When Scissors Came

Fledgling American Crow on Hand   photo by Robert Langham

I was born black winged vocal on the tongue of silence.
Harsh tried to teach me to fly without words, but sight isn’t deaf.
With every “hush” I grew stronger.
When scissors came to cut me from the nest, I’d already learned the language of wings.
©Susie Clevenger 2019
The Sunday Muse #54

At Light's Caution

A spring evening, coffee black without moon, plays a chorus of frog and wind chime.
A small solar light in the corner of the garden guides me to a chair, and winks its caution to remain silent.
I take my seat and give thanks for its wisdom.
©Susie Clevenger 2019
Real Toads ~ Wordy Thursday


Ms. Rainbow enters the stage in her gown of charmeuse silk quoting Wordsworth and silences the sun’s soliloquy on his relationship with clouds.
Her theatrics are more jealous tantrum than artful expression or love of poetry.
For all her brilliant colors she only draws a moment’s adulation before her attraction begins to fade.
©Susie Clevenger 2019


Real Toads ~ The Tuesday Platform

What I See

It’s not where I was, but where I am I see in your eyes.
You hold my history in your lungs, yet no breath of my error escapes them.
I am lost and found in the starlight you carry me in…
Love grows with every joy, every trial, every moment I see myself through your eyes.
©Susie Clevenger 2019
The Sunday Muse #53