Bone and Ash

Bone and ash,

Bone and ash,

the moon laughs

at night’s evil dance.

Terror sifts through chains

of image and noise

trying to divine ghost

from human.

Bravery screams its failure

in cries of help, but the wind’s

screeching muffles rescue.

The dead reach for living hands

to join them in a macabre waltz

of life and death and tomb.

©Susie Clevenger 2012

Shay at Real Toads asked us to write something

Poe would be proud of....well, I went dark any way. :)

Fireblossom Friday: Do You Believe in Magic?

Cento ~ Hell Comes Unbidden

 Creative Commons ~ Rob Lee

I am very hungry. I am incomplete.

when you come to me unbidden,

I cry.

I hold my honey and I store my bread

in little cabinets of my will,

baubles of stolen kisses,

trinkets of borrowed loves,

trunks of secret words.

I label each latch and lid,

be firm till I return from hell.

I keep my eyes pointed in

where memories lie

hoping the devil days of my hurt

will not turn me insensitive.

I am hungry. I am incomplete.

None can give me any word but wait.

When memories of you come unbidden,

I cry.

A Cento is a poetic form composed of passages

 taken from one or more other authors, but arranged in a new structure or order.

This Cento was created from Gwendolyn Brooks’ poem

“My Dreams, My works, Must Wait Till After Hell”

And Maya Angelou’s poem “When You Come”

dVerse ~ Poets Pub Form for All ~ Collage and the Art of Cento

Little Girls Dream in Rainbows ~ NWCU Wednesday Wake-Up Call 9/26/12

 New World Creative Union's Wednesday Wake-Up Call

set before us this challenge to get our creativity flowing.

Take the following items and create something from them:

 prose, a poem, a sketch, a watercolor, et cetera.

 All of the following items must be a part,

 and distinguishable, of whatever you create:

1. The colors yellow, blue, and green

2. A triangle.

3. Peace

4. Lilacs.

5. A child.

I know. I know. I twisted a few of them into poetic license. :)

 Little girls’ dreams

are made of lilac

scented moons

and dancing under

a yellow sunflower sun.

Imagination is

the pillow they

lay their head upon

letting angel wings

carry them to visions

of apple green stars

and blue candy striped skies.

Silver triangle wind chimes

play nursery rhyme tunes

as giggles escape from

bubblegum smiles.

Night sings its lullaby of peace

as it rocks their cradle dreams

until daylight brushes their eyelids

to awaken them from sleep.

©Susie Clevenger 2012

Pointed Square Dance

In a pointed square dance

on weathered wood

a lone star brings visions

of cowboy boots, denim blue jeans,

and a cowboy riding the Texas wind.

Its tarnishing patina lassos the sun

pulling its rays across raisined skin

wiped dry by a red bandana.

It is comfort;

it is continuity;

it is strength;

it is pride;

to a Lone Star State

born from the dust of the Alamo.

This iconic symbol does

its dosey doe until sunset

and then retreats into the shadows

to let night brush against its steel

to polish its determination until

a new day rises in the east.

Susie Clevenger 2012
"Fashion is not something that exists in dresses only.
 Fashion is in the sky, in the street,
 fashion has to do with ideas, the way we live,
 what is happening." Coco Chanel

 Written from the inspiration of Ella at Real Toads Ella's Edge

Rewinding Annoyance

Creative Commons ~ Darwin Bell

Silence the thoughts

that beat against my temples.

Their rewinding annoyance

spills upon my vocal chords

to pour out unedited.

If my speech is to have

a warning label,

let me at least choose

my audience.

Those innocent of the

transgressions that irritate me

should not have their ears bitten

by my rabid tongue.

Susie Clevenger 2012

I came across this picture and it prompted the poem.

She does look irritated. :)

Questions Silenced By Stones

©Margaret Bednar

Weathered, cracked, and broken,

they stand with marble etchings

facing the sunrise.

I wandered among the gravestones

reading epitaphs, birthdates, death.

The chiseled hyphens stirred so many questions.

The stones were silent.

©Susie Clevenger 2012

Kerry Challenged us to write a Sevenling poem

Real Toads The Sunday Mini-Challenge

A Poet Who Sometimes Dreams in Photographs

Beth Winter and Roger Allen Baut challenged us at New World Creative Union to write a blog to express who we are as well as our creative gifts, talents and abilities. I find it hard to write about myself. I could set down with someone and share almost anything, but to write it I seem to get “tongue” tied. I am excited about learning about others so it is only right I share a bit of who Susie is.

Let me begin…

I am sixty one years old, married to my best friend and verbal sparring partner, Charlie, and I have two beautiful, intelligent daughters, Dawn and Carrie.  Wait! That sounds so “normal.” I am anything but normal as my family loves to point out. A lot of the time I am like a hyperactive child who has been given too much candy. I bounce from thought to thought and place to place with the volume turned on high.

My steps into the world of writing began when I was a freshman in high school. My English teacher, Mrs. Kilgore, introduced me to the writings of Edgar Allan Poe and I was lost in his spell. My first poem was titled, Nightfall. I had accidently included it in an outline of the play Julius Cesar and Mrs. Kilgore discovered it. She asked me if she could have it to submit to a publication, Missouri Youth Writes. I was honored to have it included in their publication. Here is the first stanza. The rest of the poem can be found here. 

As the curtain falls

on the world's idiocy

you will find me sitting

in the audience not asking

for nor wanting an encore.

Throughout high school I wrote, but for most of my adult life my pen went silent. I am not sure why that happened. Perhaps it was my dream to become a journalist that quieted the poet. That dream lasted through a couple of part time semesters at a community college. I was a wife and mother at the time so my priorities were my family. Journalism went on the back burner.

Fast Forward

It seems my fingers have loosened and my tongue has become untied. “All about me” has become easier. I was lost in the past so I decided to not bore with my autobiography any more. So to speak in the now, I am a poet who has found her voice again. I have a new dream which will soon be in print. My first poetry book, Dirt Road Dreams, will be released this fall. I am excited about it. It is a collection first born in the dust of the farming community where I grew up. Through it I am barefoot on gravel, kicking up sand, and dancing in dust. I listened to life around me and wrote its conversations in verse. I am anxious to hold the book in my hands.

One day she would seek freedom from
an existence that held her in restraint,
but for now she sits in dust covered moonlight
immersed in her dirt road dreams

Photographer

One of my passions I have decided to share publicly is photography. I have been a photo buff for years, but it has only been in the last year that I have turned from random picture postings on Facebook to my own photography blog, And There Is More

 Well, this is a little bit about who I am. Life is a magnificent gift that I cherish and live out loud. I am thankful for my family and friends and New World Creative Union for opening its creative arms to welcome my written and visual expressions into their community.  New World Creative Union

The Fence That Separates

Creative Commons ~ Photograph: S A Hooper

The fence that separates us

is nothing more than

a clothes line for your bigotry.

You hang your dirty laundry

on the division you have erected

by your prejudice
 and expect me

to bow in submission.

I stand tall in who I am

and will fight hate with love.

The bitter seed you plant

will not grow its weeds

in my spirit.

Go ahead, keep building

your fences with barbed-wire.

My voice will climb its thorny protrusion.

Love cannot be contained by perimeters of hate.

©Susie Clevenger 2012

 Mary Kling at Real Toads challenged us to use "fences" as the inspiration

for our writings. Check out the fence work at Mary's Mixed Bag ~ Fences

Sisters Speak

Image:Creative Commons ~ Afghanistan Matters

I am hidden from the world but not silent.

My cry sifts with sand in a desert freedom song.

~ 0 ~ 

My heart beats within this blue shroud

reaffirming there is life beyond its oppression.

~ 0 ~ 

My verses are a dove that carries my reality

to sisters who live beyond the west wind.

History has tried to silence the voices of women

but adversity only strengthens their vocal chords.

The rights of women’s health should not be hung

on the cross of a political agenda.

Ask a woman pregnant by rape

if conception is impossible.

Would the same legislators who wish to deny women birth control

write legislation to deny males a pharmaceutical erection?

©Susie Clevenger 2012

 Kenia Cris introduced us to the landai poetry of the Afghanistan women. Because they are at risk of beating and possibly death for writing poetry they use pen names to create their work.

I decided to also include landai poems from the perspective of women in the United States.
Read more about the poetry form and the women who write it at Real Toads ~ Kenia's Wednesday Challenge

Never Will Be My Renewal

Goodbye,

I wrote it with my heart,

small drops of red

flooded with tears.

I grew tired of wishes

written on hope.

Your promises to change

shattered into lies

as soon as you spoke them.

Never, who made

up the silly phrase,

“Never say never?”

It must have been

an optimist that

 couldn’t see

the truth for stars

in her eyes.

Never will be my renewal.

I will rise from the ashes

of my wasted faith in you

to never return to this pain.

©Susie Clevenger 2012
Disclaimer: It isn't about me. Just in a mood
to write a broken heart poem inspired by Adele. :)

Bound by Venus

Venus and The Sailor, 1925, by Salvador Dali

I pulled you

from the sea

only to drown

in your seduction.

Who is this Venus

that has bound

me by her flesh?

I have drunk

from Eros cup

that rests

upon your lips

and still I thirst.

Freedom, my mind

screams to know it,

but my body clings

to your silken chains.

©Susie Clevenger 2012

The Mag #135

Behold a Firefly Jar

© Kerry O’Connor 

Kerry O'Conner at Real Toads told us about her firefly jar where  she saves bits and pieces of prose and poems that struck her as having the power to shine in the dark. She challenged us to write our own poetic fragments and share them. 

I gathered up some of my journals I have stashed all over the house to show how I am never without pen and paper to jot down whatever inspiration my muse sends my way.

My laptop is where I transfer my scribbles into readable print. 

Firefly Fragments

Speak grace

with your lips

so karma

will return with joy.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Your past

is what you were.

Let go of it

and point your heart

toward what you can

become.

~~~~~~~~~~~

We cry over spilt milk

when it was our hands

that overfilled the glass.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I see a sunrise

and never think

of the science

that brought it…

to me it is glory

and welcome,

a gift to breathe

in another day.

©Susie Clevenger

Real Toads Sunday Challenge ~ Poetry for the Firefly Jar

Metal Chord Voodoo

Conjuring up juke joint ghosts

in a metal chord voodoo

of fingers using a slide on strings

the guitar player hypnotizes souls

to give their bodies to rhythm.

Blues mingles with the smoke

of cigarettes, liquor, and voices

to spread its gospel to ears

that want to hear the bayou

preached on a Saturday night.

Amen’s of “Play it boy” pour

from the faithful who have

spent their week jumping

through hoops for the man

and just want to forget about

what it takes to make a dollar.

A broken Lone Star beer clock

hangs above the head

of the guitarist and his silver slide

evoking a faux hallo glow

as his music invites his tipsy following

to have another drink and give

a generous offering to their waitress.

©Susie Clevenger 2012

 The music video is of my friend Mike Zito. When Laurie at Real Toads used "bottleneck" as a prompt I immediately thought of Mike. The original slide used on the guitar was an actual bottle neck to create the sound. Hop on over to Real Toads and see how others were inspired to use the word "bottleneck.' A Word With Laurie: Bottleneck

I Imagined You a Book

Dear Margaret,

you are lace

and words.

Your delicate tatting

graces your sleeves

while your poetry

stirs my heart.

I imagine you a book

with turned down pages,

a soul breathing through

an alphabet into my spirit.

The last time I saw you

I held your face to memorize

its perfection with my fingertips.

Margaret, I pray you will soon return.

Your verses bleed across my skin

leaving my flesh a written tablet.

Today is not soon enough

and tomorrow is an eternity.

I will stand guard at my mailbox

waiting for your post to tell me

you will return once again.

With love,

Oron

  

©Susie Clevenger 2012

At today's Poet's United's Thursday Think Tank the prompt was timeworn featuring the beautiful  vintage art of  Vicki Sheehan. Because of its antiquity it had me thinking of another era and my poem was written with that voice in mind. Please stop by and read Ella's interview with Vicki and visit her blog page to see more of her lovely work.

Hell With Flaming Hair

When Izy at Real Toads challenged us to write about our favorite female icon I didn't know which direction to go, but I decided upon the warrior queen Boadicea. She was a mother beaten by Roman soldiers who then in turn was forced to witness the brutal rape of her two daughters. With a lioness's heart she led the Iceni into battle against the Romans who had pillaged her kingdom and children.

Boadicea Haranguing the Britons by John Opie

Hell came with flaming hair

to demand its pound of Roman Flesh.

Boadicea raised her sword

from the tears of her daughters

whose bodies lay pillaged by soldiers’ rape.

Boots pounding avengement’s

cadence into the soil,

she led the Iceni into battle.

Camulodeunm and Londinium felt

the wrath of the warrior queen

in rivers of blood and burning torch.

History questions the site

of her final battle, but does

not question a mother’s heart.

Boadicea was a mother turned warrior

when the Romans made her children

their human spoils of war.

©Susie Clevenger 2012

Written for Real Toads Out of Standard with Izy

Orange Cotton Flames

 Clouds explode

into orange cotton flames

burning the evening sky

into a science fiction poster.

