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


  1. Oh this is it, exactly, Susie....the walking dead build another mansion, and all that is beautiful slowly is gobbled up and laid waste.

  2. The imagery in this made me shudder... I can feel a menacing power of profit eating at the moon

  3. Powerful images and I esp. love your first verse, so reminiscent of the Bible verse.

  4. Poor midnight, no moon for her. I hope she doesn't get lost in the dark. The "walking dead" getting richer off it all doesn't say much for them. May they too get lost in the dark, trapped in those mansions.
    GO ASTROS!!! :-)

  5. The opening stanza is truth smacking the face. The speaking in right on point, as clear as the descriptions, and deep as the eeriness that oozes out of the whole poem.

  6. This is absolutely stunning in its word choice and imagery, Susie!❤️ I agree with Magaly the opening stanza is gripping and gut wrenching.

  7. Ah, I love your metaphors and images so much. This scene is breathtaking: "Clock hands claw the wailing trees
    handcuffed to blind night
    trying to free the last dream."