Black Ink Howl: July 2019

Wednesday, July 17, 2019

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.

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

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.

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