Sunday, August 18, 2019

Sin Washing

Water can be ugly when you sorrow.
Water can be cruel when you lie.
Water can save you, if you’re
honest with your cry.

Confessed my guilt to the river,
poured tears in muddy waves.

Mixed heartbreak with the flood,
begged mercy for bringing blood.
Sullen river took me under
only to pull me back up.

Water sat on my tongue…Water pooled in my eyes.
Water went deep in my spirit to tell me
it was my time to thrive.

I didn’t need a Bible…I didn’t need a priest.
Took my sins to the river and muddy water brought release.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

Friday, August 16, 2019

American Predators

Time Lapse Photography of Road

The dark half of the narrows,
the space where fair game
is the sick definition of
the secrets men keep,
predators play dead.

In a black wind strike the brethren
of skin trade resurrect from shadows
to chain innocence to horror.

Along the edge of America true evil
shape-shifts through penthouse to city street
growing wealth from a graveyard of fallen angels.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

These are the book titles I chose from Margaret's list to create my poem:

True Evil 
The Dark Half
Fair Game
Play Dead
Skin Trade
The Secrets Men Keep
Black Wind
The Narrows
Fallen Angels
Along the Edge of America

Monday, August 12, 2019

Straddling the Divide

I sit astride
an emotional fence
trying to stay me
in a war of words
no one can win.

In red white and blue America
bruising is the new normal.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

Real Toads ~ Just One Word: Halved

Wednesday, July 17, 2019

The Storm in My Muse ~ Four American Sentences

Thunder vibrates my window, I sort through poetry books
to respond.

The gravel in my throat tastes like fear regurgitated from the moon.

It’s hard to write about rainbows when all your ink is black fading to gray.

Hail stones harass oak leaves until they surrender to the stone toss.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

Wednesday Muse: American Sentence

Sunday, July 14, 2019

The Incarceration of Glitter

Photographer: Cole Keister

He likes her wrapped
around his arm…
a glitter trinket to insure
he’s got the flash  to attract
a murder of paparazzi.

She smiles through
the snap storm praying
someone will hear the
scream in her eyes.

A cage is a cage...
Whether gold or steel,
it jails broken wings.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2019

Saturday, July 6, 2019

Born From Feathers

Chernobog and Belobog
Used With Permission

There was nothing before wings
but empty sky and solemn earth.

Unity grew from light and dark
until life feathered its way into being.

All was well until humans sprang
from dust to claim color.

In the senseless swagger tongue
of dominion the gift of Gods
became the battlefield of religions.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

The art is the work of Russian artist, Anarh1a. You can explore more of her art work on Instagram: @anarh1a

Monday, June 24, 2019

Sass Comes in Waves

Photo Artistry by Erik Johansson Master Photo-manipulation Artist

I’ll carry my bucket of tears
to the beach so I can bury his name
in the hottest part of August.

There’s always a blues song
splashing against the sky
where water dances in sighs.

Not everything’s ugly in the moan,
sass comes in waves to drop
a little hell in the spray so
the dead of night won’t be lonely.

Misery loves harmony, but
she won't like it when
I won’t let her sing the chorus.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

Thursday, June 13, 2019

Now Is Not the Time for Silence

I will not be a pawn
in a parade of penis’s,
or submit because
a book of men
arrowed me to an apple.

How bitter must a woman’s
heart become that she would
wound her gender to please
the dark eye of patriarchy?

I am a woman, mother of life,
and daughter of Mother Earth.
The man who walks with me
does not brag of ribs or dominance.
He values my strength and compassion,
and sits with me at the table of wisdom
so we may support one another
in love, life, and accord.

Now is not the time for silence.
If we don’t speak for ourselves,
who do you think will?
Women and men who love us
and support our equality know
when oppression is given free reign
it won’t stop at gender.

If freedom is given only to a few,
it isn’t freedom. Tomorrow
depends on today. May we rise
to build a world where our children
won’t suffer from our failure.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

Saturday, June 8, 2019

When the Ladder Has No Rungs

The water is muddy
and prayers make no sound.
Dying feels easy when
the world is saying drown.

Oh, where is mercy?
Where are dreams
when blaming owns tongues?
Too little is too late
when the ladder has no rungs.

It’s hard treading muddy water
with a sin tag on your shoulder.
Dying feels easy when
the world is saying drown.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

Today I had a conversation with a young woman on a Facebook comment. I didn't know her, but she responded to my comment about being a recovering Southern Baptist. Her words broke my heart. 

