Friday, October 27, 2017


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

Tuesday, October 24, 2017

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

Friday, October 20, 2017

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

Tuesday, October 17, 2017

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

Friday, October 13, 2017

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

Sunday, October 8, 2017

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

Friday, October 6, 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

Thursday, October 5, 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

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