Angel of Sidon

 

She wears red, a match waiting
for the right kindling to turn
a cold room into a bonfire of heathens.

A wink, a blush, plump lips walking
the fine line between the blank spaces
of a hell fire sermon, she is the Jezebel
the pious curse, and the bold wanton
they never take to confession.

With splashes of jasmine holy water
she baptizes those strong enough
to relish their weakness, and teases
eyes to admit their obsession with curves.

While the choir sings blindly of light
they can’t feel, she collects the tarnished
notes of their hypocrisy, and rewrites
the blood song into Eve’s freedom from Eden.

©Susie Clevenger 2022

Friday Writings #55: Bleeding Hearts

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

Broom Eyed Tin Angel

He smells like the rotted breath

from a dead lung and swaggers

as if he isn’t the last call at a dive bar.

My (no)soles heel the side walk

right past him loud enough to make

the dead dance, but wasted Romeo

is too beer eared to hear never.

He lunges…I sidestep…The ice house

choir dollars a bet on how long it will

take drunk lover to rise from his fall.

Some call me tin angel, others swamp call

me broom eyed…I don’t care if it’s wings

or cauldron…I’ll follow whatever anointing

it takes when a woman calls my number

and tells me, “I don’t feel safe in this place.”

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Real Toads ~ Come Clockwork the Orange

Nothing Better Than a Woman's Eye

Jessie Tarbox Beals

America's first female photojournalist

c. 1904

There’s nothing better

than a woman’s eye.

She’s been looking through

barriers since Eden’s apple

produced its first snake oil.

Every drop
of submission

placed in her ear
brings a little more
light to her vision.

There’s nothing better

than a woman’s eye

to see what will be

through the repressive

words of you can’t.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Real Toads ~ Camera Flash 55!

The Valley of the Sky

Leave by the same door

you tore from hinges,

spill rumor, feed snakes.

My life is not yours to barter,

nor is it yours to take.

It doesn’t matter how close

you dance me to the cliff,

blood will never clip my wings.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Real Toads ~ Micro Poetry ~ It Doesn't Matter

Temple Moan

Shadow prayers steeple hands

into a temple moan of unknown tongues.

There’s no veil, no shaman, no holy path

through pen strangled words to light switch

the tunnel of unanswerable.

Alone in the heartbeat thump I become

one with freedom, move from the house

horror built into the ancient strength of woman.

Peace supplants war.

©Susie Clevenger 2017 

Friday 55 ~ November 3 2017