In the Haunted Spaces

I live in the haunted spaces of my art

where eyes write themselves blind,

and ink goes deaf from trying to hear. 

The madness of creativity is

it doesn’t fear ghosts or the voices

that speak through paintbrushes. 

I roam tombs and fly on butterfly wings

while my feet walk crumble floors in need of a broom.

The water of imagination may be where I drown

or a sea I sail to totally unexpected.  

©Susie Clevenger 2025

NaPoWriMo Day 3

 

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

Once There Was a Moon

If I speak in the language of poets and dreamers, 

but profit from the moon, I am only empty words or a devilish liar.

Midnight crawls across the stars

hungry for the moon, but can’t

find Luna’s scent.

Clock hands claw the wailing trees

handcuffed to blind night

trying to free the last dream.

The walking dead build another mansion

with profits earned from mining reflection.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

Real Toads Weekend Mini Challenge

Carrion of Dead Poets

The Turning Point

David Bülow

Used with Permission

 

Pens litter the floor like carrion of dead poets

who still feed passion to hungry minds.

I wasted ink trying to build a fire.

Words teased with sparks, but they cooled into

drinking sarcasm with Bukowski’s ghost

and making paper planes out of crumpled words

I mined from a thesaurus.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

To see more of David Bulow's work visit @bulow_ink on Instagram or view more art from this talented artist on his website Bulow Ink.

Real Toads ~ Art Flash!/55

Offer Me Bread and I'll Choose a Pen

There are ghosts in my brain

chasing thoughts from dark places,

plucking dandelion seeds

to harvest words from wild weed.

Devil’s in the ink…

God’s in the paper…

My poem-father is Poe,

my god-muse a raven.

Offer me bread and I’ll choose a pen.

Crumbs of wheat can’t take me

where black ink puddles lead.

©Susie Clevenger

Real Toads ~ Bits of Inspiration ~ Poet Discovery

BE

She tinkers with art,

turns wine into ink,

sings with a hoarse growl

louder than rejection.

Barefoot is her couture because

calloused soles carry more trust

than the pinched toe wobble walk

of heels chasing cliques.

Gossip and drab bore.

She’d rather BE herself than join the cloning.

Crazy keeps bullshit from her door.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Friday 55 ~ November 10,2017