Smoke Ring on the Wind

 

I’m no hand me down Eve,

dressing my tongue in submission.

 

I can’t be me in another woman’s misery,

but I can sing harmony when another devil haunts my ribs.

 

If there’s a different drum, I’ve already played it,

a different shoe, I’ve already worn it.

 

Time is a smoke ring riding wind

until the clock chimes midnight.

 

I’m made of bone, grit, and song,

an open-eyed poem swimming every river.

 

©Susie Clevenger 2020

The Sunday Muse #139

Sometimes only poetry can say it. I think there's just this deeper language, and away of putting your world back together again and breaking through barriers.  ~  Laura Nyro

When I write my music I see all the rivers flowing... sensual, spiritual, religious, animal, intellectual. ~ Laura Nyro

Twisted Orange of Numbers Don't Count

 

There’s bats in the belfry and whiskers on the moon

in the imbalance balanced way out fourth year.

 

Ruby throated hoarse sings the same tune –

facts don’t matter if what is said is not what you hear.

 

March in streets, protest the stench of gas fumes -  

today’s the tomorrow yesterday warned we should fear.

 

©Susie Clevenger 2020

Flash Friday 55 ~ Thanksgiving Edition 2020

The We of Ink and Tablet

 

Blood of poet, vein of dread,

night grows darker with whispers fed

lie of tongues - the muse is dead.

 

Night grows bolder with wine of ink

that pricks the mind with a sorcerer’s wink

to expand the spirit so thoughts don’t shrink.

 

One word grows three,

a root a tree,

Calliope’s tablet answer’s plea.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2020

Painting by Charles Meynier 

Calliope: Greek Goddess - Muse of eloquence and  epic poetry.

My poem isn't eloquent or epic, but I am grateful Calliope showed up

so I could find 55 words and wrote in rhyme. (Something I am not good at)

Flash Friday 55 - Halloween Edition 2020

Broken Down Ride of the One Horse Emporium

 

Every giggle and scream 

was catalogued on stirrups

by tiny feet once racing 

a circle of dreams.

The brand new under

the nothing new sun

claimed its glory until time

pulled the plug and progress

built a bypass.

Those brave enough

to explore shredded whimsy

be wary nostalgia is 

a bitter herb when 

mixed with regret. 

©️Susie Clevenger 2020

Word Crafters Prompt

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Scent of Unseen

 

Her perfume announces

her passage where eyes

don’t trust visions, and fear

twists imagination into a demon’s blink.

 

She was dance, April’s first bloom,

youth’s passion for invincible.

 

October came with skeletons,

and she carried their bones

until the beast’s breastbone

became the final cut.

 

She is now a ballet of narrow dreams,

the last chance haunting those

stuck in wandering spaces where timid

prefers the vinegar of same to wine

bubbling with temptation to change.

 

©Susie Clevenger 2020

 

Protectrix

 

The buttercream sunset

spills across the horizon

camouflaging footprints

of wild sapphire shapeshifters.

 

Across the field bovine dreamers

lie dreaming of green grass,

and sunny days without slaughter.

 

In my human form I wait and watch,

an angel of sorts who counts the sacred breath

of life a gift no horror should trespass.

 

Alone in the valley of bones I am cradled

in the arms of stars candling courage from

their DNA pulsing through my veins.

 

The weight of hours builds its wall, and I pray

my charges and I will not suffer the knife’s wrath

or carry another scar when the Aubade sings us into morning.

©Susie Clevenger 2020

Aubade: a poem or piece of music appropriate to the dawn or early morning

The Sunday Muse #127

Poets and Storytellers United ~ Writer's Pantry #39

Tongue and Feather

 

Raised in feather and wild

I travel moon shadows, and inky stars.

 

With feet pressed into the ancient loam

of Mother Nature’s cheek I feel the path of vixens

vibrate directions into my legs to guide me

through fool’s gravel that bruises but never leads.

 

A phantom of instinct, sister of the hunt,

I can hear the devil’s lie before it slither’s

across his lips.

©Susie Clevenger 2020

The Sunday Muse #125

Like Prince Charming

 

He hunts innocence,

stalks moonlight

searching for lips

speaking the language

of Neruda stars.

 

What he doesn’t know

is Luna’s sisters have gone

before him to warn dreamers

to be cautious of charmers

who cloak darkness in the

simile of a wish.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2020

 

The Sunday Muse #120

 Poets and Storytellers United ~ Writer's Pantry #32

 

 

 

Lessons from a Mockingbird

“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.” To Kill a Mockingbird ~ Harper Lee

 

I’ve stripped to my bones

to try and feel the weight

of another’s skin, crawled

out of my own thinking

to explore foreign thoughts

alien to the landscape I’ve

made my home.

