Thursday, October 20, 2016

Where Music Lost My Name

"That long black cloud is comin' down
I feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door."
Knockin' On Heaven's Door ~ Bob Dylan

The drum’s drummin’
the trumpet’s playin’
The choir opens its hymnal
to the page where music lost my name.

I feel I’m knockin’ on heaven’s door,
but the Holy Ghost won’t use his key.

There’s a whole lot of damnin’
in the preacher’s hollow hallelujah.
Wine pourin’ from an unholy glass
into the test I couldn’t pass.

Another chorus of Hell Can Have Her
rocks the blood stained revival.

A long black cloud is writing my name.
I feel I’m knockin’ on heaven’s door,
but the Holy Ghost won’t use his key.

©Susie Clevenger 2016

Tulsa Oklahoma's Tulsa University Helmerich Center for American Research will permantly house a 6,000 + Bob Dylan Collection. Once it is archived it will be available for public viewing. 

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

Boneyard Of Procrastination

A tea stained sunset
peers through my window
at a desk littered with frantic.

Each book, paper, magazine
held its priority for the brief second
it took me to place it among
mismatched intentions.                                

As shadows claim another day
I stare at the boneyard of procrastination
and my eyes fill with tears of answered prayers.

Tomorrow, my spirit sings tomorrow.
Fear ceases to bully hope.
The mess scattered before me
no longer is the altar where
agony built its nest.

©Susie Clevenger 2016

Real Toads ~ The Tuesday Platform

Sunday, October 16, 2016

Bright Apple Cider Days

Oh October, you like to tease,
dress in bright apple cider days
painted orange, red, and yellow.

When I converse with you I ignore the signs
of the browning to come; the bleak bones
you will leave to tattoo blue sky.

Walking through your rattle whispers
I pretend winter can’t freeze your
swaying dance or drain the festival from your cheeks.

October, we are spirit sisters dressed
in sun flames collecting moments
ice can never steal or dull into lead penciled memories.  

©Susie Clevenger 2016

Friday, October 7, 2016

My Left Of Center Bleeding Heart

I’m going to polish my left of center bleeding heart,
pocket protect my copy of the Constitution,
and wade through tea-bag hallucinations
in my sensible suffragette shoes.

I won’t be dressing up to be dressed down
by words from a misogynist's lips.
Feminine energy sits on the scales
and the walls of the boy’s club are starting to crack.

Tuesday, October 4, 2016

Bits Of The Moon

Bits of the moon fall
from a chalkboard sky
into cupped hands
eager to store wonder
in mason jars.

Giggles feed heaven
into glass as eyes twinkle
with firefly reflections.

Imagination, uninhibited
sees God in light bearing wings.

©Susie Clevenger 2016

Image created with anaRasha Brush (Shadows 2)
Canning Jar Photoshop Brushes by iamthetv
MB Firefly Brush by Morgan Burks

Real Toads ~ The Tuesday Platform

Tuesday, September 27, 2016

More Warden Than Enamored

Dolce Far Niente ~ John William Godward, 1897

You are here, secreted beneath
rib and bone, beating against
the cage in heartbeat thumps.

I feel more warden than enamored
with a padlock around my tongue
to keep words from making a fool’s escape.

Once love is given wings
it can no longer nest in dreams.
Confession will fly the compass of truth.

©Susie Clevenger 2016

Thursday, September 15, 2016

It Takes A Woman

There’s a whole lot of noise in final.
The grim reaper has my bones
betting on rattles and dust
while my flesh still fantasizes
about a heartbeat.

Grim stands in the corner
dressed in a black cape and
broken tooth smile looking more
like a cousin to a jack o’ lantern
than the epitome of fearful.
He’s so eager to collect a shell
he can’t see the pearl in the satin lined box.

He is pepper spraying the room with so many tears
conversations can’t rally long enough to funnel stories
about my crazy into belly laughs loud enough
to offend proper etiquette.

If death were a woman, she’d introduce herself,
clear the room of morbid, light a lavender scented candle,
and edit my sins with just enough truth
to smooth the wrinkles in my obituary.

She would borrow a bit of my sense of humor,
uncork my favorite wine, invite visitors to enjoy
the dessert buffet with a satirical one liner,
“Death goes better with chocolate.”

Lady Death would pull up a chair next
to my guilt bought over priced crate, lean down
to whisper, “I thought you wanted to burn?”
and we’d create a list of those I wanted to haunt.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2016