Posted in Quatrain

The Finale

We came as strangers to this land
not always great yet somehow grand.
In unknown waters we would stand
to form ourselves a merry band.

The happy hours we would spend
not breaking rules (though some would bend).
Our summer fun has reached its end.
How we will miss each treasured friend.

No fancy words can help me say
the heartache that I feel today.
For here and now, I can but pray
these memories don’t go away.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for Day 30 of Creative Bloomings “Granada Camp for Wayward Poets”. It’s time to say goodbye to the friends we’ve made and the fun we’ve had at camp.

Posted in Octet

Learning a Powerful Lesson

I fought our leader tooth and nail
at trying to force me to learn
for a silly badge I would earn.
This wasn’t a camp, more like jail.
My pleas ignored, I met defeat.
We left for the run-down city
where what we saw wasn’t pretty
in this humid, sweltering heat.

Vacation means you shouldn’t work.
It’s a rule in summer season.
They were homeless for a reason,
or so thought this uninformed jerk.
Given a plate with dreadful food,
I went to an elderly gent
with matted hair and fingers bent
and strangely detached attitude.

He dined in his bed on the floor
and didn’t take time to speak.
When he did talk, my knees felt weak.
“I was young when I went to war.
I had never been off of the farm
and I’d never fired a gun.
One night, around quarter to one
our Captain sent out an alarm.

“The enemy snuck on our site
and began an ugly rampage.
Both sides would be forced to engage
in a bloody and deadly fight.
At its end, so many were dead.
I was wounded but felt no pain.
The image was etched on my brain
and today still haunts me in bed.”

He sat up and struggled for breath.
It would start off strong and then flee.
His last words were said to thank me
before he departed in death.
I sadly made it back to camp
and waited for daylight to die.
That night, a selfish brat would cry
in a tent with a turned off lamp.

Those who gave much with no reward
are those we frequently forget.
No day goes by I don’t regret
how heroes are often ignored.
As I look back on what I learned
that summer when I was a child,
I recall how this soldier smiled.
It was more than a badge I earned.

© Susan Schoeffield

This is my lengthy effort for the Day 25 prompt at Creative Bloomings “Granada Camp for Wayward Poets” to write a poem about service day at camp and doing something for someone else. I think I’ve mentioned before I don’t usually write long poems but this seemed to write itself. I was just along for the ride.

Posted in Quatrain

Enough Is Enough

At first I was agog,
excited by the scene.
My plate contained a hot dog
beside a pile of beans.

I turned into a hog
and couldn’t wait to glean
another scrumptious hot dog
and tasty side of beans.

But now I’m in a fog
and feeling rather mean.
We’re only eating hot dogs.
We’re only eating beans.

The menu leaves me clogged.
My face is turning green.
I can’t eat one more hot dog
or face a can of beans.

Our leader should be flogged
if he remains so keen
on serving putrid hot dogs
with vile, disgusting beans.

© Susan Schoeffield

Today is Day 17 of Creative Bloomings “Granada Camp for Wayward Poets” 2014 July PAD. The prompt was to write a poem about camp food.

Posted in Free Verse

Rain Delay

Rain, rain, go away.
Come again some other day.

We sit together
alone in our thoughts,
me drinking coffee,
you sipping tea,
waiting for the promised orange ball
to break through the prism of somber tones.

Splash, splash, splash.
Hopes for the beach and pool
drip down the windowpane
sucked into the sand below.

We take turns shuffling cards.
Another round of Uno or Skip-Bo.
We test our mental moxie with Scattergories
or powerbroker prowess with Monolopy.

A burst of laughter here,
a frustrated moan there.
In between the raindrops,
the room where we sit brightens
in the colorful prism of our smiles.

Rain, rain, you can stay.
Friendship grows despite the gray.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for Day 14 of Creative Bloomings “Granada Camp for Wayward Poets” July 2014 Poem-A-Day Challenge to write a poem about what to do when it’s raining and you’re stuck inside.

Posted in Sonnet-ish

Illuminating Souvenirs

Tiny gems sparkle in black mountain skies,
a backdrop for flickering fireflies.
Campfires blaze in a dazzling display.
Burning “Off!” candles keep mosquitoes at bay.

My eyes still reflect all the shimmering light
from our tiny campsite on one bright summer night.

© Susan Schoeffield

Today is Day 4 of Creative Bloomings “Granada Camp for Wayward Poets” July 2014 Poem-A-Day Challenge! Before running off to attend to last minute vacation preparations, I wrote this for the latest prompt to write a poem based on inspiration from night lights over the lake. As soon as the cat and house sitter arrives on Sunday, we’re outta here! Have a great week!!

Posted in Refried Lyrics

And You’re Out!

I’m not rugged like I was once.
I’m not smart, but I’m not a dunce.
I’m not fond of the canvas floors,
or the chores,
or outdoors.
I was made for a nicer scene:
fluffy robe on a body clean,
parked in front of a flat TV screen.
Now here is what you must do.

Take me out of this campground.
Take me back into town.
I want a bathroom, a big soft bed,
fresh fruit and veggies to keep me fed.
Let me be near some shopping,
Starbucks Cafe would be swell.
And in one more bug bite I’m gone
from this outdoor hell.

© Susan Schoeffield

(A reluctant camper’s version of “Take Me Out To The Ballgame” by Jack Norworth and Albert von Tizler).

It’s a two-fer for me on Day 3 of the Creative Bloomings “Granada Camp for Wayward Poets” July 2014 Poem-A-Day Challenge!  Another poem inspired by a summer-themed song.

Posted in Sonnet-ish

Out Of The Sun, We’ll Be Havin’ Some Fun

The sun begins to settle down
upon the campground beaches.
And when it sets, they all come out
like noisy, hungry leeches.

Some still in dripping bathing suits,
some barely dressed at all,
they brag about their awesome tans
or who they will enthrall.

Their voices rise in decibels
with every sip of beer
(which they disguise in cardboard cups
to drink along the pier).

I know they’re only having fun.
They should. They’re in their youth.
But could they find a better way
than being so uncouth?

The seaside campground has a place to hide from teenage talk.
We bask in our tranquility beneath the old boardwalk.

© Susan Schoeffield

(Inspiration: The Drifters’ “Under the Boardwalk”)

We’re at Day 3 of the Creative Bloomings “Granada Camp for Wayward Poets” July 2014 Poem-A-Day Challenge!  Today’s prompt was to write a poem inspired by a song about summer.

Posted in Couplet

Ah, Wilderness

We pitched the tent and there it stood,
our lodging on the ground.
That night a wicked storm came through
which took the whole thing down.
We struggled in the nylon mess
and very nearly drowned.

It’s hard to tell in coal black skies
if something’s standing there,
but we just knew and offered up
impromptu, heartfelt prayer.
Yet that did not deter our guest,
a rather large, black bear.

It wouldn’t do to scream out loud
with others in their bunk.
We silently grabbed camping gear
and threw it in the trunk.
But in my haste, I fell upon
a greatly angered skunk.

Once in the car, we drove away
from all except my smell.
There’s little you can do, you know,
to make that stench dispel
or make the knee that hit the beast
do anything but swell.

On this, our final tenting trip,
we learned of nature’s wrath.
And in the future, we agreed
to take a different path.
Give us a cabin with a door,
a sturdy roof and bath.

© Susan Schoeffield

It’s Day 1 of the Creative Bloomings “Granada Camp for Wayward Poets” July 2014 Poem-A-Day Challenge!  We were asked to write about a camping memory.