 

In the brine of history

my spirit burns with the scars

of those shackled to prejudice.

The walk of chains allows only

as much freedom as the length

inhuman allows it to roam.

 

In the everything repeated nothing learned

anger blooms from the same well-tended root

of hate’s tree never pruned.

 

I walk the cliff edge of hymns where

the slave song is now a chant,

“No Justice No peace.”

 

In a savage shaking I awaken in my privilege,

look down at my skin, and know nothing

will change if I remain content to live

in my city of silence.

 

©Susie Clevenger 2020

The Wednesday Prompt ~ Word Crafters

From the Eye of the Moon

We thought we could own moonlight, 

steal stars from Asteria’s palm, and brag 

conqueror in bloated chest bumps of human privilege. 

In our tunnel vision we couldn’t see 

the cat’s eye moon stalk us with 

bared claws reaching for the very breath 

we had bottled in our lungs. 

There is no fool like the one who owns stock in oblivion, 

an empty nirvana where men play gods and trust 

their footprints will lead to dominion. 

A mere toy in our sky litter the feline 

sniffs our defeat in the tomorrow 

we are so careless to trust we will quell.

©Susie Clevenger 2020

The Sunday Muse #117

Eyes of Ink

Image: Antonio Mora

My mind is an open window,

a free-thinking view of the eye’s appetite

for images translated through ink stained imagination. 

©Susie Clevenger 2020

Inspired by poetry prompt @ WordCrafters

Dreamless Moon

Image: Susie Clevenger

The air is thick with empty.

Windowpanes wink with passing cars,

but no one stops to read my lips anymore.

I live in a burnt candle moon 

where arms atrophy 

from the loss of touch.

I’m words on a screen, a photograph, 

a video wading through pretend trying

to trust I’ll reach flesh and blood.

©Susie Clevenger 2020

 Friday Flash Fiction 55 June 26 2020

The Wolf Howls in Red

I screamed into the wind,

“Give me your worst,

 bits of hell

purchased with a liar’s tongue.

The storm is always with me

even when the moon

tangles my hair with dreams.”

 I was born in the womb

of a dead valentine,

a loveless lullaby hummed

through the throat of delirium. 

 

Today is another matchstick

on the bonfire I breathe,

the scar chasing me with

its knife I won’t let cut me.

 

I will be strong even if I fall.

Every weakness in me will find

its shaman to pulse my spirit

with survival.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2020

I was inspired by the image and a thunderstorm. 

The Sunday Muse #113

Not for Sale

My eyes aren’t servants

of diamonds nor does

my hand owe allegiance

to glitter.

 

If you wish to capture my heart,

pour your soul into charity.

 

I’m not a mannequin

to be gilded with your arrogance.  

©Susie Clevenger 2020 

The Sunday Muse #111

Prejudiced Tunnel of Dead Ears

Swallow your wings…

forget the madness of freedom…

the sky will never remember your name.

In the prejudiced tunnel of dead ears

cries for justice are smothered

in the throat press of violence.

We shall overcome sings in tattered notes

as history repeats, and anger lights another match.

How will this end? How will this end when

white is the darkness that measures a soul’s

value by the color of skin.

©Susie Clevenger 2020

Inspired by a Word Crafters Writing Group

Fool's Fruit

Proserpine ~ Dante Gabriel Rossetti 

A fool bears the fruit of a heart

sacrificed to the arms of stone.

Promised love I endure his eyes gorging

on the pale skin of another woman’s blush.

Pruned to be a silent rose, I am a wraith

cast out to roam a smothered wail

where nothing grows but sorrow and anger’s thistle.

But my lips reject the dirge humming in my throat.

Must my spirit die in the hope of resurrection?

It was not my mirror that failed his eyes, but his

that hungered for youth he could no longer conquer.

For now, I dress in midnight’s sapphire, a shadow

formed from the dark side of the moon.

When night frees me to roam sunlight’s match,

I will dance on flames that burn him from my dreams.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2020

Inspired by Dante Gabriel Rossetti's painting and his sister, 

Christina Georgina Rossetti's poem, After Death

The video is the new release from my friend Samantha Fish.

