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

Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform

Gone

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

Carrion of Dead Poets

The Turning Point

David Bülow

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.

Real Toads ~ Art Flash!/55

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."

Neruda's Garden by Nathan Brown

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

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

Moon Hours

Moth-Woman ~ Luke Eidenschink

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

Real Toads ~ Art Flash/55

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

Real Toads ~ Get Listed ~ January Edition