Friday, January 30, 2015

Erasing Letters



Her kiss tasted like lavender
and sun surrendering to twilight.
 
He sees her sitting on the edge
of his mirror erasing letters
from her name.
 
Love can no longer spell,
but her face hangs
on a fragile thread
in his memory.

©Susie Clevenger 2015



Monday, January 26, 2015

Melancholy Brevity

                    "The Lovers' Boat" Albert Pinkham Ryder 1881


Beneath a heart sick moon
love swims in a briny sea
dreaming of rescue.

~o~

Patches of moon and star stiches
quilt midnight into melancholy.
Tear stained dreams wait for sunrise.

~o~

I listen to the rain
outside my window
drowning stars and
wonder if wishes can swim.

©Susie Clevenger 2015


Revisiting:

Sunday, January 25, 2015

Sin Starved

A silver dollar moon
hangs from the stars
tempting lovers and fools.

Brazen sits sin starved
in the shadows waiting
to see who will take the bait.


©Susie Clevenger 2015

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

This Poem Is Spilled Milk

This poem is spilled milk
This poem is forgiveness
This poem is healing.

Sour pools around boots
that tiptoed around secrets
until a blind eye lost its excuse.
This poem is spilled milk.

Sweeping glass until the bleeding stops
gives anger fertile soil in which to root,
but survival plucks hate from its stem.
This poem is forgiveness.

The clock doesn’t own the hours of pain.
There’s no ransom to pay when enough demands freedom.
A spirit flies where tears no longer reign.
This poem is healing.

This poem is a glass now full.
This poem is anger released.
This poem is living without scars.


 ©Susie Clevenger 2015

Sunday, January 18, 2015

The Cult Of Dreaming Thesaurus

Bragi and Iðunn, 1846 by Nils Blommer


They dance naked in metaphors
speaking this - meaning that,
winding words into introspection.

Heads bent over a thesaurus prayer book
word artisans seek the holy grail of vocabulary
to eradicate the perception of recycled thought.

Under a lightbulb sky poets seek the blessing
of Bragi as poetry travels from mind to print
in a soul spill of imagery and imagination.


© Susie Clevenger 2015



Friday, January 16, 2015

Clutching Matches


In this winter of frozen tongues
we hibernate in our pain
clutching matches while last words
layer frost on unrepentant.

Chilled by accusations we watch
hours drift across the clock trapping us
in a silent world with little hope of rescue.

Each of us holds the matchstick word
to melt the ice, but neither will usher in
spring’s thaw by uttering, “forgiven.”

©Susie Clevenger 2015

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

A Taste Of Crow


The bite of revelation left a foul taste
on once bragging, resolute lips.
Error served ego a portion of crow
when it was evident certainty’s tongue
had the arrogance to believe feathers
only came to another’s plate.

©Susie Clevenger 2015


For those who might not know the expression “eating crow” : Eating crow is an American colloquial idiom, meaning humiliation by admitting wrongness or having been proven wrong after taking a strong position.

Sunday, January 11, 2015

Metal Throat


A metal throat sings
goodbye songs collected
on its vocal chords into
midnight fog and tears.

Feeling pours notes into her brain through
 the funnel of a gravel voiced rocker.

Cocooned in a rubber wheeled ghost
a broken heart slips through night undetected,
anonymous, burdened, singing a duet with pain.

Not knowing how many miles
it will take to put enough pavement
between he said and forgiven
she lets agony devour numb.


©Susie Clevenger 2015


This piece was inspired by a line from David Huerta's poem Aural:
"The car anointed with music slips into the night."

Friday, January 9, 2015

Silver Push


Silver button push was the magic touch
my fingers craved when drama rattled
a family of five in a home of too many walls.

With the gas petal floor boarded to escape
I held communion with an engine roar
while fins fishtailed on gravel.

On a pavement high I chased life
through small towns where daredevil
dreams didn’t wear muddy shoes.

Sixteen drove its didn’t give a damn days
until ‘67’s moment of inattention sentenced
’57’s blue metal to a graveyard of rust.

©Susie Clevenger 2014


I couldn't find a picture of a blue 1957 Chrysler four door. The car had a history of escape prior to it being my mode of transportation. The article is about my uncle's escape in it. Therapy anyone?


This was Herotomost's challenge at Real Toads: My challenge today is for you to summon up memories of that first mode of transport, the one that gave you the freedom to get from A to B without that nosy family butting in.

Saturday, January 3, 2015

Short Straw


Two wheels and restless
gathered enough speed
to eat pavement until
leaving was a cigarette
light among blacktop scars.

He had counted on being counted on
until he grew tired of drinking from the short straw.

Gripping thunder with his thighs
he left ordinary in the dust
he could never own.

Goodbye tasted like tequila. 

© Susie Clevenger 2015



Flash 55 Plus

Thursday, January 1, 2015

January's First Step



“For last year's words belong to last year's language
And next year's words await another voice.”
― T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets

I have torn the last page
from the damnable year
that brought lessons I am
not sure I learned.

A vocabulary of pain will not
be my companion as I cross the
threshold of a new calendar.

Why would I wish to greet January
with sooted lashes crying
of spilt milk and yesterday’s words?

The path before me has no footprints,
no can’t, no rewinding, no history.

My journey waits for me to take
that first step with the boldness of hope,
and the wisdom to know joy will not
abandon me if happy finds it
has mountains to climb.

©Susie Clevenger 2015 

"Hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come,
 whispering,  'It will be happier."  Alfred Lord Tennyson