Notes on Abalone Get link Facebook X Pinterest Email Other Apps August 20, 2021 In the cavern of whispers where sea and sand roam waves write love notes on abalone, and wait for dreamers wooed by the music of poetry to surrender to its seduction.©Susie Clevenger 2021 Get link Facebook X Pinterest Email Other Apps Comments
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
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