Posted in Cascade

Senior Moments

Muscles pull, knee joints pop.
Memories sometimes fade.
Age is a heartless thug.

Simple tasks, putting on
socks and shoes, pose a threat.
Muscles pull, knee joints pop.

I won’t go to the store
without a list because
memories sometimes fade.

Sixty the new forty?
Don’t believe what you read.
Age is a heartless thug.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for the 12/3/14 prompt at Poetic Asides to write a “difficulties” poem.

Posted in Free Verse

He and She

Hand in hand
they sit on a park bench
as unspoken words engulf them.
Arthritic fingers rest on hard-earned callouses.
Still a sparkle in her pale blue eyes.
Still a smile that melts his heart.
A grin creases the old man’s wrinkled face
unmasking the mischievous fair-haired lad.
He first fell in love with that curly-headed lass
before he knew what love was.
Even as a girl, though she didn’t know why,
her heart belonged to him.
When twilight begins to fill the park with shadows,
they struggle to rise from the bench.
On unsteady feet, a lifetime’s devotion
gives them strength to continue their journey
hand in hand.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for the 7/16/14 prompt at Poetic Asides to write your poem as a story you imagined for a stranger.

Posted in Golden Shovel

The Process of Aging

From where they sit, there is nothing
to focus their thoughts on except
the shrouded hand of death.
They see their travels coming to a close and,
filled with fear, they obsess on the
road ahead. Yet some cannot even remember the rain,
how it smells or how it feels, and
would trade places for one more memory of tomorrow.

© Susan Schoeffield

The 6/24/14 post on Poetic Asides presented a challenge to write a poem in an interesting, and unfamiliar, poetry form called the Golden Shovel. Take a line from a favorite poem; each line of your poem should end with a word from the original line (using them in the order they appear).

Posted in Pensee

When Time Vanishes

When Time Vanishes

gathered from life
were saved for a later date,
when time allowed for reflection
on words hidden away.

The tales
she recorded
remained forever unread
when memories dissipated
and fled from her mind.

became empty,
no names or places recalled.
Her tired and spiritless eyes
could never bring them back.

Her words
saved for later
now languish on dusty shelves.
Never promised a tomorrow,
today was lost to time.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for the 3/9/14 prompt at Creative Bloomings to write a “nothing for granted” poem.

Posted in Quatrain

A Matter of Perspective

A Matter of Perspective

At nineteen, I had quite a fright
when auburn hair turned gray.
So L’Oréal became the friend
who washed the gray away.

Throughout the years, I’ve been a blonde,
brunette and redhead, too.
But keeping up became a chore,
one I grew loathe to do.

Today, I near the sixty mark,
and face a brand new plight.
I long for grays of yesterdays
since now my hair is white.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for the 2/12/14 prompt at Poetic Asides: write a “hair” poem.

Posted in Pensee


Poetic Asides November 2013 Poem-A-Day Challenge – Day 30: a “disappearing” poem


Time is
Pages on the calendar
fly into the recycle bin
faster than I can blink.

is closer now.
I’m not certain I’m prepared
to meet it with a smiling face
when it knocks on my door.

And yet,
in it will come.
What’s a few more pains and aches?
I’ve known plenty in my fifties
and I’m friends with Aleve.

Time is
While grateful for yesterdays,
I look forward to tomorrows
before I’m recycled.

© Susan Schoeffield


Posted to Poetic Asides on 11/30/13 at 5:38 p.m.

Posted in Saraband

Syndrome X

Poetic Asides November 2013 Poem-A-Day Challenge – Day 2: a “news of the day” poem

Syndrome X

Headline from ABC News/Good Morning America website on 10/29/13: “20-Year Old Dies Never Having Aged”

Brooke Greenberg, of Reisterstown, Maryland, was 20 years old when she died on October 27, 2013, yet she was physically and cognitively similar to a toddler.  She was about 30 inches tall, weighed about 16 pounds, and had an estimated mental age of nine months to one year.

Frozen in her innocence,
she never reached adulthood,
much less adolescence,
but not because she died at birth.
A strange disease had stilled her age
and while remaining on this earth
she stayed within the toddler stage.

Through many operations,
she was able to survive
with love from her relations.
This child whose growing process stalled
provided both pain and pleasure.
And when at last the angels called,
they would mourn their special treasure.

© Susan Schoeffield

Posted at Poetic Asides on 11/2/13 at 6:26 p.m.

Posted in Somonka

Unspoken Love

This was written for the 10/21/13 Poetic Asides Somanka challenge. A Somonka consists of two tankas written as two love letters to each other (one tanka per love letter). This form usually demands two authors, but it is possible to have a poet take on two personas. For my poem, I chose to write love letters between my mother and me.

Unspoken Love

Eyes full of wonder
search mine for a memory
that has long faded.
My tears cannot free the love
forever locked in those eyes.

Eyes full of sorrow
long for more than I can give.
My unspoken love,
trapped in this silent vessel,
will always be within you.

© Susan Schoeffield