When All Else Fails


When all else fails…

 I

       try on jeans to see

      if my pandemic belly

      argues with my zipper.

I

 watch animal videos until

my face has giggle paralysis.

I

        google “witch couture”

      for casual spells.

I

 put another flowerpot on the

front porch to see if the HOA notices.

I

       paste sticky notes on my coffee cup

      to remind me there’s life after caffeine.

©Susie Clevenger 2020

Poets and Storytellers United Weekly Scribblings #24




Comments

  1. HelenJune 18, 2020 at 1:50 PM

    As you already know ~~~~ LOVE LOVE this one!

    ReplyDelete
  2. LoriJune 18, 2020 at 3:37 PM

    There's life after coffee?? I'm definitely not fitting into any of my pre-pandemic pants. Lol!

    ReplyDelete
  3. JimJune 18, 2020 at 4:56 PM

    Will the excitement never end? I keep thinking the next day should be Saturday. I see why prisoners scribble calendars on their walls.
    ..

    ReplyDelete
  4. Magaly GuerreroJune 18, 2020 at 5:22 PM

    Oh, Susie, this is delicious! Here I was thinking I was the only one watching the pandemic time fluctuation of my bits.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Rosemary Nissen-WadeJune 18, 2020 at 6:48 PM

    There's life after caffeine??? You mean caffeine is not the point of life?

    Seriously, you so nailed this.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Kim M. RussellJune 19, 2020 at 1:42 AM

    Love it! Especially the animal videos and witch couture.

    ReplyDelete
  7. Sanaa RizviJune 20, 2020 at 8:42 AM

    Ooh this is gorgeously rendered! I love; "paste sticky notes on my coffee cup to remind me there’s life after caffeine."💘

    ReplyDelete
  8. purplepeninportland.comJune 20, 2020 at 5:46 PM

    Love this, Susie! the witch couture, animal videos, and all.

    ReplyDelete
  9. RommyJune 21, 2020 at 5:18 AM

    I love these snapshots of a pandemic. LOL, some of these are all too familiar to me! I mostly check out Instagram for witch aesthetics though.

    ReplyDelete
  10. JennaJune 21, 2020 at 7:56 PM

    I love the part about the flowerpot and the HOA! That made me chuckle.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Owl of Capricorn's Moon

Image
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

How Do I Shrink the Moon

Image
My mom says my imagination is too big. I should cut it into smaller pieces so the coloring book in my head can fit on the kitchen table. But how do I shrink the moon or turn a rainbow into ribbon when tomorrow seems a year away? I never fit where I am or reach where I want to go. Chairs are uncomfortable, shoes keep my feet from feeling the grass, and every time I see a butterfly I know one day I’ll have wings. Mom can’t hear the dandelions or hold a spoon against the window to catch drops of sunlight before night covers it with stars.  I don’t think I ever want to grow up. I’d be too bored. Where would I put my teddy bears when my bed is nothing but an ocean of pillows? Susie Clevenger 2024  What's Going On? ~ Children   Susie Clevenger 2024
Read more

I Listened to the Photographs

Image
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