Saturday, December 19, 2020

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