Saturday, April 4, 2020

Something's in the Air

He likes his wild tamed
with fist and tongue
broken bone and hope unstrung.

But when vixens smell
fear in the air, they hunt
the beast who rules the lair.

The wicked of whim
will meet his end
when foxes strike
to free the hen.

©Susie Clevenger 2020

Thursday, April 2, 2020

Shards and Threads

“I do not know myself sometimes, or how to measure and name and count out the grains that make me what I am.” ― Virginia Woolf, The Waves

I am my unknown,
an hour vacillating
between memories
and chasing minutes.

When I think I have
the mountaintop in sight,
I blink to find myself
roaming a cactus valley.

Are scars lessons learned
or the armor of survival?
Shards and threads are mute,
but I press them for answers.

Where are you in the empty streets?
I’m a thousand impulses
searching for direction.
I can’t decide if I’m lost or unfamiliar with freedom.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2020


Saturday, March 28, 2020

Already Lived Through a Prophecy

You have to walk
before you can climb.

I’m eighty years ahead
of the times.
I know how to make more
out of less, turn blue into yellow
when the sun is boiled gray.  

Money men have been painting
their businesses fresh faced
while pushing wrinkles out the door.

Now, with hell on their heels,
and a drain on their dimes
they want to sacrifice elders
so capitalism won’t die.

I’ve been to the edge, got caught in the fall,
learned how to lead when dust fought with wind.

If you want my help, sit down and listen.
Wash and repeat won’t get you any further than you are.

©Susie Clevenger 2020

Wednesday, March 25, 2020

The Hormonal Political

She balked at mansplain.
spoke out against testosterone
interruptions to demean,
to flex superiority, to use
Eden rhetoric to shame
into silence.

She was warned to not
attempt to step out of her place.

We men have the numbers,
the power, the knowledge,
to lead without hysterics,
make decisions without emotions
clouding the black and white.

She was given an explanation,
the same explanation, tired explanation
of kitchen and follow, apron string politics.

Nevertheless she persisted

Gentlemen, (ironic) Do histories,
centuries of war prove
death is the way to the top?
I come to the desk having researched,
questioned, walked the sidewalk for answers,
sat with agree and disagree to find resolutions
while you have huddled in your nest
of must have your way to birth repetition.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2020

Saturday, March 21, 2020

The Welcome Mat Lays Muted

“Yesterday love was such an easy game to play.
Now I need a place to hide away.
Oh, I believe in yesterday.”

My picture-perfect door doesn’t welcome.
The wizard’s gone vile and wicked enlists
the breath of my neighbors for war
without their consent.

We are an oddity of enemies
who want to touch, but are
divided by glass so we can’t reach.

From my zoo cage of pictured walls
 holding close to what I need to let go,
I watch birds sitting on my fence chirping,
“Now humans know how it feels to lose their wings.”

©Susie Clevenger 2020

Poetry is my journal. Welcome to my roller coaster. 

Saturday, March 14, 2020

Slices of Rot

Licorice skin apples
hang from the tongue
waiting for gossip
to take its first bite.

Sisters of acid and brothers of blight
troll lips to see which are the most
susceptible to twist what is into what is not.

Night has its purpose…Light has its sin.
Truth has no rescue where lies learn to swim.

©Susie Clevenger 2020

Friday, February 28, 2020

Depends On Who Wears the Zipper

Searchin’ for a pill,
dyin’ from a bottle,
things are lookin’ up
cause a clown’s
servin’ Kool aid.

Cat wants my tongue,
lies want my allegiance,
slippin’ through curves
cause men don’t
like my pretty.

When push comes to shove,
I won’t follow… If I was a man,
I would be less of a bitch. 

©Susie Clevenger 2020

Tuesday, February 4, 2020

Baiting Moonlight

Image result for art nouveau moon"

There’s more devil in a brooding silver crescent moon
than an unseen underworld that plays its demon drum
to panic my insomnia.

Moonlight writes its play in shadows and I chase whispers
hoping it is a lover’s spell breaking the lock of my melancholy.  

Not every soul can feel poetry nor lips speak its language,
yet I bait night with verses trying to fill empty with words.

I am ink and a murder of crows trying to peck sunlight
into nightmares the moon walks across my eyelids.

Where is love, the heart shaped wishes planted in Luna’s wink?

Written from Skylover's word list:
underworld, colonnade, seethe, crescent, faint,
sunshine, east, brooding foolish, silver

Friday, January 31, 2020


The Harpy of the Moon
walks her curse into the sea
knowing death has no memories.

Jealous of lover’s cradled
in night’s palm, she hunts
the scented blush of ecstasy
for flames to drown in brine.

Wooed by the buoyancy
to rise and never fall
passion walks on water…
oblivious to the Harpy’s
malicious riptide.

©Susie Clevenger 2020

Wednesday, January 15, 2020

Izred's Necklace

Izred wears every prayer cremated in a liar’s lung around her neck in the stunning pretense gold can buy the ear of a goddess. A daughter born on the dark side of the moon, first born of the goddess Erebeth, she fed from the breast of shadows until she was old enough to eat the black tar of dying stars. Feral child of neglect she learned the value of hiding opinions behind teeth and eye until revelation held the fiercest sting.

Selfish weighs more
than coins hoarded
in a wallet.

Praying with an empty mind
won’t grow wisdom
in the heart of ego.

If you pay a goddess for attention,
her boredom may
establish your worth.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2019

Sunday, January 12, 2020


You stalk the wild in me,
hidden claws beneath my tongue
where words lie sharpened
to protect solitude when intrusive
camps at every door.

I catch glimpses of you in the mirror
when I search flaws to see which
brush can paint me out of questions.

Fire and moon
camp at the door of patience
waiting to see how many pins
my skin can hold
before I break.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2019

Saturday, January 4, 2020

Say It Again Without Meaning

In the moonless cage of gravity
the rusted wings of the canary
circle platitude’s corpse singing,
“Solitude doesn’t require a handmaid.”

Alone and lonely aren’t identical twins
nurtured at the breast of your perceptions.

Apparitions of every dishonest emotion
root on your tongue growing poison
from the rotted useless you feed them.

©Susie Clevenger 2020

Inspired by a Skylover wordlist