Sunday, January 10, 2021

Bitter Apple


The apple doesn’t fall far from the teeth

or sweeten the mirror when the tongue

draws blood. 

©Susie Clevenger 2021

The Sunday Muse #142

Saturday, December 19, 2020

Smoke Ring on the Wind


I’m no hand me down Eve,

dressing my tongue in submission.


I can’t be me in another woman’s misery,

but I can sing harmony when another devil haunts my ribs.


If there’s a different drum, I’ve already played it,

a different shoe, I’ve already worn it.


Time is a smoke ring riding wind

until the clock chimes midnight.


I’m made of bone, grit, and song,

an open-eyed poem swimming every river.


©Susie Clevenger 2020

The Sunday Muse #139

Sometimes only poetry can say it. I think there's just this deeper language, and away of putting your world back together again and breaking through barriers.  ~  Laura Nyro

When I write my music I see all the rivers flowing... sensual, spiritual, religious, animal, intellectual. ~ Laura Nyro

Friday, November 27, 2020

Twisted Orange of Numbers Don't Count


There’s bats in the belfry and whiskers on the moon

in the imbalance balanced way out fourth year.


Ruby throated hoarse sings the same tune –

facts don’t matter if what is said is not what you hear.


March in streets, protest the stench of gas fumes -  

today’s the tomorrow yesterday warned we should fear.


©Susie Clevenger 2020

Flash Friday 55 ~ Thanksgiving Edition 2020

Saturday, October 31, 2020

The We of Ink and Tablet


Blood of poet, vein of dread,

night grows darker with whispers fed

lie of tongues - the muse is dead.


Night grows bolder with wine of ink

that pricks the mind with a sorcerer’s wink

to expand the spirit so thoughts don’t shrink.


One word grows three,

a root a tree,

Calliope’s tablet answer’s plea.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2020

Painting by Charles Meynier 

Calliope: Greek Goddess - Muse of eloquence and  epic poetry.
My poem isn't eloquent or epic, but I am grateful Calliope showed up
so I could find 55 words and wrote in rhyme. (Something I am not good at)

Flash Friday 55 - Halloween Edition 2020

Saturday, October 17, 2020

Broken Down Ride of the One Horse Emporium


Every giggle and scream 
was catalogued on stirrups
by tiny feet once racing 
a circle of dreams.

The brand new under
the nothing new sun
claimed its glory until time
pulled the plug and progress
built a bypass.

Those brave enough
to explore shredded whimsy
be wary nostalgia is 
a bitter herb when 
mixed with regret. 

©️Susie Clevenger 2020

Word Crafters Prompt








Thursday, October 8, 2020

The Scent of Unseen


Her perfume announces

her passage where eyes

don’t trust visions, and fear

twists imagination into a demon’s blink.


She was dance, April’s first bloom,

youth’s passion for invincible.


October came with skeletons,

and she carried their bones

until the beast’s breastbone

became the final cut.


She is now a ballet of narrow dreams,

the last chance haunting those

stuck in wandering spaces where timid

prefers the vinegar of same to wine

bubbling with temptation to change.


©Susie Clevenger 2020


Sunday, September 27, 2020



The buttercream sunset

spills across the horizon

camouflaging footprints

of wild sapphire shapeshifters.


Across the field bovine dreamers

lie dreaming of green grass,

and sunny days without slaughter.


In my human form I wait and watch,

an angel of sorts who counts the sacred breath

of life a gift no horror should trespass.


Alone in the valley of bones I am cradled

in the arms of stars candling courage from

their DNA pulsing through my veins.


The weight of hours builds its wall, and I pray

my charges and I will not suffer the knife’s wrath

or carry another scar when the Aubade sings us into morning.

©Susie Clevenger 2020

Aubade: a poem or piece of music appropriate to the dawn or early morning

The Sunday Muse #127

Poets and Storytellers United ~ Writer's Pantry #39