Jan 29, 2012

The Book of Me



Another Free Write Friday has arrived. This is the challenge Kellie Elmore has put before her writers. You have just died! You come to find yourself standing at a bookshelf when you notice that there is a book that has your name on it. What do you do? What do you fear? Do you open it? What does it say?


Why am I in a library? I loved to read, but of all places why would my spirit return here? I see some of my favorite books, The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe, To Kill a Mockingbird, Great Expectations….I turn to see another shelf of books. What?  A book titled, Susie ?  That is odd. Perhaps it is just a coincidence. I must see what the book of Susie is all about.

Susie was a mixed bag of impractical-practical. Sunlit days would find her crying and rain made her dance. Life was something she ran through with arms open wide. Susie wanted to grab everything she could to fill her days with a thousand dreams.

Music was her heartbeat. Her feet would move in dance to celebrate the joy she found in rhythm.  Susie would take to the dance floor even if she was the only one dancing. Her free spirit was not inhibited by what others might think.

Laughter bubbled at any moment.  She loved to do things that would bring a shocked reaction. Once she had the laugh of her life at her youngest daughter, Carrie’s expense. While baking bread in a bread maker she peered into the little glass window and then turned to Carrie and asked, “I wonder if the bread gets scared when you look in the window at it?” She recalled how priceless it was to see her daughter’s face.
Carrie looked at her like she had gone mad.

Susie loved to write. Poetry was her passion. It seemed inspiration spoke from everything around her. Long nights of insomnia had her writing poems. Her muse was always there to move her fingers with a pen or across the keyboard. Words were her voice when her lips could not speak.

This book is about me, a copyrighted, shelved biography. But why and who wrote it? I can’t find an author. Who knew me so well that they could write with such accuracy? I don’t remember even leaving a diary. I had started one so many times to get bored after a few pages. As I look at the other books I see all of them have names on the spines. What an unusual library. I glance up to see a sign hanging above the door. It says, “Life as you wrote it.” 





My Poetry My Voice

My poetry my voice,
The words pouring
from the universe
inside of me.

Imagination twinkles
in an alphabet sky
where I can reach out
with my heart to
gather the letters
to speak what my
dreams whisper.

Every poem that
I have written
and those yet unwritten
travel inspiration’s milky way
in my soul.

The child born a poet
to the woman who
will one day meet death
reside in this universe.
We are my poetry my voice.


©Susie Clevenger

3 comments:

  1. Found it! :) Sorry it got overlooked, Susie :(

    Your first line was so much like myself. About crying on sunny days and dancing in the rain. How sweet is that! :) Bittersweet maybe. ♥ and the narrative of yourself just sings of who Susie is and carries me into your mind and heart, thank you for that. Then the end... "life as you wrote it" OMG how true! When it is all over, WE were the author of our own destiny, making or breaking our very own fates and happiness and paths... WE control it more than we think we do! WOnderful poignant piece!!! Bravo!!!
    Thanks for giving this to FWF!!!

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  2. That's ok Kellie...I was slow in getting it written and in posting it. Thank you so much for your kind words.

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  3. Hey - came to visit, you dropped by my blog- thanks!
    A book with our name on it...If the Karmic one is true, it might be full of facts- She did, she thought, she felt.
    It probably would have some mention of what we wanted/ intended to do and never got to!
    I have tons of Journals. Generally 3 thick ones a year.
    There are sketches, book reviews, far flung thoughts; hopes, dreams. There are Poems, essays, letters- Prayers.
    I burnt a ton of old, old ones last year with piles of old
    paintings...Consigned them to my concept of God...

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