Uninspired

©2019 CMBClary The vibration of the washer through the wall makes the bed ripple beneath me. My thoughts scatter like shredded paper and I struggle to pick them up and make something coherent of them. All the want of being alone, when I finally am, the desire to produce eludes me. A slight ringing in

The Spaces In-between

Life, so full at times, Even all the spaces in-between. A fullness that inundates every crevice. This too will pass. Soft skin to folds of leathery lines, Strong steady hands to trembling decline. Golden locks to un-kept silver strands. And time, While filled with too much, still insatiable. Do not grow weary of your busy

Displaced

Darkened skin  Freckled nose Lines baked in by time and sun Furrowed brow Callused hands  dirt stained cracks and folds Clouded eyes look on and wait For death? Perhaps, Or  maybe just a  Hand to hold. -Clary

Thought of the Day

I mostly think that everyone falls on hard times. Even then, being worried that I’ve run out of Dom Perignon would be far less stressful than finding out I’ve just run out of toilet paper and only have a $1.15 to my name. Yes that seems like an extreme, but for many that is reality.

Poetic Curse

©2010 B. Clary I often think in poetry. It is a curse my own disease. To look upon a tree in awe, Its gnarled roots in winters thaw. The rolling hills, flowers in sync, Petals so soft like lips of pink. A splash of blue upon the sky, As feathered clouds lazily float by. The

Etchings

Photograph©2015 B. Clary All of your things are gone now. My mind rummages through fading memories, trying to find one bright enough to cling to. The wisdom you’d freely given in my youth reduced to worn etchings on my bitter heart, relics of a time I had squandered it. Dreams of you are few and

My Screen Door

The concrete was hot on my feet that late summer evening. My toes curled in response to the slight discomfort. A symphony of crickets and locusts permeated the warm evening air like an orchestra welcoming the night. I stood there listening to their song, nostalgia washing over me again. Memories of messy brunette hair, bare

A Life

The stars pricked holes in the darkness and I wished I could live under them. Warm air wrapped me up and I was home. I stood there a moment thinking of him and what he would have been like. His soft fuzzy hair on my fingertips, a sweet little face and gummy grin, those tiny