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