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."

Saturday, May 5, 2018

Sparrow Line




Dressing up for the soup kitchen
is the new chic…
after all, the carats on my fingers
look striking against chipped china.

I think it is in a manual, Money Speak
or something like that where it stresses
charity photographs well.

Oh, I do enjoy being a bit of color
in the sparrow line shuffling cracker,
spoon, and tray… I always donate
what I wear so the street won’t
clutter my closet.

Goodness, it’s almost been an hour.
Time flies when soup calls once a year.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Real Toads ~ Camera Flash
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Thursday, May 3, 2018

Until the Hummingbird


"The only thing I know is that I paint because I need to, and I paint whatever
 passes through my head without any other consideration." ~ Frida Kahlo

What does it matter if books
are neatly stacked or if pens
are corralled in a cup?

I am wings in disorder,
a sky spilled dream building a nest
where words can hatch.

Things I pluck from here and there
fall from my fingertips into little shrines
mimicking my mind’s helter skelter.

If you see my everything and find nothing,
it’s not my worry…I’m perfectly content
to wander my confusion until the hummingbird speaks.

©Susie Clevenger 2018


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Tuesday, May 1, 2018

Enough Sugar Coat

Related image


“We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget.
We forget the loves and the betrayals alike, forget what we whispered
and what we screamed, forget who we were.”
― Joan Didion, Slouching Towards Bethlehem


The never forget we so carefully place
on our tongues and in tissue boxes
gathers the same dust as last year’s
Christmas cards.

We are collectors of passion, outrage,
offenses, a museum of emotions.
Sulfur here, water there, hypocrisy’s offspring
stuck on wash, rinse, and repeat.

Fade in our bloom, lose what we should find…
It makes no sense, but we spin it through a few adjectives
and thin excuses until there’s enough sugar coat to keep us blind.

©Susie Clevenger 2018




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Tuesday, April 24, 2018

You're a Stone




Love wants to bleed…
my head wants to lead.
I’m half of whole spillin’ my soul
into lovin’ you.

I walk talk prayers can’t answer.
I cry why but I’m not givin’ up.
You’re a stone…You’re a stone
You’re a stone crushin’ my heart.

Angels can’t form a choir
when truth walks with a liar.
My hands keep clutchin’ petals
waitin’ for dust to settle.

Take my tears from all the years
we’ve been bullet and gun,
words loaded ready to run
to arms that’ll never end our pain.

I walk talk prayers can’t answer.
I cry why, but I’m not givin’ up
You’re a stone…You’re a stone.
You’re a stone crushin’ my heart.

©Susie Clevenger 2018


Music always helps me find words. My version of lyrics.




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Sunday, April 22, 2018

Somewhere in The Chorus


"To write a blues song is to regiment riots and pluck gems from graves."
     ~ Etheridge Knight


She’s pouring pain into blue notes
and bleeding it through a microphone.

It doesn’t matter about a name.
We all look alike when we’re crying.

She’s pulling diamonds from bones,
digging her heels into survival.

It doesn’t matter about a name.
We all look alike when the valley
gets shorter.

She’s singing to the choir
and collecting amens.

It doesn’t matter about a name.
We all look alike when the blues
writes us into the chorus.

©Susie Clevenger 2018


I'm sorry I disappeared for a while. I started out strong with a commitment to write 30 poems in 30 days, but life hit hard and I just couldn't write. My favorite uncle died April 5th. It's a long story, but basically because of the failure of the medical community to diagnosis his illness soon enough, he starved to death. The week of his death he was finally diagnosed with Achalasia. It was too late. What part of a man can't eat, can't even get water through his esophagus makes it imperative you find a reason for it?  I have been plagued with "if only." The biggest one being, if only I had lived closer.  



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Friday, April 6, 2018

Where Silk Binds to Rib


Stones are blind
but every bruise
formed from
sharp edges
holds a prayer
of freedom.

I walk so you can stand.
I cry so you can smile.

Look for me in the lotus
where silk binds to rib,
in thread where the butterfly
guides you to wings.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Real Toads ~ Speaking In the Voice of Another
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Thursday, April 5, 2018

Winter Weather


The frostbite from his lips
was only a word away from scarring.

She wrapped her arms
around his neck hoping
she had enough heart
to melt the winter between them.

Grabbing at snowflakes she sang
her revision of their favorite
Christmas song quietly in his ear,

“Oh the weather inside is frightful,
but a fire would be so delightful,
and if this is the end I’ll go.
Let me know…Let me know…Let me know…”

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