Confessions Of A Laundry Goddess

"I am hearing poetry when awake, dreaming poetry when asleep, breathing poetry with each breath, I am living in a poem."

Thursday, January 11, 2018

The Rabbit Hole Has No Blue Sky

Off with your head! Blah Blah Blah
I don’t even like roses. They stink of death
and prick my fingers when I get too close.

Alice simply annoys me with her banter
of shrinking and growing, rabbits and clocks.
I’d rather have a glass of wine than waddle
the garden with those bent cards blasting bugles
announcing a brat must be dealt with.

Tomorrow is today. The rabbit hole has no blue sky.
Be small…Be tall…Be gone! Let me rest on my chins
while you chase there, here, and where it begins.

We all must check in, but few can check out
of the nightmares we walk, the wiggle waggle we talk.
I’ll turn a blind eye where shoes find exits.

Chase what you must, but leave without a whimper.
Precocious is a thorn I want out of my garden!

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Real Toads ~ Rhubarb

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Monday, January 8, 2018

Not Every Dreamer

I took all the silver you promised
and penny rescued reality…..
where money sparkles, empty huddles.

A tin cup carries more jewels than a deceiver’s tongue.
Gold can’t buy love nor can love thrive in a glass heart.

I didn’t ask you to give me the moon, only your hand
to hold beneath its light.

Not every dreamer has a fairytale obsession.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

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Thursday, December 28, 2017

Color Choice

Crayon spill and I flow outside the box
melting flesh into a rainbow pallet.

I boil in red…run from ghosts in yellow…
tint green when envy pokes my ego.

The color book inside my head peers
through hazel eyes at a gray world,
and my muse starbursts gold outlines
to pull my dreams from the digital misery
I train wreck feed on as I crawl through
the track marks of social media.

Hope won’t get a headline unless it’s trending.
I can plant its hashtag to force weed words
of anger to a net share of zero or walk misery
to the top of the list.

I am a crayon of every color.
Beauty goes where beauty is taken.
We live in a comic book world of too many villains.
It is my choice to gloom or glow.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2017

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Tuesday, December 12, 2017

Bending Normal

Rules, they put up barbwire
and I’m hell bent on getting cut,
lining up for absolutes is like
drinking Kool-Aid with Jim Jones.

Oh I look suburban enough,
two dimes in my pocket, conformed enough,
but I cut my teeth on bending normal.

I was the fat child jumping hoops until
I cried enough tears to stop giving a damn.
Kids either picked on me or didn’t pick me.
There’s a lot to see when you’re on the outside.

People have been tossing up “You’re weird” as far back
as when name calling got its first number 2 pencil.
I have too many voices in my head to worry about
those who suffer from lost imaginations.

When people are planted in their chairs,
I am the one dancing alone in the middle of the room.
Oh I know how to rein it in, calm it down, sit still, listen,
but I also know how to bolt when the room gets too stiff
to step outside the lines…Life is too short to not break crayons.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2016

Day 26 #NaPoWriMo 2016

I found this poem from 2016 on my blog in drafts. For some reason I never posted it. 

Real Toads ~ The Tuesday Platform
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Sunday, December 3, 2017

You Can't Quibble About Harvesting

Reginald Southey
Lewis Carroll (1857)
Fair Use

You ape my bones
with your humpbacked muse.

I am buried under the glass
of all the mirrors I tried
to cut into reflections
I could never carry.

I stare at the twisted glory
traveling up and down your words,
and I find mine are grossly inadequate.

Every haunting needs a host
so I will slip between your ribs
where the moan needs ink.

If there is nothing new under the sun,
you can’t quibble about harvesting.

What’s yours is mine.
My cup is full…Yours is empty.
I can turn your art into gold
while feeding you pennies.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

As my muse would have it this image took me to Spotify. I have a lot of music friends and the business of music is grossly unfair to them. "Songwriter Would Need 288 Million Spins to Equal Average Spotify Employee Salary." Read about it here.
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Tuesday, November 28, 2017

Poetry Doesn't Quarterback

Poetry doesn’t play well with football.
It prefers a glass of wine and silence
to bleed from, not a tackle or concussion.

I cannot Plath, Neruda, or Cummings
to beer commercials targeting testosterone.

There doesn’t seem to be a door
impenetrable to the noise or sturdy
enough to keep a cat from clawing opinions.

I’ll just add this to my list:
She wrote but didn’t create.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Note: I watch football at times, but Monday night my muse and I couldn't take any more poor ball play from the Houston Texans quarterback or the noise as it continued to vibrate from the other room. Disclaimer: No husbands were harmed in the writing of this poem.

Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform
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Thursday, November 23, 2017

Blessings in Ordinary

Morning arrives in its routine
of aches and grumbles, but I welcome
the sight of a coffee cup sitting in its usual place.

We are weathered, chipped friends
ready to perform  our ritual hand to handle
dance across tile to an oak chair.

There are blessings in ordinary.
I watch the wild life outside my window
with my hands wrapped around the warmth
of familiar, and gather strength from a companion
who never utters a word.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

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