Sunday, February 25, 2018

A Beggar's Glimpse

I look through flashes
dreaming of vision in the
time walk of blindness.

Losing the glory of lilacs
to a pinhole, I pluck color
from images to paste
in my memory.

A beggar’s glimpse of moonlight
is the prayer I speak to stay
midnight’s encroachment…

A faint light pirouettes across
the milky pond of my iris.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

I had an eye scare this week. All is well, but I must say it was a bit traumatic. I wrote this from my perspective of anxiousness and watching a family member’s struggle with blindness.

Sunday, February 11, 2018

Sleepless In America

The moon stares at me through my window
in blinks of wind branch and silhouetted leaves.
Sleep hides beneath the covers and far from my pillow.

Why do questions stalk peace as thieves
well trained to invade as soon as my head
screams for the mind numb only slumber relieves?

I walk the hours of sun fighting off the dread
of a world drunk on building tribes to squander freedom
on divisive rants of rewind, repeat, the lies must be fed.

In the wrinkling of my nest I curse an apple eaten,
Genesis ink knowledge is evil, inquiry needs suppression.
Morning sings rebellion, but night moans beaten.

Mother Moon, please speak, give me direction
on how I can sleep when compassion is pilloried on tongues of aggression.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2018

Friday, February 9, 2018

Through My Claws

silk widescreen wallpaper 53923

I silk wrapped my curves
to lure you closer to the burn,
remorse only wept when
the scars didn’t bleed.

Star tattooed night was the heaven
where hell sipped champagne
from the hole in your dreams.

I sang through my claws,
but you didn’t learn the words.
“Too late” whimpers the fool.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Friday 55

Thursday, February 8, 2018

Gather Silent Hands

Gather those who do not clap,
I’ve touted my worth in sacred words
of ego sing, and stars and stripes.

Traitors sit with hands in laps.
They are enemies who won’t agree
nothing is or can be better than me.

Every knee shall bow, every tongue,
oh wait, I hear devils speak of Watergate,
but story be, the gaslight’s still lit.

Damn those bended knees that
weren’t sanctioned by me…
It doesn’t matter why, just apple pie toward offend.

I’ll side step, give a wink to the bear,
blame those whose hands don’t meet with a shout,
and reduce democracy to the swill of divide.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Friday, February 2, 2018


Descanso do modelo
The Model at Rest ~ José Ferraz de Almeida Júnior 

Ivory is a prop for hands
posed to speak where music lounges.
He tobacco puffs a few paint strokes
across the canvas bragging about art
and the value of a signature.

She’d lived enough delusion to know if dreams
smell of cheap cologne, you take the dollar
and smile while he jaw spends his dime.

©Susie Clevenger 2018