The apple doesn’t fall far from the teeth
or sweeten the mirror when the tongue
draws blood.
©Susie Clevenger 2021
Sunday, January 10, 2021
Bitter Apple
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.
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.
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.
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)
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.
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
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