These are her words:  "I was on the wrong side of being Southern Baptist. They don't take too kindly to us gays, lol. But for real, growing up gay in a Southern Baptist church was traumatic.
I STILL consider suicide because I'm gay thanks to the shit my family says to me. Thanks to the shit "Christians" say to me. I LEGIT want to die because I'm gay. It's super lonely when you love people and a God that DON'T love you back." 

I told her I cared, because I do. You would have to be heartless to not feel the pain in her words. She will always have a place in my heart.

Sunday, June 2, 2019

Mud and Blood

The calendar announced spring,
but the sky didn’t bring a bounty of green.

The heartland is mud and blood
loss and flood … amber waves unseeded.

In the valley of misery politics budgets war,
gives dimes to poor, and high fives the religion of division.

Even when the sky turns blue few notice the hue,
because they’re sorting through calamity fearing the next tragedy.

©Susie Clevenger 2019


Sunday, May 19, 2019

Denial Legislates

“A few of us are going out after work to pretend it’s not the end of the world,
if you want to join us.” Quote from New Yorker cartoon

There's a river in my kitchen,
swamp at my back door
(denial legislates - earth revolts).
If I can get government out of my uterus,
we can go out for a drink and ignore
our ice is straight outta Flint.

©Susie Clevenger 2019
For those who don't know, Flint, Michigan's water is dangerously polluted.

Real Toads ~ Poetic Irony

Sunday, May 5, 2019

Scarlet Gaslight

The Dystopian Tarot, The Lovers
Kerry O'Connor

Go ahead, tempt me.
I like to cross the scarlet line
apple stained with reasons
I shouldn’t dance with the devil.

Really? He was the snake
 who told me a tree was a gaslight
to fool me a book of ribs
wasn't already being planned
to write me into submission.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2019

Here is the link to Kerry O'Conner's Beautiful Art

Monday, April 29, 2019

Because You Scriptured Me

"I had a one-way ticket to a place where all the demons go
Where the wind don't change
And nothing in the ground can ever grow
No hope, just lies
And you're taught to cry into your pillow
But I survived"  Alive ~ Sia

When did the joy
of my heart become
your right to legislate?

I am counted among
those you’ve assigned
damnation because
a book of men scriptured
me vile.

Does ink and interpretation
mean more than life?

Does an attempt to break me
into your identity elevate
you in the eyes of God
or is it the throne of men
you cherish?

Will you deny mine
so your pulpit can
espouse yours?

©Susie Clevenger 2019


This poem is my response to Texas Senate Bill 17 recently approved by the Texas senate. This is personal for me. It effects family and friends. I understand if you have a different opinion, but I will not debate it. 

Saturday, April 27, 2019

Devil's Comedy

The forest floor sprouts angel wings:
the devil's attempt at comedy.

©Susie Clevenger 2019


Supposedly edible/recent years deadly

Friday, April 26, 2019

When Text Meets Metal

My left leg looks
like bloated carrion,
a buzzard’s feast.

Healing from
another’s inattention
takes all my attention.

This morning begins
with standing on agony
and sweet talking my groans
into believing today
will turn a corner to less pain.

Twice my leg has escaped
the knife, limped away
from sever to hold me
upright in my screams.

How far is a shoe?
How impossible is
a shoe lace?

Today my cane and I
have one goal…to reach
my front door.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

It is written in present tense, but it comes from my experience of rehabilitating from a car accident in 2006.

Tuesday, April 23, 2019

A Headline East of Denver

We were a headline
east of Denver when
April joined us at the hip.

She was selling rain
by the bucket, and
bragging May
wouldn’t bloom
without her.

Two briefcases
closer to embracing
random we took
April’s hint and
curled into the
want ads to see
if Cupid had a condo
available next month.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

Friday, April 19, 2019

Maybe a Poet ~ More Likely Insane

I am a stargazer,
dreamer, word gatherer
who lives in ink and
the rustle of paper.

Pictures speak, grass sings,
and I feel the color blue
in a hand full of sky.

I spend hours on nothing
and minutes on everything.

You never know where I am
when I’m sitting next to you.
I could be in a chair or walking
on the moon.

©Susie Clevenger 2019


Tuesday, April 16, 2019

Flesh and Mind

She’s heavy breasted,
brash suggestion,
a silk war with his flesh...
a liar’s tongue preaching
salvation is sin.

Poems shape shift on her lips,
erotic stanzas burning resist
from roped muscles on his thighs.

There’s no escape in the blind
mirror of closed eyes…Her fingertips
paint tremors that erase every
image his mind holds that’s not her.

She’s ice skating him through hell
to see how long it will take
for his conscience to melt.

