Saturday, July 31, 2021

The Garden Feminine

 

"Roots" 1943 by Frida Kahlo

Where the sea died, and the mind shriveled,

I rooted myself in the dire tread of human footprints,

and defied misogyny to regenerate the heart of Eve’s Garden. 

©Susie Clevenger 2021


Saturday, July 24, 2021

Treading Plastic

 


"Hello (Hello)
I'll tell you all the people I know (I know)
Sell you somethin' that you already own (You own)
I can be whoever you want me to be"
Plastic Hearts ~ Miley Cyrus


I feel at arm’s length,

close enough to see,

but far enough away

to not be smothered in plastic.

 

On the dance floor where

everyone calls me baby

I laugh and turn, step and misstep

to shrill notes of she’s the

life of the party.

 

In the glitter of bedazzled blind spots

I can appear to be what I’m not so the shallow

can swim without a lifeguard.


 ©Susie Clevenger 2021

The Sunday Muse #170

Sunday, July 11, 2021

Concrete Flesh of Morning

 

Photography by Artist, Jasper James

I am the face of the city,

eyes pressed into morning

holding my breath.

 

Alarm clocks pound migraine drums

through my head to announce the rise and whine

of humans crawling into a new day.

 

With a bold broom

sunlight sweeps my doorsteps

into moldy gray glitter so

caffeinated souls can see

what they can’t feel.

 

Vehicles begin their rumble crawl

in asthmatic gasps of engine and oil

through streets hatching across my ribs.

 

In the widening iris of hours

I exhale yesterday’s weight

and breathe in the hope

today’s politics won’t cripple me.


 ©Susie Clevenger 2021

The Sunday Muse #168

 

 

 

Sunday, June 27, 2021

Finding Myself in the Moon

 


Treading water in the river of moons

I drink gulps of light from my own reflection.

 

Baptized in visions I see tomorrow’s woe

stalking me on the horizon.

A wolf spirit speaks through my bones,

“Let yourself feel fear. It’s the first seed of courage.”


©Susie Clevenger 2021

Saturday, May 29, 2021

There's Something in the Water

 


In the river of moons

the voice of a raven

guides mortals

to the path of light.

 

Dancing out of shadows

mystics part the cerulean curtain

with palms filled with stars

to feed visions.

 

The bloated corpse of narrow minds

opens its tongue of wounds

to release treasured thorns

into the eye of revelation.

 

Luna winks her cloudless eye to stir

watered stones to sing the song of knowing

into ears that must listen and weigh

every word before they speak.


 ©Susie Clevenger 2021

The Sunday Muse #162

Saturday, May 15, 2021

Athena's Rose

 


He winked his commands

along my body until he reached

the iron curve of my hips.

 

A cutting from Athena’s rose

I owned the yes of my blooming

and the thorny reach of my no.

 

He thought he’d dance me through

the devil’s garden only to find

he wasn’t given the power to lead.

 

 ©Susie Clevenger 2021

The Sunday Muse #160


Sunday, May 2, 2021

Scissoring the Wind

 


Out on the steel of bright blue sky

I carry the moon on my lips.

 

I dance between my light and dark,

hold sunshine on my fingertips

while my toes search shadows.

 

Freedom is taking scissors to the wind

to cut my own map before I’m caught

in the choice of someone else’s direction.


©Susie Clevenger 2021

The Sunday Muse #158

 

 



Sunday, March 28, 2021

More Than Likely I’m Not the Feather in Your Tea

 



I am thought to be a devil,

running wild among wings and curses.

 

Muddy clay, oak limbs, and blue sky

hold me in their spell where words

are formed in feather strokes of ink.

 

Grown from roots of ancestors who survived

on plucking impossible from stone scarred bare feet

I trust the voice of earth more than the tongues of humans.

 

I am as old as yesterday’s eternity and as young

as the first rays of sun on a new day.

 

Beware or rejoice…It isn’t my journey to make

you feel comfortable with my freedom.

  

©Susie Clevenger 2021

The Sunday Muse #153

Monday, March 22, 2021

Escaping the Window

 



What offense your eyes hold when you look through me

to a window that mirrors only your reflection.

 

Anger shapeshifts through the sea of blue dreams that sail

my eyes where tomorrow is not our horizon.

 

Does love expire like moldy bread ignored on a shelf

or fade when sunlight turns bitter on your lips?

 

The coldness of detachment marches cigarette burns

through my mind as I fight demons dancing on scars.

 

I hate goodbyes, the breathless lingering hope feeds

that one more hour can rewind a broken clock.

 

I am enough…more than enough…Your blindness

is not my curse, not a sentence to serve because fear is my familiar.


©Susie Clevenger2021

The Sunday Muse #152

Sunday, March 14, 2021

Not Every Cage Has Bars

 


Why look before you leap?

The fall may give you wings

to flee the glass they insist

you walk to pacify their bitter.

 

Wise is the one who trusts escape

is a better journey than pasting smiles

on a circle that never ends.


©Susie Clevenger 2021

The Sunday Muse #151




Saturday, March 6, 2021

Drumming

 



Sunday was turned inside out

like a favorite sweater abandoned to shadows.

 

Expected comfort, the monotone of routine

became a scream in the cocoon of my wingless day.

 

There was no escape in a Zombie world of locked doors

and words funneled through lips wearied by counting days.

 

Stay safe, stay safe, stay safe… It’s crowing rant squawked

from the nest built of torn hours rooted in the back of my mind.

 

Madness sat its chair in my palms taunting me with careless

until my ancestor spirit tapped my spine with drumbeats.

 

Gnashing teeth and broken eye tears pulsed freedom

into the wounds I’d handcuffed to my spirit.

 

With fingers pressed against the river of my pulse

I let hope into the dark mirror I’d lived in for months.

 

 ©Susie Clevenger 2021

Word Crafter Prompt

 


Friday, February 12, 2021

Ink of Wings


 I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity. ~ Edgar Allan Poe

“I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word.
 Sometimes I write one, and I look at it, until it begins to shine.”
― Emily Dickinson

I place a word on the tip of my pen

to test the wind that will give it wings.

 

Do I dare let it be a crow, inky bitter,

dark prophecy wrestled from my tongue

where silence debates with consequence?

 

Or should it be hope’s feather plucked

from sunlight’s robin singing from

the timid limbs of spring?

 

Light flirts with sapphire strokes of ink

as I shuffle through the alphabet wondering

which words I’ll draw from poet’s tarot.


©Susie Clevenger 2021

Word Crafters Prompt

Sunday, January 10, 2021

Bitter Apple

 


The apple doesn’t fall far from the teeth

or sweeten the mirror when the tongue

draws blood. 

©Susie Clevenger 2021

The Sunday Muse #142