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, 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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Sunday, July 16, 2017

Lobster Numb

The devil’s in the details
and we dance blind.

Bully bloat, science won't matter
 until denial gets bit, orange alliance,
great is downgraded to embarrassment.

Keep the fossil in the tank, air bleak,
and water selling higher than oil.

All that pulpit thump preaching hell
has a highway through Armageddon
forgot to consult Mother Earth.

She’s been saying for ages there’s
a burning coming, but humans are lobster numb,
denying they sulphured the match.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

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Friday, July 14, 2017


    The Death of Albine ~ 1898 ~ John Collier

You wreathed my body in flowers.
I didn’t know guilt could come so adorned.
You knifed my spirit until I could no longer breathe,
drained the roses from my lips and danced
with the devil until I sought angels.

I hate parades. This march of black sleeves
parading across my cheeks seeking notice
is a hundred clowns away from truth.

How many more rumors must ears taste
when they are already fat with lies?
I lay here sentenced to dust while
a covey of scarlet offenses claim piety.

Is revenge truly sweet or merely the stench of decay?
My body will be absolved from my spirit’s consequences.
I will not go quietly into my tomb of draped lilies.

I will be the roar in a pillowed head counting sheep,
a stalking wolf devouring rest, a wraith ushering
my tormentors into the open throat of their madness.

Here in this time before wings I gather names
in the hollow cave of my breast until I know
how many shadows it takes to coal dust clouds
in an unrepentant sky.
 ©Susie Clevenger 2017

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Wednesday, July 12, 2017


Morning peels us from bed
in onion layers until we stand
night drugged on two feet.

Swiftly the sun steals the lover’s chat
from our lips as we snap and grumble
our way to the calculated time of caffeine.

Two souls entangled in memories
prepare to wander through daylight hours
searching for a break in the fence.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

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Saturday, July 8, 2017

In 1968

In 1968….

I was wild weed drifting
in flash notes when July burned
deliverance into blue eyes.
Naïve had long been plucked
from fragile leaves, but I blushed
the virgin pink of a first kiss.

Born female in a stone garden
I was feral glass, boot high,
waiting for the next shattering.
In the summer hum of guitars
you were a place of roots, sunshine,
a prince guiding my heart to my own rescue.

In 1968…

My world turned upside down
and I wasn’t hurt in the fall.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

My poem was inspired by these beautiful photos.
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Thursday, July 6, 2017

Carnival Bird Sky

The carnival bird sky
melts into gray wings
racing toward rest.

Pressed against the
brick wall I watch
the last hurrah of
an ice cream sunset
surrender to dusk.

I wonder how much
of myself I can leave
to summer tongues
to debate before
I reach empty.

I should feel remorse
or at least sorrow,
but there is an odd joy
in becoming a shadow.

It’s easier to run
when goodbye leaves
 no strings attached.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

I used bird, ice cream, and dusk from the list.

Real Toads ~ July Get Listed
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