Poets and Storytellers United - Weekly Scribblings #20

Lies Aren't Dessert

Romancing a lie

curled on venom’s tongue

is like bringing dead flowers

to celebrate birth.

What’s sewn is reaped.

What’s torn is scarred.

Sprinkling sugary apologies on deceit

won’t make deception any less bitter.  

©Susie Clevenger 2020

Poets and Storytellers United ~ Weekly Scribblings #19

Nest of Lungs

Contagion’s nest of lungs

built from hissing tubes

and needles’ plunge was April’s

test of death to see if tears

could still bring flowers to May.

©Susie Clevenger 2020

#napowrimo2020 Day 30

Inspired by: #skyloverwordlist - deaths 

Real Toads - April 2020 - Day 30

Dancing on a Flame

Passion dances on a match strike,

the burn so enticing, no whisper of a scar.

*

Love creates both fools and demons

when bed sheets are its only warmth.

 *

Almost is an eternity when the heart

builds a nest from blindness.

 *

Lust is a summer fruit that withers

when winter's chill snuffs its flame.

©Susie Clevenger 2020

I wrote it as a single poem, but then realized each line could stand alone.

#napowrimo2020 Day 29

Inspired by: #skyloverwordlist - match -

Real Toads - April 2020 - Day 29

Entertaining Devils

Hell is empty and all the devils are here – William Shakespeare

The cunning hell of mutilated truth

ignites airwaves with gaslight candles.

Do not press your ear into a flame

that demands sacrifice so devils can mine gold.

The human heart cannot thrive on selfish gruel

or grow compassion in the drought of bitter tongues.

Test each word before you speak, because once the knife

cuts you will never escape its wound.

©Susie Clevenger 2020

#napowritmo2020 Day 23

Inspired by: #skyloverwordlist

Real Toads - Kerry Says Let's Tip Our Hats to the Bard

Real Toads - April 2020 - Day 23

One Night at a Time

His feet are planted in the blues.

With a whole lot of life in his face,

and scars on his guitar strings

he pours truth into beer bottles

back lighting bar dreams.

You can take a song from the street,

but you can’t take the street out of the music

when notes traffic every alley of pain

through a voice scuffed by tread marks.

In the dim light of bodies chasing escape

he sings solo to a choir too whisky throated

to trust the chorus.

He’s been where they are…He’s left where they’re going.

©Susie Clevenger 2020

The Sunday Muse #104

The Agony of Hindsight

In the breath strike of invisible contagion recruited

her thoughtless invincible on a Florida beach

where youth defied pandemic with reckless.

Seeding spring with sorry didn’t erase casualties.

Her world changed when she danced with the enemy.

©Susie Clevenger 2020

#napowritmo2020 Day 14

Inspired by #skyloverwordlist - Strike & Real Toads ~ Invisible

Real Toads April 2020 ~ Day 14

Gilded Math

In the dark sky of skin

and revelers of bone

beasts with gold

harvest air to force

the poor to do their bidding.

One potato feeds four,

two will feed a village

in the 1% Society of the Gilded.

When the stock market falls

greed gets anxious, so the bull

stalks “gray hair” for bleeding.

©Susie Clevenger 2020

Flash Fiction 55 Special April Addition #2

Prey(er) Circle

The Holy Sister of Webs

spins her season of prayers

on Spring tree limbs.

Glittered stabilimenta

fool prey into trusting

they’ve entered the eye of god.

©Susie Clevenger 2020

A spider image sent me on a web search (pun intended) and I learned spiders have a sense of design. 

I love the sound of stabilimenta in the context of my poem. The meaning in my non scientific definition is: a little extra lace to attract. :)

#napowritmo2020 Day 9

Inspired by Words Count With Mama Zen

Real Toads ~ April 2020 ~ Day 9

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

The Sunday Muse #102

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

napowrimo2020

Real Toads ~ April 2020 Day 2

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

The Sunday Muse #101

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

 Poets and Storytellers United Weekly Scribblings #12

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.”

Lennon-McCartney

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

The Sunday Muse #100

Poetry is my journal. Welcome to my roller coaster. 

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

The Sunday Muse #99

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

February 2020 ~ Friday 55 Flash Fiction

Baiting Moonlight

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?

©Susie Clevenger 2020

Poets and Storytellers Writer's Pantry #7

Written from Skylover's word list:

underworld, colonnade, seethe, crescent, faint,
sunshine, east, brooding foolish, silver

Invidious

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

Friday 55

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

Weekly Scribblings #2: Myth-Placed

Restraint

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

The Sunday Muse #90

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