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.