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

Protectrix

 

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

Saturday, September 12, 2020

Tongue and Feather

 

Raised in feather and wild

I travel moon shadows, and inky stars.

 

With feet pressed into the ancient loam

of Mother Nature’s cheek I feel the path of vixens

vibrate directions into my legs to guide me

through fool’s gravel that bruises but never leads.

 

A phantom of instinct, sister of the hunt,

I can hear the devil’s lie before it slither’s

across his lips.


©Susie Clevenger 2020

Sunday, August 9, 2020

Like Prince Charming

 

He hunts innocence,

stalks moonlight

searching for lips

speaking the language

of Neruda stars.

 

What he doesn’t know

is Luna’s sisters have gone

before him to warn dreamers

to be cautious of charmers

who cloak darkness in the

simile of a wish.


 ©Susie Clevenger 2020

 

The Sunday Muse #120

 Poets and Storytellers United ~ Writer's Pantry #32

 

 

 


Thursday, July 30, 2020

Lessons from a Mockingbird



“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.” To Kill a Mockingbird ~ Harper Lee

 

I’ve stripped to my bones

to try and feel the weight

of another’s skin, crawled

out of my own thinking

to explore foreign thoughts

alien to the landscape I’ve

made my home.

 

In the brine of history

my spirit burns with the scars

of those shackled to prejudice.

The walk of chains allows only

as much freedom as the length

inhuman allows it to roam.

 

In the everything repeated nothing learned

anger blooms from the same well-tended root

of hate’s tree never pruned.

 

I walk the cliff edge of hymns where

the slave song is now a chant,

“No Justice No peace.”

 

In a savage shaking I awaken in my privilege,

look down at my skin, and know nothing

will change if I remain content to live

in my city of silence.

 

©Susie Clevenger 2020

The Wednesday Prompt ~ Word Crafters

Saturday, July 18, 2020

From the Eye of the Moon




We thought we could own moonlight, 

steal stars from Asteria’s palm, and brag 

conqueror in bloated chest bumps of human privilege. 



In our tunnel vision we couldn’t see 

the cat’s eye moon stalk us with 

bared claws reaching for the very breath 

we had bottled in our lungs. 



There is no fool like the one who owns stock in oblivion, 

an empty nirvana where men play gods and trust 

their footprints will lead to dominion. 



A mere toy in our sky litter the feline 

sniffs our defeat in the tomorrow 

we are so careless to trust we will quell.


©Susie Clevenger 2020