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."

Sunday, January 20, 2019

Wind wing and Sorrow

Wind wing and sorrow
ruffle my mind with memories,
little caresses to remind me
tears come for a season,
but laughter patiently
waits in the corner of my eye.

Even the darkest night
must kneel at the throne of stars.

©Susie Clevenger 2019

Real Toads Weekend Challenge ~ Musn't be Fancy
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Wednesday, January 9, 2019

Wonder and Woe

Wrinkled throat and gray wisdom
flower on drooping stems of brittle bone.

She is wonder and woe strapped to fading light,
but she can see with wolf eyes the questions
youth chase in the blind consumption of immediate.

Equated to a dying moth no one reads the book
of life in her veined hands or hears her speak,
“Today is the story tomorrow will read.”

©Susie Clevenger 2019

"Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave"
Sara Bareilles

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Sunday, December 30, 2018

Where Blue Roosts

Deep Woods by C. Grimes ($30)

Where blue roosts at midnight
I roam leaves and climb limbs
star stained with wishes.

Alone casts its shadow across
my arms as it sighs its song of solitude.

Every worry knotted hour I carried
in daylight surrenders to the peace
of moonlight prayers.

The nightingale calls from the
weightless realm of dreams.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

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Monday, December 17, 2018

Sanctuary of Spoiling

On any given Sunday...
…Clean the plate or it’s denying the cake…
Let no be no unless grandpa is deemed judge of overrule…

My eyes and nostrils always lead the battle between fork and tongue.
If they spoke resist, my stomach obeyed, but mama didn’t care for rebellion.

In grandpa’s house mama’s rules didn’t govern his table. 
In my only sanctuary of spoiling he’d remove my plate of offense, 
and grant me a sugary pardon.

Victory tasted a bit like chocolate icing…

©Susie Clevenger 2018

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Sunday, December 9, 2018


Frost comes without invitation
to strip butterfly wings from marigolds’
defiant orange resistance to change.

…Seasons can be cruel…

I collect my journals of dead things,
faded ink spills of pedestal-ed heartbreak,
and poem a match to burn winter from me.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

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Friday, December 7, 2018

Sugar Plum Wings

Warm, dark hands tied the sash
at my waist then guided me to
a Christmas Carol stage where
magic twinkled in electric stars.

From the edge of the curtain I heard him
urge me to sing snowmen could dance
and angels had sugar plum wings.

When the music stopped he spoke,
“Follow my voice. I’ll guide you
where you can’t see to bring you safely to me.

I didn’t know 1957 sorted skin by colors or words
could be sharper than knives….I was a little girl
trusting kindness would not let me fall.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2018

When I was in the first grade I met one of the kindest men I've ever known. His name was Mr. Kelly and he was our school janitor. Well, his title was janitor, but he was much more than that. I like to think of him as a guardian angel. He always had time to help tie shoes or ribbon sashes, wipe tears, or guide noisy, wiggly children onto a Christmas pageant stage. This poem is about the six year old me who didn't see the color of his skin, only his kindness, his tender care.

Real Toads Wordy Thursday
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Tuesday, December 4, 2018

Drops of Red

Through my frosted kitchen window
I watch the sky bleed cardinals
onto leafless limbs and marvel
how crimson feathers exorcise gloom
from the emaciated breast of winter’s coven.

Standing on the threshold of spell and curse
I am a solitary audience to a painting
which at any moment will disappear
in a startled flurry of wings.

©Susie Clevenger 2018 

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