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."

Thursday, August 17, 2017

Hip Preach



Spike heels tap concrete
as I rhythm walk the street hum
until my body drinks enough song.

Palms raised to glass eyes
I hip preach to desk dwellers
to swivel to their feet.

There’s a revolution in the groove.
Angry can’t hold its ground
when lip synch fuels a smile.

Spirits ride rainbows to the streets
in color splashes of unique until
gray surrenders the dance floor.

The universal joy of feet freestyling
to their own drum hums through my body.
I deep breathe electric and side step another hallelujah.

©Susie Clevenger 2017



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Tuesday, August 15, 2017

Damning for Damning

"Picket lines and picket signs
Don't punish me with brutality
C'mon talk to me
So you can see
What's going on
Yeah, what's going on"

What's Goin On ~ Marving Gaye
Songwriters: Alfred W Cleveland / Marvin P Gaye / Renaldo Benson



Break the stones from our tongues.
We sin troll for every prejudice,
ignore the songs of peace,
and cry blood as if wounds
had more power than listening
eye to eye.

Your fault, his fault, her fault
never reaches the conclusion of my fault,
damning for damning leaves us
invisible in our own mirrors.

Feed the dragon…Expect the burn.
The bonfire will turn to cold ash
if we stop feeding it bitter words.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Real Toads ~ The Tuesday Platform

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Sunday, August 13, 2017

Woman Up



A rusted padlock hangs
between my breast and ribs.
I lost the key a hundred
heartbreaks a go when
the tear swamp grew teeth
and tore a hole
in my starry eyes.

It wasn’t bitter that lost the key
or the clinging ribbons of lost love.
Reality stormed in like a bitch
who knows her truth and tore
the pink curtain from my daydreams.

She taught me to woman up,
a few bruises on my spirit wouldn’t kill,
and building a wall around my heart
only makes me the prisoner.

The rusty open lock and I are friends.
When I struggle about letting
someone in, it reminds me
empty feeds too many ghosts.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2017



 "A rusted padlock hangs between my breast and ribs."  Is the first line in my poem Every Glass Slipper Fits A Fool.

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Wednesday, August 9, 2017

Thumbtack Me

Go ahead, thumbtack me
to a bulletin board,
give me an bright ink moment
before I disappear beneath
the grocery list.

I am a rush of words,
a begging promise,
a handwritten beginning
scribbled on a coffee stained napkin.

Pressed into cork I face
a battle with time, errands,
and dirty laundry for attention.

I can’t reach…I can’t walk…I can’t talk.
I am a moment’s light burned into paper
hoping to become a poem.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

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Saturday, July 29, 2017

I Never Planned for Fading

Art by Karin Gustafson 

Perched on my toadstool throne
I contemplate my realm
of weeds and rodents.

I had petitioned the gods
for a crown, a purple robe and
to rule an ice cream summer kingdom.

Oh, the curse of dreams that
only see with water color eyes.
I never planned for fading.

I was told my golden road was a carrot
selfish could never reach…There’s
no magic in a tongue of sticks and stones.

Blame is hard grain to chew,
so I self medicate with tears
poured from my violin.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

The perfect accompaniment to self pity is Aase's Death from Peer Gynt Suite No. 1. I've had one or two pity parties lately. I think making myself the cry baby in my own poem is cathartic. Nothing goes well with whine except..perhaps..of course..humor.



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Thursday, July 27, 2017

First Tongue of Dying Words












First tongue
of dying words,
the journal erases
before the ink dries.

Eyes search for familiar
in a sea of dead names.

The quilt turns inside out
as I sing a lullaby in
my mother’s ear.

She falls asleep searching for her baby.
I’m wide awake wishing she could find me.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Real Toads ~ Scribble It
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Sunday, July 23, 2017

Starlight Owns An Instagram Page

It holds a thousand dreams,
broken voices, midnight caffeine
drugging awake long enough
to keep the tap shoes talking.

Marquee lights wink names
until the day stalker robs bulbs,
but music poured into minds
will survive beyond red curtains and
bows soliciting applause.

Walls climb through traffic rumble,
homeless begging for another dime
to burn a vein, and couture clothed
plastic personalities whoring another fifteen
minutes from camera lenses to faux claim
starlight owns an Instagram page.

Left is right and right is left, backstage hustles,
onstage looks for a mark, and settings change
in electric movement and human push.

Reality takes a break in a seat nosebleed high
to watch miniature figures claim their original
can steal thunder from “There’s nothing
new under the sun.”

©Susie Clevenger 2017

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