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No Pearls
by Clara Mae GregoryFrom a
broken hourglass,
they fall
without measure.
Alone,
one by one.
The grains gather.
Lost pearls to be-
now nothing more than
drifting specks of sand
that lay
on the edge
of a sterile oyster bed
with dead shells,
razor sharp
and unyielding,
laying in decay.
09/20/2009
Posted on 09/20/2009
Copyright © 2026 Clara Mae Gregory
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 09/24/09 at 12:03 PM I simply adore this image you have created and pasted in my mind's photo album. I will ne'er look at hourglasses in the same way, nor oyster beds. |
| Posted by Glenn Currier on 10/26/10 at 03:05 PM pearls to be - cool idea. How much of my time lay about me sterile because I did not provide the vessel for them to become pearls. On the other hand, as I think about poems, each is perhaps an instance in which a grain of sand caused an irritation within to become a thing of beauty. Thought provoking and beautiful piece, Mel. |
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