The spring sunset hangs on the horizon in shades of cranberry, and black bird silhouettes spiraling their way toward the top of a pine. Even this natural book of psalms being written with shadows would be banned if  Stiflers of Freedom knew nature’s joy couldn’t be edited.  There is rebellion in wildflowers surviving the feet of men, as they dance their bright colors toward a sapphire jeweled night where Flora tends her nursery of seedlings.  In the lily snowfall of petals, the moon begins its hymn guiding spirits of flesh and blood, who no longer seek guidance from droning ..read more

My closet is a museum of whom I was, where I began. Boxes hold tight to secrets, the already known, and dreams I hoped would grow, but never found the right garden. Photographs of a precocious child dressed in secrets peers up from plastic, sepia pages with eyes that speak of lessons learned from the darkest fairytales. Not all is dreary, yellow hair  captured in black and white shows wind dancing with  every strand as I chased sunlight across my front yard. Bright orange pops from a photo in splashes of lace, a bold thumb in the eye of every other girl who pasteled her prom w ..read more

  I ache for night, to dance among stars who don’t ask my name or judge me for my eccentrics. It is in the fairy plumb shadows the harsh lines of worry  are air brushed into peace. I’ve always been a nightling, a forever child claiming the moon as mother,  and the silhouettes of wildlife my familiars, guides leading me to poetry the sun could never write. In the obscurity tomorrow  doesn’t stalk nor does daylight insist I sit at its table of necessities. Embraced by the quiet song of night insomnia feels less a beast and more like a fly that annoys for a moment, but w ..read more

Within me there is a well both empty and overflowing. There is dust, summer rain, the sound of my voice, and the echo of others.  I often fear it isn’t poetry, only words held until I choose to dip my pen into troubled water.  There is no way to escape breath if I choose to live. Every poem I write resuscitates hope the journal in me will find the soul who needs the breadcrumbs I leave for them. Rarely can I write in rhyme because I have no talent  to not make it sound pitiful or childish. For me it is torture, a duty I’m not qualified to perform. Poetry is my therapy, im ..read more

It’s not just a feather but a wing note begging to be translated  with eyes of ink that sees poetry before it’s written. It’s not just a thing left to be bruised by a footprint but a sign healing defies gravity. It’s not just a reminder of how much was lost but the voice of wind  encouraging the spirit melancholy is a season not a sentence.  It’s not just a plume  but hope that waits patiently for you to remember  you already know how to fly. ©Susie Clevenger 2024 What's Going On - Just a Cup of Tea   ..read more

  I dance with the dead, revel in the fallen splashes of color as they haunt the wind.   Oak leaves that summer stained blue sky with paint brush leaves of green now fall in cascades of orange and red.   Limbs stripped to their wooded bones speak of winter coming to frost night with sparkled shivers of dreams roaming indigo.   Caught in swirls of leaf flames I feel my childhood open its door of wonder to memories of the oak cradling my secrets.   Standing on sturdy roots I let them feed my spirit the power of resiliency to grow even in a world that seeks to mold me ..read more

My tabernacle is the woods beyond the glass of my window.  It is there survival speaks to me, where hope grows the smallest green leaf on drought’s ravaged limb.  As I venture outside the glass, I am embraced by wind’s sermon of light that bears none of the restraints of man’s definition of God.  It is among the swaying hymns my heart is nurtured, my soul communes with joy, and my spirit finds the strength to persevere.  Susie Clevenger 2023 ..read more

Say Something – Written by  Ian Axel and Chad King Nothing hurts more than a question hung on a frayed thread of silence. No would have been a cleaner cut than the haunting ghost of indifference. If you don’t love me, at least give me the wound of saying it. ©Susie Clevenger 2023   ..read more

  I’ll Stand by You –– Written by Chrissie Hynde I’ll be here when there are endings, when your heart spins out of control, or night lingers too far into sunrise. Scream into my shoulder, cry in my arms. When steps feel like a marathon, I’ll tie your shoelaces, hold your arm so you won’t fall. You’ve been there when I broke, held me together until I could figure out how to be whole. It’s my turn to help you carry what you can’t bear alone.  © Susie Clevenger ..read more

 "I seated ugliness on my knee, and almost  immediately grew tired of it." - Salvador Dali. Shades of Night Descending, 1931 by Salvador Dali In the desert of obscure I plant myself as a rock. No matter how weathered or man carved by knife I remain the enigma the devil argues with. The rainfall of shadows has tried to drown me, flood me with dubiety  but I remain morning in midnight’s bath. I was formed beneath a bully’s boot pressed on my chest, defiant marble risen from the rotted breath of abuse. ©Susie Clevenger 2023 ..read more