Roots

They chopped down a forest

to burn me from their throats,

but innocence argues escape.

Double trouble your world’s in rubble.

I only hid behind your teeth until

the flame spoke my name.

Today’s a dagger…Tomorrow a lock.

You drank white robed from a bigot’s cup

forgetting poison carries the stench of its roots.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Friday 55 Halloween Edition

Tomorrow Is Not Promised a Wick

I bloomed on the edge of the swamp,

a blossom swimming in spells and secrets.

Every petal fought for the sun, but daylight

didn’t like to pay the witch for real-estate.

Mystra dripped night into my palms

until I grew dark enough to haunt

light seekers who thought a cross

had paid for all their sorrows.

What’s planted in darkness

will grind the tongue into fear.

Beware of shadows rooted in screams.

Tomorrow is not promised a wick.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Mystra is known as the goddess of midnight

Real Toads ~ The Tuesday Platform

Sharp Enough to Bleed

Eris drips discord

into open throats

until words are

sharp enough to bleed.

A suggestion here, outrage there,

is more than enough to salt an open wound.

When bark turns to bite

she releases howls

to infect accord

with rabid tongues.

A penny for your thoughts

a million for a senator.

Freedom's just another word.

©Susie Clevenger 2015

Eris is the Greek goddess of strife and discord.

Friday 55

The Tongue of the Spin

They don’t like to kiss and tell.

Once private finds its way

to the birdcage it revolves

on the tongue of the spin.

Gossip likes to twist

what is into what isn't.

It slanders in hashtags,

jollies with trending,

supports the scrape

in the bottom of the barrel.

It isn’t about hiding.

It isn’t about dividing.

Love is love …

They don’t need to debate,

attach labels, dance beneath rainbows,

closet to soothe the unforgiving.

They don’t like to kiss and tell.

Private isn’t shame … It’s refusing

to tarnish bliss by placing it

among dirty laundry.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Real Toads ~ The Tuesday Platform

Refusing Cinnamon

She was a southern diamond

polished with hairspray

and expectations.

“Girl, stand tall when looking down.

You come from generations

of carrying vinegar on sugar tongues.

Sell them what they think they want

and steal what they need.

It’s only apple pie politics.”

Daddy cut her from the will

because she wouldn’t live the recipe.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Friday the 13th 55

Mason Jar Tongue

Everyday there is money

dropped in the swear jar.

I don’t know how much

strength there is in a dirty mouth,

but I’m not going to let bile

dine on my gut because

I had to swallow their words.

Every time there’s a quarter clink

in that clear jar I feel a bit of redemption.

It is visual proof I still have

a lot of fucks to give about life,

and this mason jar confession

is earmarked “charity.”

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Swamp Tears

Swamp tears inch down my cheeks

in a black stream of spoiled moonlight

searching for the hallelujah scream.

Oh, there’s dancing to do, but it takes

time to drown dove cries in freedom.

Ten years of walking whispers needs

to hold a wake for leaving so no soul raker

 can resurrect timid from the grave.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Friday 55 ~ October 6, 2017

Plucked To Dry Moans

I gathered my damndelions,

plucked them to dry moans,

and planted their howls in your pillow.

Crystal and gin, never and again,

a liar is never sorry until caught.

Yesterday’s a corpse.

Tomorrow’s hollow eyed.

The knife harvests drops of blood.

She wasn’t me…I wasn’t her,

but you were always you.

Ashy prayer braids us as one.

The grass never stays green

when lust prowls scarlet light.

Two women purr louder than one.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Real Toads ~ Fireblossom Friday

Note: Yes, I wrote damndelions.... my made up word. :)