Monday, December 3, 2018

Nothing Better Than a Woman's Eye

America's first female photojournalist
c. 1904

There’s nothing better
than a woman’s eye.
She’s been looking through
barriers since Eden’s apple
produced its first snake oil.

Every drop
of submission
placed in her ear
brings a little more
light to her vision.

There’s nothing better
than a woman’s eye
to see what will be
through the repressive
words of you can’t.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Friday, November 9, 2018

Hell in My Sweet Tea

I’ve put another flower on my handbasket
and another no in where... If love brought
you to my door, why pamphlet me with judgement?

Mix a little hell in my sweet tea.
The Bible belt likes sin cinched tight
across the ribs so misery words
are easier to spill, but I prefer a little
sugar coat on venom before I strike.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Friday, October 5, 2018

Match to Water

I hear the water cry,
“I am your safety”,
but drowning sings
its dirge across my chest.

Hope urges faith
can walk across the sea…
My wounds burn in brine’s no
as I bleed another tear into the tempest.

Memory’s mutiny has unleashed suppressed,
and I feel the anchor of ghosts freed
from Davy Jones’ locker.

I am a fish forced to once again
swim a dead sea I thought I’d conquered.
I pray the demon’s spear will pierce the last revelation
so I will no longer fear a shadow will come to snuff my candle.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2018

Saturday, September 8, 2018

Agony of the Moon

Howling moonlight walks the horizon
searching for souls of brave poets
to feed the monochrome night
love is both torture and
ecstatic freedom,
a heart walk through
the how and
why of

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Thursday, August 23, 2018


rain threatens the sky
and i wonder how
long the moon can swim
before it drowns in the
love sonnets pooling
on my lips

alone sits on a windowsill
begging a warm hand
to break the chill…
i fold a verse conjured
from dead poets into
his palm and whisper,
“love stays when you
give it away”

i melt into the shadow of echoes…
there’s no rest in a city of open wounds

©susie clevenger

Friday, August 17, 2018

August Requiem

Outside my window
the sun boils summer
into rotted tea.

I ice cube a prayer
across my brow and
wonder how many
pretty words will survive
the sorrow of dying petals.

Autumn will be a bitter queen
when she learns there are
no brilliant colors to weave into
her crown.
©Susie Clevenger 2018