ERNEST CLARY Poems

this rant contains some words of Edgar, s spoon river anthology, The Hill

'Lo he babbles of the fish frys of long ago of the horse races long ago at Clarys Grove of what Lincoln said one time in Springfield'
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Why is the thorn on a rose
is there anyone out there
that really knows
its beauty none can compare
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My wifes name is shining star
part cherokee
and some ethnics from afar
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What a thrill
in the air
we begin to spill
out the plane we go
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Guilt beams off your face
a look you cant hide
a smile out of place
flled with guilt inside
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Back stabbers beware
constantly making trouble
you will get your fare
paid back in double
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My quilt of patches cut square
all sewed together by hand
not a piece matches but share
the same perimeter band
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My friends feelings in such division
her mind filled with much hurtful suspicion
ripping at her inner core
she has proof of nothing
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One night in sound mind
I hit the sack
only to find
I fell through a crack
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The old perverbial smoking gun
as they say
just for fun
I shot it one day
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