Saturday, May 12, 2018

Cinnamon Truth

I always stayed quiet
when winter came
to the kitchen.

I never knew what sin
would open the library
to mama’s grudges,
but the kettle bang
on the stove signaled
frost would be served
with the mashed potatoes.

I learned early it was best
to not stray from the cinnamon
truth in silence is golden.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Friday 55 ~ 5/11/2018

Friday, May 4, 2018


Image result for kent state

It won’t happen again until it will.
How much second will kill first?
Chaos keeps fuel in gaslighting’s wick.

Stapled into standing up
when the liar gets new verbs
memory sings like the 60’s and frets
about history that’s never learned.

Cataract flower children tell stories
to ears that won’t listen… four died in Ohio.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Friday 55

Friday, April 27, 2018

Plan B

I’ve still got my teeth.
Well, they (?) always
told me to leave em’ smiling.

I wanted to be a windchime
when I lost all my funeral weight,
but I’m too deep in dirt to catch a breeze.

What doesn’t reconstruct you makes you haunt.
My husband could never sleep with the closet light on.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Monday, April 23, 2018

Welcome to My Birdcage

I write backwards
in search of beginnings
because now can’t decide when.

For every bird chirp
there’s an empty nest,
and stars hate to dress
for dinner when  wishes
stain their best glitter.

There is too much boring
in narrow minds that
walk black lines because
dreaming requires new crayons.

Welcome to my random,
my unpredictable, my disconnect
to connect to a butterfly
while water boils.

Madness sits on the tip of my pencil.
She hates lists, using ink for temporary,
and my obscure aversion to seeing
someone lick the palm of their hand.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Saturday, April 21, 2018

The Valley of Eye Shadow

I have an occasional chat
with the women I used to be
so they’ll sleep while
I ponder gray hair.

Whine and glue are twisted sisters
who try to paste me in past tense
where young didn’t have wrinkles.

When the me’s get too catty
I remind them of choices,
blue eyelids and bad hair.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Wednesday, April 4, 2018

Every Sorrow Earns a Blue Note

 You’d have to know the roots to understand the wonder in her wings
I’m music poured
down an open throat
when the Irish ghost walk
their bottles across my blood.

There’s a whole lot of dying early,
dust, bodies in a cell, and carving
wood into fiddles so feet won’t
forget to dance.

The nail crawl of bullet tongues
carve hell into tiny pieces so mouths
can learn to nibble before they chew
their tongues into misery.

Every sorrow earns a blue note
to string enough pearls wisdom won’t
die in ears morgue trained to let
negative roost in the heart’s nest.

My bone thin hands steal
flesh from echoes so my limb
of the family tree can leaf words
where names will no longer bud.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2018

Friday, March 23, 2018

Mind's Gone Blind

I’m searchin’ hell
for a drink of cold water,
mind’s gone blind,
can’t see to think.

Who’s gonna talk
when there isn’t answers?
Who’s gonna walk
when legs can’t run?

I’ve been freezin’
in the desert.
I’ve been burnin’ in snow.

Who’s gonna pray
when lies get louder?
Who’s gonna sing
when my dyin’ is done?

©Susie Clevenger 2018

I wrote this poem after listening to Larkin Poe's song, Look Away. When inspiration nudges I flow with it.

Friday55 ~ March 23, 2018