Saturday, November 25, 2017

First Knife Cut of Ritual

Related image

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

Sunday, November 19, 2017

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

Friday, November 17, 2017

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

Saturday, November 11, 2017


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

Friday, November 10, 2017


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

Friday, November 3, 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 

Thursday, November 2, 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: