Saturday, December 28, 2013

Bones of Bamboo

We grow as tall
in the noise of silence
as the bamboo knife allows,
stretching our green stalks
skyward into the blue.

Barely a babe weaned
from earth’s breast
we spring from the cradle
into the swagger of full grown.

Inside our hollow hearts
music burrows its notes
waiting for the day
our bones will hang
its melody on the wind.

©Susie Clevenger 2013

At Real Toads Hannah offered a bamboo forest in Japan as inspiration for our poetry. Real Toads Transforming Friday

Thursday, December 26, 2013

Rest From Stones

Even the geese know home
I am a gypsy seeking a warm heart
to call my own and a place
where the welcome mat speaks truth.

I don’t wish for what lies
over the rainbow…..
only  that my feet will
find rest from walking
this path of stones.

©Susie Clevenger 2013

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

Noise In A Haiku


christmas is noisy
giggles rattle the rafters
carols out of tune


©Susie Clevenger 2013

My grown daughters are home for Christmas. You would think they are the age they were in the picture. I love the noise. :)

Monday, December 23, 2013

Sugar Dipped Smiles

Camera flashes
capture sugar dipped smiles
among last minute ribbons.
Holly decorated windows
picture frame a season’s goodwill.



©Susie Clevenger 2013

Sunday, December 22, 2013

Dead Leaf Song

Dry words on brittle paper
sing their dead leaf song
from a worn shoe box.
Lost innocence sleeps
in a dusty womb.

©Susie Clevenger 2013

Written for Kerry's When I Write Tanka (Part 1) ~ Hisashi Nakamura at Real Toads.

Saturday, December 21, 2013

Calling All Angels

For the first time
in months the room
is silent.

The balloon tether
to gasping machines
no longer needle pins
into tiny arms.

Peace shines
on a child’s face
that had worn
pain’s frown
for far too long.

A parents’ goodbye
summons angels
to escort their son
to dance on stars.

Winged children sing
Jesus Loves Me
to comfort a family
who will greet morning
with the sorrow of empty arms.



©Susie Clevenger 2013

At Real Toads Fireblossom prompted us to write about angels. I knew immediately what/who I would write about. Several years ago I got a call to come the the hospital. A little five year old boy named John whom I had been asked to pray for had lost hist battle with cancer. As I walked through the hospital doors I saw a few friends and family waiting outside John's room. I looked inside and all the machines had been removed and his little face no longer had the grimace of pain. I and the rest of the group stood silent and tearful outside his door. I truly can't explain what happened next. As we stood comforting one another we heard children singing Jesus Loves Me. The sound of their voices surrounded us. I looked toward John's room and his parents hadn't moved. They still sat on the bed with John in their arms. Across the hall I could see a man watching a crime show in his room. I couldn't find the source of the music. Stunned and in awe our small group looked at one another and then one of them said, "Well, yes he does." Soon after I asked a nurse if she or perhaps the hospital played the song as a custom at the death of a child. She said no and she hadn't heard it. Again I can't explain it. I just know when we so needed comfort it came with the voices of children.

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Christmas Of A Broken Child

Oh Christmas tree
how lovely….

Mama hated
all things Christmas.
It took her back
to dreams drowned
in her dad’s cheap booze
and the hungry stomach
of poverty.

My sisters and I
were too young
in the monochrome days
of our childhood
to grasp why bitter
always hung from the tinsel.

It was when
we were grown women
we came to understand
it was a broken inner child
who placed dolls among
complaints of falling needles.


©Susie Clevenger 2013


 Peggy at Real Toads prompted us to write about Christmas memories. I have been thinking a lot recently about my mother. Christmas was a difficult time for my sisters and I growing up, but it is through my own emotional healing I realized the pain of my mother. As with any poem you write what moves you at the moment you sit down with a pen. 


















Sunday, December 15, 2013

Barefoot Light











Tata Madiba, I walk
your freedom path barefoot
because I know I will
never fill your shoes.

Hate still gravels many hearts
and though my soul is bruised
from rejection I climb another
mountain to share love.

Madiba, I light my candle
from the flame of your spirit
that the grave cannot extinguish.

Let me not cry for change
if I am not willing to become it.
Tomorrow will never be better
if I don’t do all I can for today.


©Susie Clevenger 2013

Nelson Mandela was the world's mentor on how to bring change. May I follow in his steps to do what I can to bring change to my world.

Posted on Real Toad's Nelson Rolihlala Mandella ~ In Memoriam


Saturday, December 14, 2013

A Heart Without Snowshoes

The snow was so deep…
It was up to my knees
and I could barely walk.

A drifted country road
piled high with impossible
was love’s frozen separation.

Foolish with bravado
I thought I was stronger than the wind,
but it burned a chilled no into my lungs.

Surrounded by a white postcard,
reality wormed its way into my thoughts.
The only choice was to retreat.

I cursed cupid as I turned to retrace my steps.
Damn the imp’s winter arrow shot into my heart
that knew nothing about walking in snowshoes.

  

©Susie Clevenger 2013

Corey over at Real Toads challenged us to have a family member give us the first line for our poem. Well, I asked my husband. He had been watching The Weather Channel at work so he tossed me my snowy opening. I thought, "Really?" He is asleep so I can't get his response. Waking him up is not an option. :)

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Learning To Sing Hallelujah


This is my daughter Carrie and her friend Julie

The song burnt my lips
with tears formed
from my hollow
hallelujah.

With raised hands
I thought I reached
for God….

But I only wanted
to accost heaven
with my list of demands.

How empty desire comes
when it begs for self.

It was in the midnight
of my precious child’s pain
I learned the meaning of faith.

Prayers of vanity fell like stones
and supplications for healing
became my day and night.

Now another day of her smile
is the joy I thrive on.

When impossible tries to bury me
trust finds its way into my spirit
to flood it with true hallelujahs.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2013

This is Dawn who I wrote this poem for.

Saturday, December 7, 2013

Whispers In Porcelain

Painted Ladies ~ Jennifer MacNeil

Whispers of yesterday
cling to the paint
in porcelain curls.

Faces once admired
and captured in art
are now lost to anonymity.

Brooches sturdier than bones
have survived beauty’s death
only to lie among a collector’s questions.


©Susie Clevenger 2013

At Real Toads Margaret Bednar provided the beautiful photography of Jennifer Mac Neil as inspiration for our poetry. Please visit her webpage to see more of her outstanding work, Jennifer MacNeil Photography

Friday, December 6, 2013

My Throat Song



I walk on a white sheet
marring its cold lace
with my footprints.

Many have traveled
this crystal path
on their search for caribou.

I raise my eyes to the gray sun
and sing a throat song thanking 
my Eskimo ancestors for traditions.

My hunt is guided by their teachings
and I know my spear will find its mark
to feed the hollow stomachs of my children.


©Susie Clevenger 2013

At Real Toads Isadora Gruye gave us the following instructions for our poetry:
For your challenge today, my muddy buddies, I am asking that you write a poem using the word Eskimo but do not reference snow (or any adjective there of). Remember the further you stretch yourself from the norm, the better the result will be.


Tuesday, December 3, 2013

Riddled With Warts

I am the toad
that peeks
with awe
at humans
who speak
with pens.

Lost on a lily pad
that barely floats
I scratch the air
searching for
words to croak.

Poetry comes
when poetry comes
and settling for ants
when hungry for wings
leaves verses riddled with warts.

©Susie Clevenger 2013

Real Toads Open Link Monday

Monday, December 2, 2013

Another Sunday Morning



Another Sunday morning
and I don’t know how far
I have fallen in your eyes.

Love was once music played
at full volume until
the stars were deaf.

We danced in
the velvet underground
heedless of the need for redemption.

I’m not sure when Saturday night
turned off its neon
to greet stained glass.

I kept spinning as I was
while you stepped into a philosophy
that condemned me.

It’s another Sunday morning
and I just don’t know how much further
I can fall in your eyes.


©Susie Clevenger 2013






Monday, November 25, 2013

This I Am

I am the clouds,
the rain, the rose,
the face that was
and the face that will be.

From my dust
that drinks the lake
life will fall in drops
from heaven
to water spring.

I am a child
of earth,
sister to the ocean,
hope’s hand
forestalling
the desert’s march
to the sea.


©Susie Clevenger 2013

Pondering the environment...



Sunday, November 24, 2013

Papa Oil

I believe Woody Guthrie would have had a lot to say about global warming if he was alive today and the conditions of our environment. He wrote This Land Is Your Land in response to Irving Berlin's God Bless America which he felt was unrealistic and complacent. Thanks Woody for inspiring so many who came after you to raise their voices and use their art to speak out about issues where there is need for change.

Photograph: Sebastio Salgado

Was it not enough greed turned grass into a dustbowl?

Big men with diamond lies
now rape the countryside
because money means more than life.

Blue collars hammered by white
are too hungry to fight
the death plunge into black gold.

Papa oil doesn’t care about soil
or whether the sky turns
from bright blue to ash gray.

The innocent are now stuck
breathing the polluted muck
from lungs never exposed to clean air.


©Susie Clevenger 2013


Friday, November 22, 2013

Across A Red Sea

Photo ~ China Travel Go

I am not a sailor
who has sailed
upon an ocean
painted turquoise,
but I once found
my way across
a crimson sea.

Upon its blood red
I gloried in the irony
that freedom sang
a birdsong and not
a funeral hymn 
written by guns of war.


©Susie Clevenger 2013


 At Real Toads Hannah introduced us to the beautiful Red Beach in Panjin, China to use as inspiration for our writing. 

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Unequaled Mastery



Hell’s hunt on pounding hooves
rattles leaves in its quest
to slaughter mystery.

Ego thinks bravado’s noise
will scare sly into misfortune,
but cunning wears silence well.

Man, horse or hounds are no match
for the fox’s unequaled mastery of using
another’s bluster as a cloak for disappearing.


©Susie Clevenger 2013



What the fox actually sounds like.



At Real Toads Mama Zen challenged us with, "What does the fox say?" She wanted us to use 43 words or less to communicate it, but I broke the rules by five extra words.  Words Count With Mama Zen ~ Sleepover Edition

Sunday, November 17, 2013

Paper and Penny Thoughts



Paper and penny thoughts
fade inside an envelope.

She once knew how
to speak with a pen.

but the glory of vocabulary
has dwindled into silence.

Now all her hand can do
is chase shadows through yesterday’s ink.


©Susie Clevenger 2013


Another Sunset ~ tanka

Another sunset scurries
across the horizon
to take daylight to someone else.
Alone, I watch twilight expose stars
and wonder if lies still sparkle in his eyes.

©Susie Clevenger 2013



Sunday, November 10, 2013

The Voice In A Painting


The Trouble With Time ~ A painting by Mike Worrall

My marble windowsill
of prosperity must become
more than a calloused perch
for viewing the destitute
caught in poverty’s whirlpool.

Wealth means nothing
if I spend it on selfishness
while the world drowns.

Unlace my corset of arrogance
that constrains compassion
and let me breathe generosity.

I can no longer feed
at the silver breast of greed.
Life is more than counting coins.
It is the open palms of giving
wherever there is need.


©Susie Clevenger 2013

This painting also inspired the following.

The trouble with time
is it drowns life
just when you’ve
learned how to swim.
_______________________________________________


 Poets Corner ~ Painting by Mike Worrall

She plays fantasy’s strings
with lust rosined bow
for an audience of
double standards.

©Susie Clevenger 2013


Grace at Real Toads offered us the beautiful art of Mike Worrall as inspiration for our creativity. Sunday Challenge Featuring ~ Mike Worrall


Friday, November 8, 2013

From Splinters to Moon

Herotomost….
No one is sure
if his name
is humor or truth,
but people like
this poet’s brass.

Spinning poems
on a turntable,
he mixes Mexico
with New Orleans
until it speaks
his brand of blues.

There’s not many
tears in his ink bottle,
just margarita shots
thrown down
in tell it like it is verse.

If the reader rides in on
a literary high horse,
his poetry will boot scuff
their attitude until their whining,
 “I wish the hell I’d written that.”

Hero doesn’t always
write with splinters.
There are times
his muse will sit him
under a cantina star sky
to ponder whether lovers
prefer their romance steamed
with a little Cozumel sand
or Crescent City moon.


©Susie Clevenger 2013

Corey Rowley, better known as Herotomost, challenged us at Real Toads to write about him. I am not sure if he is brave or insane or perhaps both. :)



Wednesday, November 6, 2013

The Poetry of Touch


I wonder what verses
the moon is tattooing
on our flesh with its shadow pen.

Does it really matter?

Your hands murmur poetry
and I know the language they speak.

It is ancient.. universal.. carnal…
My body responds in exclamation
to the love sonnet yours speaks against mine.

Adrift on a breathy ocean
we let time splash among the stars
and ignore daylight will soon arrive
to edit moonlit shadows.


©Susie Clevenger 2013

At Real Toads Ed Pilolla gave us a list of words to spark our creativity.

Monday, November 4, 2013

blogblast4peace ~ November 4, 2013



Today Kerry O’Conner has asked us to take part in a special day for bloggers around the world. November 4 marks the annual Blogblast 4 Peace. This initiative was launched by Mimi Lenox in 2006 and has grown to an extraordinary degree, spanning 6 continents and 182 countries. Her theme this year is "What do I want my world to look like?" and she invites bloggers to join together today to spread the message of peace as a single unified gesture.



Sunday, November 3, 2013

My Choice of Crazy

Don’t send me party invitations
that demand I only wear a right shoe.
I would rather drink tea with Alice
than sip from a patriot’s cup.

I care not for flag waving conversations
about the disaster of affordable
while demanding legislation
that rewrites my rights after rape.

If I am to drink tea with crazy,
let it be in the garden of my choice,
where a mad hatter, a mouse
and a rabbit are entertaining
with their lips spouting nonsense.


©Susie Clevenger 2013

I am in such a writing struggle lately. I am producing mediocre, darn it! I have read through my fellow toads pieces for this challenge and they are wonderful!! Kay, your blog hates me. Just wanted you to know I read yours and it is a strong piece of unfortunate truth!! Kudos!!

Real Toads ~ A Birthday in November ~ Marianne Moore

Saturday, November 2, 2013

Visual Poetry Set to Words



I quilted summer and hung
its sunflower colors on the wind,
a rebel flag defying winter’s gray.



My fingers draw
a daisy postcard
on the frosted window…
Spring daydreams blossom in winter snow…


Margaret Bednar at Real Toads challenged us to write words to the beautiful visual poems of Maria Wulf.  Artistic Interpretations With Margaret

Friday, November 1, 2013

Small Stone ~ Mindful Writing Day

A clock ticks in the library…
Disconnected from a schedule
I reap quiet with
ink stained fingers
and an empty coffee cup.

©Susie Clevenger 2013


Written for Satya Robyn's Mindful Writing Day November 1, 2013

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Burn Me Into Ashes of Light

Why can’t it be the moon
shapeshifting into joy
and not my body doomed
to fang and claws by its light?

Tied to this cursed lycanthropy
I howl at the twilight orb
in a macabre sonnet of death.

I am a nightmare stalking prey
who believe my yellow sight
is a dream open eyes can escape.

Teeth sharpened by hunger’s growl
I tear flesh from bone surrendering
to the animal blaspheme has made me.

When daybreak begins to shutter the moon,
agony breaks in beads of remorse across my brow
transforming from wolf into humanity.

Falling to my knees I speak
a prayer to the morning,
“Sun please rise and never set;
torch this darkness I’ve become
and turn its shadow
into blessed ashes of light!


©Susie Clevenger 2013

 I wrote this for Izy's challenge at Real Toads where she prodded us to approach Iconic monsters with either a light of flattery or sympathy. I hope this draws sympathy for a werewolf. :)









Monday, October 28, 2013

What If ...

“O for a life of sensations rather than of thoughts!” ~ John Keats

Imagination
fills my mind
with the longing
of what if….

My world within
sees your hands
spark the blush
pinking my skin….

But I live in winter
where hands never reach….

 ©Susie Clevenger 2013

Sunday, October 27, 2013

Anywhere Without Roots

So many train songs
drip tears from her guitar
under a smoke stained
neon moon.

Long ago she left behind
what couldn’t last because
picket fences don’t ride
steel tracks bound for
anywhere without roots.

Pain always writes better songs
and her dreams without a chance
fueled a guitar case full of them.

Singing heartbreak to the choir,
she watches another city
wind down the clock to the bottom
of an empty beer bottle.


©Susie Clevenger 2013




Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Summer's Stained Glass



Connected to the divine,
flowers move in a wind dance
raising petals in praise
for the season of blooming. 

Anointed with beauty
their graceful movement
testifies the glory of color
in their garden temple.

Caught in summer’s stained glass
blossoms grace sunlit days,
wooing eyes to celebrate the gift of escape
for vision harried by worry’s intrusion.


©Susie Clevenger 2013



Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Fragile Mortality


With silent butterfly wings
time takes flight across the universe
stealing moments from life
to fill its eternal collection plate
with fragile mortality.


©Susie Clevenger 2013




Sunday, October 20, 2013

Autumn ~ Tanka

I felt autumn’s breath
brush my cheek,
a soft kiss of leaves
pirouetting from limbs
soon to be barren.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Gold rained from dark limbs
in a wind song of autumn’s ending.
Their rustling sonata performed
beneath a blue sky waiting
for winter to ice the clouds.

©Susie Clevenger 2013

Friday, October 18, 2013

Only A Frosted Season

Breathing blue sky in ice
I wander the frozen cavern of chance
searching for reasons.

Answers trail footprints
through my thoughts,
but the winds of circumstance
swallow me in its blizzard.

My quest for why loses its appeal
as I embrace the beauty
of snowflake moments
falling around me.

Each day is unique.
Time never repeats itself.
Winter is only a frosted season
preparing me for the joy of spring.


©Susie Clevenger 2013

At Real Toads Hannah offered the beauty of the Mendenhall Ice Caves in Juneau, Alaska as inspiration for our writings. 



Thursday, October 17, 2013

Grabbing Crowns

“When you care enough”…..
lovely sales pitch
to guilt consumers
into purchasing
overpriced sentiments…

Pick it right…
Pack it tight…

Grabbing crowns to fill boxes
will find the overly conscientious
on the bottom of the totem pole.

Accuracy is a numbers game
others can fail if their nose
sniffs up the right tree.

“If you care enough”
goes unrewarded.


©Susie Clevenger 2013


 I was an order filler for Hallmark cards in the 70's. I had great accuracy and no customer complaints. One year I made one mistake that was found by the auditors and the next only two. My supervisor called me in to talk about my job performance and chastised me for making two mistakes. Of course there were a host of fillers making more than two errors per month, sometimes even more than that  a week, but they never got read the riot act served to me.  I didn't kiss...well you know what I mean. 
Mama Zen had us celebrating National Bosses Day...

Thursday, October 10, 2013

IndieVengeance Day ~ Saturday, October 12, 2013

I am excited and proud to announce a unique gathering of indie authors in Dallas Texas, Saturday October 12, 2013. Thanks to the hard work of author, Amber Jerome-Norrgard, indie authors from around the world will join for a once in a lifetime book signing event. I am excited and proud to announce a unique gathering of indie authors in Dallas Texas, Saturday October 12, 2013. Thanks to the hard work of author, Amber Jerome-Norrgard, indie authors from around the world will join for a once in a lifetime book signing event.


Featured Authors


Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Instinct Shamed By Artificial

My call of the wild
silenced by walls
where spoiling
has reduced my voice
to a pampered purr.

I stalk a cloth bird
filled with inedible
shaming instinct
with artificial.

Bored with domesticity
I rake my claws on any surface
to sharpen frustration,
and stare at freedom
beyond dusty glass.



©Susie Clevenger 2013

I have two loved and spoiled cats. I rescued the male cat, Bindi Lu, from right outside my door when a neighbor moved away and abandoned it. The female, Neytiri, I adopted from an organization that rescues cats. When I see them looking out the window, I imagined them to have thoughts at times where they wish they could run away. Well, at least until the next meal. :)

Peggy over at Real Toads has doing animal talk. :)

Monday, October 7, 2013

Melancholy's Tea

Melancholy
steeps its
tea in tears.
My mind
wishes to sip
from its cup,
but my spirit
urges, rejoice.
  

©Susie Clevenger 2013

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Deaf From The Unspoken



Goodbye left boxes
stuffed with collected life.

So many were labeled mine or his,
with little set aside as ours.

I sat sorting through
the years of what we were
and cried for what we never became.

Silence created separate islands
where both of us prayed for rescue,
but neither asked for help.

Deaf from the blare of the unspoken,
we lived in a house that rarely felt like a home.


©Susie Clevenger 2013





Monday, September 30, 2013

Become The Light

Maybe you wish
to dream away
the pain the world
has brought you…

Lie in a bed
of forgetting
praying time
could be rewound…

The sun will rise
even in darkness…

When night overwhelms
become the light…

Many who love you
are there to lift you up,
but only you can stand.
  

©Susie Clevenger 2013

Sunday, September 29, 2013

Gather The Stories

You have to know
your how and why
before roots whither
into forgetting.

A head lain
on wisdom’s breast
will hear the drumbeat
of ancestry teaching
bones to dance.

Each of us has a purpose
in this rainbow life
where discord
tries to separate us
into colors without connection.

Gather the stories
of those who speak
through the ages
and store them
deep in the spirit
where they can
nurture who you are
when the world wants
to mold you into ordinary.


©Susie Clevenger 2013

My poem was inspired by the following quote:
“Stories have to be told or they die, and when they die,
we can't remember who we are or why we're here.”
The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd







Saturday, September 28, 2013

Ten Dollar Tour

Photograph: Margaret Bednar


Miss Annabelle Lee
once lived here,
for a ten dollar tour
feet cross hardwood
to stare at what remains.

A painting of her hangs
above the mantle
in the sitting room,
barely noticed among teacup
and furniture descriptions.

Microphoned ears
listen to the history
of a piano sitting
against the wall,
not caring the keys
were once played
to comfort a mother
whose son had been
lost to war.

Annabelle’s poetry
sits on the bookshelf
of a small rosewood desk.
The passion in her verses
relinquished to faded ink
and minds caught up
in flashing digital abbreviations.

Her accomplishments
reached far beyond
a life measured
by possessions
and not breath.

Contemporary eyes
give it a nod, but
appear more awed
by the sunlit sparkle
reflected by polished brass.


©Susie Clevenger 2013

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Nylon Admiral

It wasn’t character,
bravery or service
that earned the stars
upon his shirt.

It was fingers dipped in lives
mixed with the paste of lies
that created the mud
he floated upon to promotion.

Dubbed the Nylon Admiral
for his skill at discovering
digital stowaways in lace and affairs,
he commanded his fleet smugly
across his perilous sea of blackmail.
  

©Susie Clevenger 2013

Sunday, September 22, 2013

Solo In Silence

The Moth and the Lamp, Cesar Santos


yesterday’s words
graffiti my thoughts
moth wings take me
back to clutch their light
i tire of flying solo in silence


©Susie Clevenger 2013

Written for The Mag 187
Also shared with Real Toads Open Link Monday

Autumn Tanka

diamond raindrops 
adorn autumn leaves
their curled palms
petitioning God
to cushion their fall

xxxxxxxxx

drunk on moonlight
autumn leaves tumble
across shadows pleading
with the ghosts of summer
to share a last dance

©Susie Clevenger

At Real Toads Kerry has prompted us to write tanka poems.

Finally Reaching Someday

I was a middle child
pulled between
not old enough
and no longer the baby.

Divided until I learned
what it meant to be whole
left a path of teardrops
from heart to dreams.

Finally reaching someday
I no longer look back
at what was, but live
the joy of who I am.
  

©Susie Clevenger 2013

Friday, September 20, 2013

Night Folds The Stars

Night folds the stars into
origami wings to fly secrets
across midnight galaxies
where beauty can’t
be twisted by jealous tongues.

Caught in the dry rain
of autumn leaves
the harvest moon dances
with the wind to erase
lovers’ steps from prying eyes.

Mystery keeps its shoulder
against the horizon to stall
sunrise long enough to allow
joy to erase forbidden.


©Susie Clevenger 2013

Thursday, September 19, 2013

Mnemosyne

Mnemosyne by  Dante Gabriel Rossetti

I would abdicate my throne
for one day of forgetfulness.

My spirit grieves the words
I have had to form to catalog
man’s errors when I was birthed
to create language for beauty.

While I can’t forget they refuse
to remember the sky was once blue,
the water was fresh, and hunger
didn’t create zombie’s fighting for bread.

My immortality is weighted with stones
wrapped around my vocal chords.
I have rattled heaven with my shouts
at humanity to stop killing the very
place that gives them life, but they won’t abate.

Watching death imprint its face on my memory
is an eternal curse I can’t escape;
nor can I run from the vocabulary
I must create to describe it.


©Susie Clevenger 2013

  
Mnemosyne was the Titan goddess of memory and remembrance and the inventress of language and words.

Kerry's Wednesday Challenge ~ Gods In Nature