First Knife Cut of Ritual

Memories sit at the head

of the table waiting for the

first knife cut to announce

the ritual has begun.

Never a family to worship fowl

they sacrifice appetite to traditional

and carve Thanksgiving into turkey leftovers.

Basted in what is expected they

mimic gratitude prayers, and internalize

their abhorrence of consuming

slivers of congealed cranberries.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Friday 55 ~ Thanksgiving Edition

Claws on the Lock

You’ve put your Adam lock

on every door.

Placed that sign

“Admission is by Submission”

right in the middle of the back

of the line.

There’s a whole lot of female

sitting on those clock hands

you keep trying to tie an apron on.

Moving backwards is not forward.

Staying the same won’t progress.

For every bolt you place on a door

there are claws ready to pick the lock.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

I am very blessed to have a husband who has treated my daughters and I with respect, encouraged us to dream and walk our own truths. I am also blessed to have incredible males in my life who support and work for equality in all aspects of life. Many women don't have that support. I fear where we are standing and where we our heading in the United States. Silence is not an option.

Real Toads Weekend Mini-Challenge ~ Doors

Among Visions

November skeletons itself

into the pumpkin remains

of ghost walkers, and raises

its bare limbs to summon

thanksgiving from its cave

in the apple pie crumble.

Pens, poets, and prophets

kneel among visions searching

for candles that still have enough wick

to support a match strike of wisdom.

Spirits of resurrection cackle beneath thin ice.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Friday 55 ~ November 17, 2017

Abusing

A drink won’t hurt

You might get a bit dizzy but

a drink won’t hurt.

Because you are such a bold flirt…..

I’ll pour enough to silence consent.

If tomorrow brings a lament,

a drink won’t hurt.

Abuse won’t end

until a woman wins freedom.

Abuse won’t end

because women have to defend

what they wear doesn’t equate whore.

With minds steeped in Jezebel lore

abuse won’t end.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Real Toads ~ Fussy Little Forms ~ Rondolet

BE

She tinkers with art,

turns wine into ink,

sings with a hoarse growl

louder than rejection.

Barefoot is her couture because

calloused soles carry more trust

than the pinched toe wobble walk

of heels chasing cliques.

Gossip and drab bore.

She’d rather BE herself than join the cloning.

Crazy keeps bullshit from her door.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Friday 55 ~ November 10,2017

Temple Moan

Shadow prayers steeple hands

into a temple moan of unknown tongues.

There’s no veil, no shaman, no holy path

through pen strangled words to light switch

the tunnel of unanswerable.

Alone in the heartbeat thump I become

one with freedom, move from the house

horror built into the ancient strength of woman.

Peace supplants war.

©Susie Clevenger 2017 

Friday 55 ~ November 3 2017

Feral Ink

She pealed the flesh

from her poems

until all that was left

was the sapphire night

of revelation.

The bones of her desires

burnt on tongues silly enough

to speak words pillaged

from every mistake

she claimed as freedom.

In her chorus of hims

she broke broad chests

into ribs too weak to carry

the boldness of a woman

who listed demands before

she melted into a fever.

Her poetry didn’t bleed submission

or spills sighs collected from inadequate.

It was raw claw marks through pink words

that looked pretty framed, but couldn’t

stand up to feral ink.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Word list I used:

desires

night

flesh

poems

Real Toads ~ Get Listed ~ November Edition