©Susie Clevenger 2019


Monday, April 15, 2019

Poetry As a Reality Check

(Not every April poem rains petals.)

Copy and paste,
share and not care,
spin a lie because
you choose to believe it.
Truth isn’t even on life support.

It doesn’t matter until you’re not free.
Twitter can’t save you when
your stomach’s empty, when
your child’s tummy swells
while limbs shrink.

Bitter widens the divide,
fingers point, tongues bait.
Anger’s the new religion,
humane’s no longer a word.

Wake up or die sleeping.
Kindness is shrinking
while rancor loosens its belt.

©Susie Clevenger 2019


Sunday, April 14, 2019

Any Weekend I Could Escape Gravel

Image result for cowtown ballroom kansas city mo

Joint high and music driven
Kansas City lights guided me
to the rock vibrations
of Cowtown Palace.

Thirty first and Gillham
was the hum lane of engines
seeking the golden calf
of guitar jubilation.

Wood and concrete supported
hip to hip drug angels absorbing
tunes through every pore of flesh
and brain wave that worshiped rhythm.

Any weekend I could escape gravel
I traveled asphalt to a Kansas City Ballroom
where in the crush of dancing bodies
I felt forever twenty-one.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2019


Tuesday, April 9, 2019

The Brave Side of The Pillow

The black heart of secrets
pressed into my young chest
and even a single breath of trust
had to travel miles of agony
to reach enough light to thrive.

When light left my windowsill
nightmares argued at the end
of my bed about which terror
would walk across my dreams.

I remember when the night voices
came to the brave side of my pillow,
and led me where shadows
had pretty colors and kind words.

Imagination tended my wounds
until it grew a name on my tongue
to address the tiny saviors who
lived in the valley of invisible.

Pillowkins, I called them Pillowkins,
dream warriors who giggled me
out of the jaws of a demon.

When nightmares clawed
my eyes into hollow,
my tiny army would
lead me to a place of peace
where the moon didn’t bleed
nor the fox stalk my throat
to see if truth was growing
strong enough to expose lies.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2019


Monday, April 8, 2019

Not the Same Playground

I was the fat girl,
you know the one
with the ruddy cheeks,
crooked teeth, and
thighs in constant chafe.

Bullies, yes, there were bullies.
They brought names, stones,
and an entourage of gigglers
giddy they weren’t the target.

Oh, but I’m no longer ten,
I’ve sharpened my tongue,
and dark gleamed my eyes.

If they want to reminisce
about how the chubby girl cried,
karma may write a new story.


Real Toads ~ Poems in April ! Riddikulus!

Thursday, March 28, 2019

Thin Hope of Resurrection

Truth moans in the butterfly spine
pressed against my lips…
Chained to the thin hope of resurrection
my eyes walk gray smudged clouds
praying the sky doesn’t suffer
 a drought of wings.

While crows watch I dust shadows
for fingerprints of misery to collect
evidence roots are forced to grow
green with death so dinner plates
look pretty before obituaries.

Souls line plastic bowls mined with fork and spoon
so the wealthy can grow Eden in glass bubbles and
trust Flint’s river of Oz will never reach their faucets.

Little is done when no one leads.
I am one but louder when others join the chorus.

Insurrection stores matches in hollow eyes
until Karma signals results have almost
traveled full circle to reasons.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2019

Notes: I have watched my oldest daughter suffer health issues which I believe have roots in chemical exposure in the city where she lived and the chemical lab where she worked. The Flint reference and the Roundup reference are well known here in the United States as I imagine they are in other parts of the world. When my mind went to Oz, I decided to do a little research. I found a political interpretation of the book to be quite interesting.

Wednesday, March 27, 2019

gogyoshi ~ Mother Earth

Mother Earth doesn’t dream
of borders or bullets
to guard invisible.
She spends her hours of insomnia
searching for a god humans haven’t corrupted.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

Thursday, March 21, 2019

Ritual of Irony

She talks to the peonies
knowing they can’t respond.
Her red painted lips whisper
secrets into the petals
 and watches every blush
 as she tucks them
 into bouquets.
It is her
to her
 rooms to admire
the  beauty of blossoms
honeycombed with  her confessions.

Saturday, March 16, 2019

Ink View

The verses at first read appear
to be an innocuous attempt
to bridge the social-political divide
of us verses them.

Satire can be a twisted clown,
when it’s read as intended…with humor
or within easy reach of a definition.

Verses read or verses read…
It depends on your view of the ink.

