Tuesday, February 12, 2019

If Words Were Real Estate

Speak synergy to me
Words that bow tie me
to sunshine and don’t put
midnight on my tongue.

Knock judgment down
to a paint color other than bleak.

Spare me the claw…I’ll resist the thorn.
It takes one to change the conversation,
two to agree.

Tit for tat we’re better than that.

If words were real estate, how much would
you pay for a house full of windows
where bricks blocked every view?

 ©Susie Clevenger 2019

Sunday, February 10, 2019


I searched your hollow eyes
for my face, elbowed my way
through memories to see
if even a sliver of mirror
held my reflection.

All I found were wisps of blond hair
and a little girl clinging to the edge
of the drowning pool crying
she’d never learned to swim.

Gone, pulled under by the rapids
of erasing I watched myself disappear.

Mama blinked and spoke, “I can’t find my baby.”

©Susie Clevenger 2019

Alzheimer's Foundation of America

Real Toads ~ Just One Word ~ Sensation

Sunday, February 3, 2019

Carrion of Dead Poets

The Turning Point
Used with Permission

Pens litter the floor like carrion of dead poets
who still feed passion to hungry minds.

I wasted ink trying to build a fire.

Words teased with sparks, but they cooled into
drinking sarcasm with Bukowski’s ghost
and making paper planes out of crumpled words
I mined from a thesaurus.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

To see more of David Bulow's work visit @bulow_ink on Instagram or view more art from this talented artist on his website Bulow Ink.

Thursday, January 31, 2019

Sneaky Bitch

"But I am at the desk upstairs, writing.
And the garden is here outside my window,
filled with fellow citizens sipping lattes
and driving Toyotas.
and I am trying
to become dangerous."

I face a wall trying
to pluck words
from my head
to feather a poem.

 No, it’s not a metaphor,
 or grand drama of a poet.

The only place a desk
will fit in my bedroom
is a claustrophobic corner
of green walls.

Frustration is a sneaky bitch.
She directs me to a book
written by a favorite poet,
and reminds me I’m surrounded
by the color of envy.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

Real Toads ~ Instructions For Living a Life

Thursday, January 24, 2019

Offer Me Bread and I'll Choose a Pen

There are ghosts in my brain
chasing thoughts from dark places,
plucking dandelion seeds
to harvest words from wild weed.

Devil’s in the ink…
God’s in the paper…

My poem-father is Poe,
my god-muse a raven.

Offer me bread and I’ll choose a pen.
Crumbs of wheat can’t take me
where black ink puddles lead.

©Susie Clevenger

Real Toads ~ Bits of Inspiration ~ Poet Discovery

Saturday, January 5, 2019

Moon Hours

Night winged and star eyed
I fly the wild hum of moon hours
where words breed on my skin
until their velvet finds a muse
bold enough to bear their ink.

I am the mystery you can’t solve,
the heat you crave, the phantom
dancing in the corner of your eye…
your chain and freedom.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

Thursday, January 3, 2019

January ...List if You Must

Winter poems attempt to sweater my tongue
with fire, and candles, but my fingers
are too cold to pencil translations.

January loves resolutions that morning
the eye with snow white lists, brags
she’s the alpha tigress of new beginnings.

Oh first month you are like morning to me.
I rarely rise and shine…I am sister to the moon.
I’ve spent night hours dancing through secrets.

I rise more like a raven who is leery of sparkle
until I’ve filtered it through the right amount of coffee.
The year will fly so it is I who must test the wind for direction.

Yes, I could write an outline, but life and spirit will live the story.
So January list if you must…I will dream and be prepared to change
direction if one of the other eleven months chooses to build walls.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

I used four words from the list...January, Wind, Poems, Morning