Watching the light display

he thought about Sunday school color book

pages of fire and brimstone.

Was it faith or fear that kept

him glued to the pew when he was ten?

He looked at his watch and wondered

if God had Armageddon penciled in on the calendar.

With one last gulp of coffee dinner was over.

Crumbling the questions into his napkin

he tossed them in the trash and went back to work.

©Susie Clevenger 2012
Real Toads Open Link Monday

Tiny Copper Praise

We scribble our minds

upon white paper

selling our thoughts

for tiny copper praise.

It is a rare poet who can live by her pen.

Freely we surrender

our verses to be dissected,

appreciated or spurned.

The answer to why we write so often is “we must.”

It is the poet’s ear

that listens to the universe

to record its musings.

We may have pockets empty of change, but our wealth is in our words.

©Susie Clevenger 2012

Real Toads ~ Open Link Monday

Knitted Sunshine

She is sunshine

knitted into the

bleakness of poverty.

Her yarn brings

a rainbow to dispel

the dusty color of drought.

With a smile and a blessing

she sits under a slatted roof

spinning despair into hope.

©Susie Clevenger 2012

Photograph: Margaret Bednar

Margaret Bednar has graciously

offered her beautiful photography 

as inspiration for our poetry.

Real Toads ~ Sunday Challenge ~ "Around the World"

One Hundred Degree Memories

Summer played

in the scratches

of an old record

singing through

the screen wire

covering my

neighbor’s window.

One hundred degree

memories flushed

my cheeks with flashes

of a first kiss and

my body’s response.

Love was yet unspoiled,

star dusted with trust,

and a world where

only he and I existed.

I clung to sixteen

for a breath

to feel once again

what it felt like

to believe my heart

would never be broken.

Just as quickly as the

sun rose across my memory

it faded into silence

when the music ended.

Too many years

and broken dreams

wrapped themselves

around me suffocating sixteen.

I looked up at the sky wondering

if he ever looks at the moon and feels regret.

©Susie Clevenger 2012

Marian at Real Toads used the beautiful music
of Barbara Lynn as inspiration for our poems. It's Better To Have It

Baptize Me in Peace

Let me leap into tranquility

to wash discord’s darkness

from my spirit.

I wish to swim in joy,

dive into its depths

and rise reborn.

My heart is broken

by the pain spawned

with dogma’s damnation.

Love comes pure

and then the

self righteous

debase it.

I pray the book of

Thou Shalt Not

will cease its stoning.

Baptize me in the river of peace

that I may walk in love

and be an instrument of unity.

©Susie Clevenger 2012

Real Toads Open Link Monday

Sir, You Must Speak

Why has the universe

decided I needed to be

an audience to her whining?

I sought peace to calm

my fear of flying before

I entered a bus with wings

and thought this corner

would be my sanctuary.

My walls of seclusion

were torn when both

of you invaded my calm

with your baggage.

Sir, look into your

wife’s eyes and tell

her you hear her

so she will stop

her nasal harangue

you never listen.

I do not wish to know

how many corns

she has on her toes

or her displeasure

that you noticed her sister’s dress

without once commenting

on the pink dress she wore.

Please sir, tell her you will

fix that leaky faucet to stop

the drone of her insistence.

Surely the drip of her badgering

is enough incentive to get it done!

Where is that plane?

I would rather face turbulence

at 30, 000 feet than sit here

having my nerves frayed

by her complaints and

your continued silence.

©Susie Clevenger 2012

 Kerry's Wednesday Challenge ~ Internal Monologue

Valley of Doors

Though I sit

in a valley of doors

I will not fear

the mirrors

hidden behind them.

My eyes will not

look for every flaw

nor cry at every unrealistic

comparison.

No longer will I see myself

through the broken mirror

of another’s judgmental expression.

I am me…unique and beautiful.

Words that have hurt me

are now replaced by those

that celebrate who I am.

©Susie Clevenger 2012

Real Toads The Sunday Challenge ~ Featuring Laurie Kolp

Poetry & Prose Magazine

I was honored to have my poem "Gin Blues Minus the Bottle"
 in Poetry & Prose Magazine's September issue.

Gin Blues Minus the Bottle

A guitar is strummed

writing its music

on traffic lights, pedestrians

and engine vibrations.

He is there each day

with his guitar case open

to catch appreciation

in silver and green.

Far from record deals,

paparazzi, and egos

he sings the blues

of the homeless, the hooker,

and the lonely.

In his street corner music hall

he performs for an audience

as transient as his dream of fame.

This isn’t the rock star life

he had hoped for but it wasn’t

the death he’d been drinking

from a bottle of gin.

©Susie Clevenger 2012
Real Toads Open Link Monday