Poetry Sketchbook

In the attic

We pack things into this keeper of castoffs, treasures fallen from favor, things no one wants to remember or forget. Letters and cards, photos of the loved, departed, clothes that no longer fit, traces of money earned, then lost or spent, yellowed magazines, books we’ll surely read again, and those no one will— manuscripts that • Read More »


The naked truth

Truth doesn’t come in a pretty package tied up in wrapper and ribbon. Truth comes in a flash of insight, in words left unspoken. One might pray for truth yet never find it until ready, stretching, in a desperate, humble moment of surrender. Truth doesn’t enter the writer’s mind while she waits, pen poised to • Read More »


The unseen

When I’m invisible, I watch people go on living all around, unaware that I watch. Dropping their guard, they dance and flow and sing, full streams of clear water, bubbling. Only as long as I’m silent, apart, not a part of their lives, never entering their hearts. For when I begin to interact with people, • Read More »


Spring rain

A gray morning. First the quiet, then the quiet deepens. The only sound is drops pattering, dampening each surface, wetting each leaf. Spring rain begins with a sudden hush. Even the birds sit in awe. Copyright © 2005 Barbara W. Klaser