXVIII

A Prayer - by Idris Mears (Photo by Jamal Saleh)Photo credit: Jamal Saleh

A Prayer

By Idris Mears

In the garden today
I was working for a robin
digging up his lunch of worms
a busy version of the lazing hippopotamus
whose body heat draws insects for his attendant bird
but usually I am just working
in my wasteful human way
for the rats
and in the long run
for the worms
– so much for my industry and utility
but I pray I found
in the stillness and joy
of my work-honed reflection
a moment of sanity
between the madness of losing meaning
and the madness of imposing it

Edition XXIX

Perfection - by Idris Mears (Photo by Ayah Ballout)Photo credit: Ayah Ballout


By Idris Mears

Just as plants need the right
soil and water and light
and the right testing
of frost and drought
the age of the perfectly nurtured
body in the perfect garden
is thirty-three
when the glow of youth
meets settled maturity
and until we reach the age of forty
we don’t have the fortitude to be
perfectly at ease with ourselves
and white hairs at sixty give us
dignity without airs
and if not perfectly stupid
we start to be a little bit wise
and at eighty all that is forgivable is forgiven
and the age of the perfected soul
is whatever time it takes
to face death with no regrets

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