Wings on the Edge Get link Facebook X Pinterest Email Other Apps September 02, 2019 Photography by Svetlana Belyaeva Life is a party on the edge of tears. Red is the perfect color for kiss and cry. A rose would never bloom without rain. ©Susie Clevenger 2019 The Sunday Muse #71 Get link Facebook X Pinterest Email Other Apps Comments Carrie Van HornSeptember 2, 2019 at 9:56 AMThat first line is brilliant and true! This is lovely Susie! I love it!ReplyDeleteRepliesReplyMagaly GuerreroSeptember 2, 2019 at 12:42 PMWe need those storms, to remind us we're alive, to help us grow (strong). ReplyDeleteRepliesReplytonispencerSeptember 3, 2019 at 1:40 PMWe need the rain to make the roots go deep and strengthen us. My husband's roses love the rain and have started their series of blooming and will bloom until November, if we get rain!ReplyDeleteRepliesReplyAdd commentLoad more... Post a Comment
The Owl of Capricorn's Moon September 29, 2024 She sits on my shoulder, a feathered sage whispering to my dreams about a tomorrow I can’t see and doors yet to be open. With the gentle touch of my hair resting against her owl feathers I feel the caress of angels who watch from Capricorn’s moon, and loneliness feels less empty. Outside my window trees write their wind stories across the glass. Without a sound the owl stirs the silence with its wings. Within me the knowing forms, it is time for her to leave to write her own page in the journal of midnight. ©Susie Clevenger 2024 Read more
I Listened to the Photographs October 13, 2024 My wings are feathers of ink and pages, spines of titles, wonders that form from every sentence and exclamation. In late autumn’s storm of leaves I will be your umbrella so you won’t feel their tears. A thousand clipped blossoms spilled across the sand from an open car door. I suppose someone thought it was romantic, a gesture to awe a heart. In the dust mirror of summer all I could see was a garden grieving it could no longer hear the honeybees. Winter watches from the horizon. It’s barren antlers of oak limbs writing gothic poems across brittle grass that can longer feel the color of green. He tossed his hat into the wind trusting fate had a warm heart. Silly man never considered fire takes a spark, not a sliver of ice. If I lit a candle for each of my mistakes, I’d have every bridge burned before I could cross it. open me to ink there are a thousand stories buried on my tongue ©Susie Clevenger 2024 Word Crafters Prompt Read more
Clouds Left Me With Sylvia April 27, 2024 Sylvia Path 1932-1963 Dead Grass It is agony to feel irrelevant. I wonder if the earth swallowed me anyone would worry I was gone or be more concerned about why the grass won’t grow any more. Walking Dead The sun on my arms feels lonely. As much as I hunger for light my spirit has grown too comfortable with shadows. I’m the walking dead, a candle without a match. Blind Paper I beg ink for something to say. The blind eye of white paper frightens me. So Many Crossroads I took a long walk out of my mind. Insanity had so many crossroads I could never find my way back to me. ©Susie Clevenger 2024 Read more
That first line is brilliant and true! This is lovely Susie! I love it!
ReplyDeleteWe need those storms, to remind us we're alive, to help us grow (strong).
ReplyDeleteWe need the rain to make the roots go deep and strengthen us. My husband's roses love the rain and have started their series of blooming and will bloom until November, if we get rain!
ReplyDelete