Sunday, May 21, 2017

Word Drunk And Image High


Word drunk and image high
brains walk digital slums
where too much is too little.

Petitions drop in e-mails
with “this must” confetti and
shame shock toward wallets.

Nothing new under the sun…
Rome gets too big for its boots
chasing oil through Cheeto tracks.

Dumming down has its own cable channel,
glassy eyes tablet read into cameras,
Literacy Died On A Twitter Feed.

In the apathy we’ve become seeds speak,
“Tomorrow can be brighter than blindness,
It will take flesh and bone working together in real time.”

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Real Toads ~ Weekend Challenge ~ The News


Thursday, May 18, 2017

Four O'Clock

Four o’clock paints its portrait
on my library walls in dancing leaf shadows
muting the turquoise of a flowerpot
feeding on shrinking sunlight.

It is that time of day when the unwinding
stalks my mountain of lists and chases
it closer to the corner of undone.

Incubated in the sound play
of jet engines and classical music
I let sundown into my breathing
and turn my eyes to contemplate
a white crane soaring in a picture framed sky.

Daydreaming with my fingers black keyed
to an alphabet I write the bird’s flight
across a verse seeking wings not destination.

A roman numeral interjects itself into my reverie
as my gray cats stretch themselves toward dinner.
Walking the path of paws I leave late afternoon
to paint all my undone with the ebony touch of evening.

©Susie Clevenger 2017



Tuesday, May 16, 2017

Comforter


I was born into silence.
The noise of its anger
was the lullaby before nightmares.

Insomnia was my comforter.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Thursday, May 11, 2017

Pushing Wasabi

Photo: Isadora Gruye

It was a little trippy
selling self care wasabi peas
to a county raised on chicken fried,
but once I pitched everyone could use
a little fire in their biscuits they started
planting the mouth burners on every road
not timeshared by weeds.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Tuesday, May 9, 2017

Some Bright Morning

Peggy Vierra Link (1923-2004) Wash Day, 2009, Oil


If soap could wash
their sins away,
I would never use it.

This line isn’t free
or the pins that
hold us to it.

I’m waiting for some
bright morning,
but I won’t fly.

I will put on my second hand best,
leave my footprints in their cotton,
and walk straight backed into glory.

It doesn’t matter how hard
you scrub a stain, dirt has memory.
Truth will always return to the blood.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Sunday, May 7, 2017

Soulless Dance Of Glitter


We trample Mother Nature’s heart
with oilfield boots and drill
our death sentence into her breast.

Greedy vision turns a blind eye
to poisoned mountains gasping
for breath in a colorless sky.

There is no sorrow for trespasses.
The soulless dance of glitter
denies it conjures an earthquake
or strikes another match to melt ice.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

I chose to revisit Kerry's Flash 55 Plus On August 1, 2015

Real Toads ~ Play It Again Toads

Saturday, May 6, 2017

Crowing


There are no stones
honeycombed into
an abusive tongue
strong enough
to clip my wings.

I am not made
from a caustic image
of another’s definition
or a mirror’s distorted reflection.

The dark wings assigned me
allow me to fly where
malignant assumptions
carry no weight.

©Susie Clevenger 2017