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.

Friday 55

Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform

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

Real Toads ~ Fussy Little Forms ~ Terza Rima

Through My Claws

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

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

Aspect

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

Friday 55