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The Lessons in September

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September gently rustlesdry leaves of August’s drought,and I hear it urging me to rest.Just as it must deal with the cackleof summer’s dusted leavings, I tooneed to surrender the weight of monthsto a past I can’t unravel.The ninth month has always birtheda hunger in me to learn, to search the unknown.This year I will nest in the breath of dreams andlet peace teach worry lessons in unburdening. ©Susie Clevenger 2020Word Crafters Prompt ~ Favorite MonthPoets and Storytellers United Weekly Scribblings #35

Dust Spew of Dragons

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I love dragon fieldsspewing August dustinto rain barren clouds.The anger of summerat the end of its ropeis theater I understand.Inevitable chokes with its curse, and the rib shredding of changedoesn’t earn our applause.Sisters of sun and steamed pudding moonwe know Autumn will soon arriveto taunt us with winter.
©Susie Clevenger 2020The Sunday Muse #121

Knee on the Neck of Democracy

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We’re praying between bullets, fed pepperto season our screams, and dodging puppetswho dance on an orange string. Change came like a lion,stalked our lungs, then locked us downin a twitter nest of failure.What will we look like when hell is over?When tomorrow doesn’t arrive witha black coffin sun? ©Susie Clevenger 2020Friday Flash 55

Wrestling With Gray

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Ribbon highways tempt with destinations, bright electric exits without melancholy brooding in the rear-view mirror. I normally don’t look back,mind rake my yesterdaysto garden good times, butstuck in non-directioneven images of my overweight selfare sunlight on a monochrome Sunday. Sitting at my table of wishes I watcha cardinal through my window, drink another cup of tea, and ponderif a journey begins with a single step,how do I reach Shambala by pacing quicksand?
©Susie Clevenger 2020

I was honored to have my photo as inspiration to spark poetry at The Sunday Muse.
The Sunday Muse #116

Poets and Storytellers United ~ Writer's Pantry #28

The Art of My Sanctuary

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The walls around me feel tighteragainst my spirit like blue jeansthat no longer fit because I fed my feelings. Anxiety flushes my skin forcing meto attempt to shake it off with pacing.My erratic walk takes me to my librarywhere brightly colored art greets mefrom every wall in the room.I slowly turn letting my eyes feaston brush strokes, dancing images,fantasy figures sailing a paper moon sky. My mood shifts with electric shocksof inspiration as I absorb the energyof hope, talent, vision, each artist poured into their paintbrushes.The binding rope of dark emotionsI carried into the room slips away,and I feel the creative strengthof others lift me, encourage metoday is the only door I need to open.
©Susie Clevenger 2020

Poets and Storytellers United ~ Writer's Pantry #26


When All Else Fails

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Slivers of Rage

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You torch our ears with promises,gaslight flames to burn us in a cornerto camp beneath light we can never own.Streets are littered with dreams no one can fix and hearts that can’t unbreak,while pulpits and podiums prey on us with pyramid schemes.What about us … the slivers of rage living on the edge of shadows, torn hearts withoutneedle or desire to stich a country into a flag.We are different colors…different lovers…different souls…broken bones walking the knife blade of those who are moretender with their prejudices than the humans who suffer at their feet.
©Susie Clevenger 2020


Poets and Storytellers United ~ Weekly Scribblings #23