"I am hearing poetry when awake, dreaming poetry when asleep, breathing poetry with each breath, I am living in a poem."

Tuesday, January 31, 2017

Such a Doll

Ziegfeld Girls ~ Alfred Cheney Johnston 

You’re such a doll,
stuffed with sass
and bad habits.

I want to steal
your impudence,
lace up in naughty.

You snub your nose
at the corset of compliance
laced into Adam’s rib.

I need a touch of rebellion,
a little hell on my tongue,
and a match that knows who to burn.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Read More

Sunday, January 29, 2017

Honey Sweet

Every poem needn’t carry a burden,
a weight too hard to digest,
be brave enough for honeyed words
and the glow of cinnamon light.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Read More

Friday, January 27, 2017


It is an unholy cause that scours
the desert of broken spirits
to find souls so tattered
they would surrender freedom
for a crust of bread.

Altars can only sacrifice innocence once.
When blind tongues finally taste truth,
insurgency will topple temples housing
the decadent congregations of pitiless.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Read More

Tuesday, January 24, 2017

Memories Escape The Eraser

The monster opens the cupboard door
in my mind to feed his throat
with words he stored to terrify a child.

I sing of sixty plus birthdays while
the six year old inside cries from the burns
of a gaslight flame, “It was all your fault.”

Memories escape the eraser,
dance behind white wash,
pluck lashes from sleep.

Peace had kept the string taut
around pillowcase nightmares
until orange skin resurrected demons
with the match strike of an abusive tongue.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

(Still thinking Poe)
(Truth too often carries scars)

Read More

Thursday, January 19, 2017

Blindness of Night

In the blindness of night
where laughter dies
and shadows bring fright
I shiver beneath the willow’s sigh.

Every footprint, every sound
plays a dirge across my skin
until fear is a thread wound
on the thumb of a devil’s whim.

Dead roses cackle among thorns
of secrets, lies, and weak limbs,
taunting my spirit that mourns
a vibrant life turned so grim.

I thought freedom was your grave
where tears dry and life ends,
yet I walk among the dead wearying brave
with a heart that beats but never mends.


Sometimes I am terrified 
how my dreams bleed my heart
into a moon battered cup,
 and then breaks my bones into their will.

©Susie Clevenger 2017
Celebrating Edgar Allan Poe's Birthday! Thank you dear Poe for being the reason I write poetry.
Read More

© Confessions Of A Laundry Goddess , AllRightsReserved.

Designed by ScreenWritersArena