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, October 21, 2017

Love Boiled to Vague

Arms wide in the narrow reach
of love boiled to vague,
she chased illusion until
real got in the way.

Half of her daydreams
were bound in the sticky sweet
briar of “she can tie the knot
to save the fire”…

The other half stuck pins
in balloons trying to escape
a fool who followed a trail of hot air.

Naiveté didn’t survive wild roses. 

©Susie Clevenger 2017

Real Toads ~ Micro Poetry ~ Binding With Briars
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Friday, October 20, 2017


The color orange doesn’t look
good on him…He looks liver pumpkined.

For all his ruff there isn’t any substance.
Bully brag is a rucksack strapped to ears
tired of the chaffing wool of incessant dividing.

Be-trump Be-muse Be-little…
Nickum was rot before he stole the vine.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

I used these words from the list provided
Ruff : To swagger, bluster, domineer. To ruff it out/ to brag or boast of a thing
Be-trump: To deceive, cheat; to elude, slip from
Nickum: A cheating or dishonest person

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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

                                   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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