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."

Friday, October 13, 2017

Garland of Red


They’re only over exuberant children.
Boys will be boys...What breaks
didn’t have enough backbone.

Turning, dodging, my name turned foul
by a bully’s chorus edging the dance closer
to bruise my skin.

Don’t cry! Don’t cry! If the dirty words
bring a tear, my dreams will be infected.

The snow outside is writing a Christmas card
in the school yard…I’ll be a garland of red.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Real Toads ~ Cruel
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Saturday, October 7, 2017

School of Innocents

They wanted legs, feet, sand between their toes,
lungs filled with harmless hide and seek.

Mermaids knew the sea, salt laced lips,
the whale song vibrating survival,
but nothing of the crusted path of humans.

Like a school of innocents they swallowed the hook
love came unmolested by greed, by betrayal,
by the glass world of exploitation.
Oxygen and heels came at the cost of freedom.

The sea will always sing of home,
solid ground a mournful hum of withering.


©Susie Clevenger 2017

                                                  Untitled
                                   by Thomas Eakins (1910)
                                                 Fair Use

            Real Toads ~ Camera Flash

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Wednesday, October 4, 2017

There's Still Time for Ink



We can mold our fingers to a trigger.
We can hate with our words until we’re killing.
We can damn the dawn and fail the living.

But love still shines in a baby’s smile,
arms still lift when a soul cries,
and music still bridges the political divide.

If the pieces fall, we can mend.
If hope is dim, we can be a candle.
If the peace song is unwritten, there’s still time for ink.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Real Toads ~ The Tuesday Platform
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Sunday, October 1, 2017

Digital Revelation

a blowhard’s tongue,
an eye of a hurricane,
both storm the human spirit

the callous rake of wind and words
feeds on the bile of aftermath

the humane seek to aide life
and pour hope into the broken

the world peers into the digital eye of revelation

©Susie Clevenger 2017

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Friday, September 29, 2017

Eight Metal Letters







My father’s name
immortalized in aluminum,
once rested on top of his mailbox
as a marker for home,
mail delivery, and gravel dust,
now hangs nailed to my library wall.

It is an odd thing to connect so strongly
to its metal silence when I am stuck
in the white noise of wordless, but
it challenges me to escape the chained
introspect my father lived in.

He walked more in his mind than
he did with his voice. The world within
boiled like a teapot without steam.

When silence smothers, I rebel with
a keyboard, conjure words
from the taped tongued persistence
I have nothing to say…

Perhaps it is my totem, 
eight metal letters  urging me to speak.

©Susie Clevenger 2017



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