Tuesday, February 2, 2016

The Silence Of A Song

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter - John Keats

There is no music
in the song of my dreams.

Night teases sleep
with lyrics, but ties
the promise of melody
to the silent beak
of the nightingale.

What purpose is there
in a chorus unheard,
the held breath of
anticipation music’s
drought will be broken?


Perhaps it is hope.

©Susie Clevenger 2016

Sunday, January 31, 2016

Lost In The Pruning


Two Old Men Eating Soup, 1819-1823 ~ Francisco de Goya 


Even my skull rebels
at the sound of my
dying brain…

It tries to retreat
from the song of hell
sung from the tongue
of lost memories.

Where is mom?
She once lived
in the mortar
between reality
and recall, but
now I mewl for
her arms that
never hold me.

Is this the lake
of fire evangelist’s
told me I would
swim in if I didn’t
swallow their amen?

My arm still delivers blood
when hands bury a needle,
so the ability to breathe flames
must be my resurrection.

Look into my eyes and
watch me disappear….
I’ve already forgotten your face.
It was lost in the pruning.

©Susie Clevenger 2016

Bjorn's Nightmare Challenge @ Real Toads

Thursday, January 28, 2016

Drops of Ink

Longing by KingaBritschgi on DeviantArt


Flushed cheeks,
beating heart,
eyes consuming
words at the
speed of imagery….
I peer unashamed
through a keyhole cut
from an author’s blood.

Inside a book
there are no
frenzied clocks
ticking life into
digital slots…
only the mana
of escape crafted
from drops of ink.

Pages draw my eyes
to a horizon I never
thought I’d see.
It is a world I can explore
from a lamp lit corner
unconcerned I prefer
seclusion to the cacophony
of voices stealing patience
by a theater of absurd.  


 ©Susie Clevenger 2016




Friday, January 22, 2016

When Life Wasn't As Blind

"Loves to Be Loved," 1973. Photo: © MASAYOSHI SUKITA, 1973


I will drink
and you will dance
in shoes too big
for your dreams.

We have time to fill
until time drinks our blood,
so let’s laugh while others are crying.

Change my mind.
I will change the clock
back to yesterday when
life wasn’t as blind.

Sing from your glass of wine.
I will read your fortune from scarred palms.

We will never be heroes.
I’m too selfish and you can’t choose.

Sing, drink, dance….
Tomorrow will be broken bones
spilling dust while we laugh.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2015



Tuesday, January 19, 2016

Too Many Sons Of Art

A river of sorrow floods my tongue
spilling grief into another goodbye,
too many sons of art are dying.

There are no more songs or second acts.
Silence slams against legacy and I search
through digital clouds seeking comfort.

Memories mix with tears as agony
follows the scent of decaying roses
to mounded dirt collecting headstones.

Death will come to each soul drawing breath,
but its timing is a bitter wind when it comes
to pens still full of ink and music notes left unsung.


 ©Susie Clevenger 2016

Tuesday, January 5, 2016

Crust of Silence


She eats the crust of silence,
its crumbs slipping from
a world gone insane.

A child cries…She muffles the noise
with attention whoring Kardashians.

Her hobbled tongue speaks
complicity into the echo of horror.

A coffee cup sits as stale as her denial,
“I didn’t hear a thing.”

Silence screams, but no one is listening.


©Susie Clevenger 2016