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