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, March 18, 2018

A Kiss, A Charm

I’m part Irish.
The drinking side roared
in on a stereotype with
my maternal grandfather.

I never met the man,
just heard him filtered
through his bottle and fists.

There was plenty of family tree
son of a bitchin’ mixed with
a switch to keep me from
drinking my way out on that limb.

A kiss, a charm, I escaped the harm,
but hard headed took root.

I’m fourth leaf, chance brushed lucky.
Blarney’s a gift, a jigger’s a rift.
I drank my share, but always with care
that I didn’t dive deeper than no.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

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Friday, March 16, 2018



I’m not sure why I spill ink stains
into your dreams, but somewhere
in the poetry I’ve left my heart.
I hope your lips won’t return it broken
or tease possible with a flame too cold to burn.

Forever is a penny word spent to buy trust.
Tomorrow can’t be seen, so give me today.

I’ve never felt the urge before to bare my soul,
or press flowers into words, but butterflies rage
within me, and I grow bold in their tempest.

Morning is climbing the rooftops.
I’ll know if the weather will be rain or shine
when I see the forecast in your eyes.



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Sunday, March 11, 2018


Spirits weary of gray skies
pull their curtains at sunrise
hoping the wool will be pried
from fists of cold enterprise.

Somewhere on a robin’s wing
there must be feathers of spring
strong enough to break the strings
that bind us to mourning’s ring.

Wildflowers bloom their welcome
in greening fields to beckon
winter to cease rebellion
of bare trees and ice bedlam.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Real Toads ~ Fussy Little Forms ~ Tanaga 
Poetry Pantry ~ #394

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Tuesday, February 20, 2018

My Chair of Tears

Sunflowers weep brittle petals
from their frosted death mask,
and I beg spring to come and
take the funeral from my garden.
Winter has written so many
entries in its journal of bone chill
I breathe its story each morning.

Pain walks through my thighs
on the command of a barometer,
a stab here, a burn there…
a Pinocchio dance on legs
too stiff to react as human.

In my chair of tears I wonder
if this petrification will bring me
closer to humility or will I merely
live my own wasting one splinter at a time.

If not for love, I would make my own
journey to spring, but to pill myself
into eternity would break the heart
of a man who would bear my pain
if the universe would allow him.

Hope is truly fragile, a paper thin glass
one demon away from shattering.
I must have faith I’m a day closer
to a robin song, and not a hymn sung
where I am coffined in silence.

  ©Susie Clevenger 2018

This was written from my experiences in 2002 with Fibromyalgia while living in Broken Arrow, Ok. This winter because of the colder weather in Texas where I now reside I have been on a roller coaster of flares, but I am in a much better place both physically and emotionally. Writing and my fledgling artistic attempts with beading have been my salvation. Yes, the garden outside my window suffered the devastation of a hard frost, but my spirit has never surrendered its green leaves.

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Wednesday, February 14, 2018

Poem Stars

She lives in a nest of dreams
where feather and flight
are home and stones
carry no weight.

While others sleep she sits
among poem stars peeking
through an ink stained sky.

Resting so close to far away
the night song of indigo
sings Keats into her ear.

Cupped in moon shadow
she blooms in the sting of thorns
without the sorrow of collecting scars.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Thanks to Margaret Bednar's poem I found this art piece by Catrin Welz-Stein as one of four images used to inspire poetry at dVerse Poets Pub. Catrin's art is so beautiful. I suggest you take the time to visit her page to view her incredible work.

dVerse Poets Pub ~ Inspired by Art
Real Toads ~ The Tuesday Platform
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Thursday, February 8, 2018

The Mirror Drops

The staircase curls in Goldilocks gold
and Alice bottle madness.
Nightmare's dream frost the moon
in sing song tongues of this is, that isn’t
urging feet to find the bottom of what goes up.

The mirror drops where toes tread fear
and the footprints of who should silver splash
with reflections of who shouldn’t.

Go where with care because once you’re there,
too much may be too little and too little too much.

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Tuesday, February 6, 2018

Heart Without Rain

I’ll umbrella the stars,
drink from the moon,
and dance until the sun
robs the night of romance.

Love is a balancing act
better suited to walk
shoeless and blind.

Clarity will come when
vases no longer bleed daises.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

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