  ©Susie Clevenger 2019

Saturday, March 2, 2019

Built on Nothing

The Temple by Tomasz Zaczeniuk
Used with permission @fotowizjer

The priest of self
gathered every
green and wild thing
to his ego and drank
their blood from
the golden cup of avarice.

Built on nothing the
Temple Shrine of Glass Eyes
crumbled into the heartless rape
of Mother Earth’s soul.

A lone seeker searches for light
and begs the sky to grant him mercy.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

Sunday, February 17, 2019

Once There Was a Moon

If I speak in the language of poets and dreamers, 
but profit from the moon, I am only empty words or a devilish liar.

Midnight crawls across the stars
hungry for the moon, but can’t
find Luna’s scent.

Clock hands claw the wailing trees
handcuffed to blind night
trying to free the last dream.

The walking dead build another mansion
with profits earned from mining reflection.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

Real Toads Weekend Mini Challenge

Tuesday, February 12, 2019

If Words Were Real Estate

Speak synergy to me
Words that bow tie me
to sunshine and don’t put
midnight on my tongue.

Knock judgment down
to a paint color other than bleak.

Spare me the claw…I’ll resist the thorn.
It takes one to change the conversation,
two to agree.

Tit for tat we’re better than that.

If words were real estate, how much would
you pay for a house full of windows
where bricks blocked every view?

 ©Susie Clevenger 2019

Sunday, February 10, 2019


I searched your hollow eyes
for my face, elbowed my way
through memories to see
if even a sliver of mirror
held my reflection.

All I found were wisps of blond hair
and a little girl clinging to the edge
of the drowning pool crying
she’d never learned to swim.

Gone, pulled under by the rapids
of erasing I watched myself disappear.

Mama blinked and spoke, “I can’t find my baby.”

©Susie Clevenger 2019

Alzheimer's Foundation of America

Real Toads ~ Just One Word ~ Sensation

Sunday, February 3, 2019

Carrion of Dead Poets

The Turning Point
Used with Permission

Pens litter the floor like carrion of dead poets
who still feed passion to hungry minds.

I wasted ink trying to build a fire.

Words teased with sparks, but they cooled into
drinking sarcasm with Bukowski’s ghost
and making paper planes out of crumpled words
I mined from a thesaurus.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

To see more of David Bulow's work visit @bulow_ink on Instagram or view more art from this talented artist on his website Bulow Ink.

Thursday, January 31, 2019

Sneaky Bitch

"But I am at the desk upstairs, writing.
And the garden is here outside my window,
filled with fellow citizens sipping lattes
and driving Toyotas.
and I am trying
to become dangerous."

I face a wall trying
to pluck words
from my head
to feather a poem.

 No, it’s not a metaphor,
 or grand drama of a poet.

The only place a desk
will fit in my bedroom
is a claustrophobic corner
of green walls.

Frustration is a sneaky bitch.
She directs me to a book
written by a favorite poet,
and reminds me I’m surrounded
by the color of envy.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

Real Toads ~ Instructions For Living a Life

Thursday, January 24, 2019

Offer Me Bread and I'll Choose a Pen

There are ghosts in my brain
chasing thoughts from dark places,
plucking dandelion seeds
to harvest words from wild weed.

Devil’s in the ink…
God’s in the paper…

My poem-father is Poe,
my god-muse a raven.

Offer me bread and I’ll choose a pen.
Crumbs of wheat can’t take me
where black ink puddles lead.

©Susie Clevenger

Real Toads ~ Bits of Inspiration ~ Poet Discovery

Saturday, January 5, 2019

Moon Hours

Night winged and star eyed
I fly the wild hum of moon hours
where words breed on my skin
until their velvet finds a muse
bold enough to bear their ink.

I am the mystery you can’t solve,
the heat you crave, the phantom
dancing in the corner of your eye…
your chain and freedom.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

Thursday, January 3, 2019

January ...List if You Must

Winter poems attempt to sweater my tongue
with fire, and candles, but my fingers
are too cold to pencil translations.

January loves resolutions that morning
the eye with snow white lists, brags
she’s the alpha tigress of new beginnings.

Oh first month you are like morning to me.
I rarely rise and shine…I am sister to the moon.
I’ve spent night hours dancing through secrets.

I rise more like a raven who is leery of sparkle
until I’ve filtered it through the right amount of coffee.
The year will fly so it is I who must test the wind for direction.

Yes, I could write an outline, but life and spirit will live the story.
So January list if you must…I will dream and be prepared to change
direction if one of the other eleven months chooses to build walls.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

I used four words from the list...January, Wind, Poems, Morning