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."

Tuesday, January 23, 2018

Pen and Ink

 

I rise with the moon.
Goddess formed from
star reflection, I drink
eternity from a twilight cup.

I know how gravel feels
beneath my own shoes,
but the stones you walk
are not my agony.




















Ink stained fingers
carved out a thousand words
to tell a story that pinched
my heart into dried blood.

Real Toads ~ The Tuesday Platform
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Sunday, January 21, 2018

The Day I Decided to Live

















The day I decided to live
I erased every number on my phone,
dropped a few lines to enemies,
and got the fuck out of bed.

The silence had grown moss
across the walls in pitiful whines
until I couldn’t stand the me
I had wallowed into.

Why face the sunrise with a shit load
of every misery you insomnia walked
through your mind until your eyes
were tear rimmed bloodshot?

Alone sucked me into its bitter lemon
until I couldn’t stand my own company.
There wasn’t an ounce of friendly in my smile
or enough joy to shadow walk a grin.

I’m now ten years from the gray matter
I sacrificed to trying to find peace in a crap shoot.
My mind is still closer to crazy, but I’m in a better place.

Self pity loves to give you a knife sharp enough
to cut you into friendless… I burned enough bridges
for revival…Dancing on the end of a rope will teach
you how to live without blaming silence for kicking the chair.
  
 ©Susie Clevenger 2018

I wrote this in response to Charlies Bukowski's poem, The Night I Was Going to Die .

The Night I Was Going to Die ~ Charles Bukowski 

the night I was going to die
I was sweating on the bed
and I could hear the crickets 
and there was a cat fight outside
and I could feel my soul dropping down through the 
mattress
and just before it hit the floor I jumped up
I was almost too weak to walk
but I walked around and turned on all the lights
and then I went back to bed
and dropped it down again and
I was up
turning on all the lights
 
You can read the rest of the poem on the link above.




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Saturday, January 20, 2018

The Cradle of Daron


Palms open to carry
the earth song of seedlings
reach toward the sun
to summon light to bless
infant oak soon to be
cradled in the soft loam
of Daron’s breast.

Women of the wild have
left their song of mourning
to lift their voices to sing
of spring wind, rain, and
limbs to nest wing and feather.

In the dust bowl of war
women rise in peace to bring
hope from acorns that don’t
build walls or weapons, but
root to grow shade for communion.

Tree Sisters hear the womb cry
of ashes and plant dreams
of trunk and limb in faith what
man has scorched will be
resurrected in breathing forests.


©Susie Clevenger 2018

Oak

The oak tree features prominently in many Celtic cultures. The ancient geographer Strabo (1st century AD) reported that the important sacred grove and meeting-place of the Galatian Celts of Asia Minor, Drunemeton, was filled with oaks. In an often-cited passage from Historia Naturalis (1st century AD), Pliny the Elder describes a festival on the sixth day of the moon where the druids climbed an oak tree, cut a bough of mistletoe, and sacrificed two white bulls as part of a fertility rite. Britons under Roman occupation worshipped a goddess of the oak tree, Daron, whose name is commemorated in a rivulet in Gwynedd
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Tuesday, January 16, 2018

Song of Morgues

Dry veined leaves play
the song of morgues
outside my window
and I dream of green
growing things and dragonflies.

There is a zoo winter cages
in the spirit when freedom
can’t withstand the breath of ice
or legs sentenced to pace rooms.

Sitting among my penciled tulips
I construct a crayon altar to summon spring,
and listen to a cardinal berate a crow
for its coal drop among crimson.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2018



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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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