Sunday, December 30, 2018

Broom Eyed Tin Angel

He smells like the rotted breath
from a dead lung and swaggers
as if he isn’t the last call at a dive bar.

My (no)soles heel the side walk
right past him loud enough to make
the dead dance, but wasted Romeo
is too beer eared to hear never.

He lunges…I sidestep…The ice house
choir dollars a bet on how long it will
take drunk lover to rise from his fall.

Some call me tin angel, others swamp call
me broom eyed…I don’t care if it’s wings
or cauldron…I’ll follow whatever anointing
it takes when a woman calls my number
and tells me, “I don’t feel safe in this place.”

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Sunday, December 23, 2018

Wolf Moon and Flesh

Before the wolf moon
can puncture the heart
of dreams I meditate in
its howl, lift a prayer
for every scar on its
journey to forgiven,
and light a candle to guide
spirits through the valley
of extinction.

Pulled through the eye of empathy
I feel the wolf lead me deeper
into black coffee night.

©Susie Clevenger 2018


In Shay's prompt she led us to  to a beautiful extinct creature the Thylacine, but as poetry does it lead me to lament the passing of such wonder through a wolf moon. 

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Friday, December 14, 2018

I Won't Choose Empty

I can’t swim in another’s baptism
or walk the path of a constrictive
definition of un(conditional) love.
Love can’t be commanded to leave,
or be erased when it consumes the soul.

...I won’t choose empty...

There is no light in a sacrifice that
denies the heart’s own revelation.
I no longer wish to live in a prison
built to keep me from my truth,
or whither to appease another’s blindness.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Real Toads ~ Revelation

Monday, December 3, 2018

Nothing Better Than a Woman's Eye

America's first female photojournalist
c. 1904

There’s nothing better
than a woman’s eye.
She’s been looking through
barriers since Eden’s apple
produced its first snake oil.

Every drop
of submission
placed in her ear
brings a little more
light to her vision.

There’s nothing better
than a woman’s eye
to see what will be
through the repressive
words of you can’t.

©Susie Clevenger 2018