Posted in Cascade

Problem Solving

The floor is cold beneath my toes
when on this chilly morn I rise.
My slippers are beyond my reach,

well-hidden in a canine game.
I ask for help, yet sound they sleep
when on this chilly morn I rise.

With no commitments on my plate,
I stand unsure of what to do.
My slippers are beyond my reach,

the sock drawer is too far away.
I crawl back into bed because
the floor is cold beneath my toes.

© Susan Schoeffield

Posted in Diatelle

Staying Afloat

on what’s found
when the heart breaks.
Believing we’ll be drowned
beneath our series of mistakes
is enough to increase the many aches
from unfulfilled promises we lost to the years.
Still, we try to stand steady with the quakes
and attempt to control the shakes
that make us come unwound.
No one forsakes
as we’re bound
by sound

© Susan Schoeffield

Posted in Quatrain

Pick Up Power

In my hands, I hold you close.
Let me feel the warmth ensue.
I will only need a dose
of the heat that comes from you.

You can satisfy my soul
like a foodie’s fine cuisine.
I am never in control
without pick-me-up caffeine.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for the 10/15/14 prompt at Poetic Asides to write a “pick up” poem.

Posted in Acrostic

Good To The Last Drop

While it looks like an ordinary coffee mug,
Each time I use it, I step inside a time machine.
Starting with the first sip of rich, steaming liquid,
The floodgates open, letting in more than the brew.
Memories seep through my veins
One after another, until I nearly drown in
Recollections sweet, strong and palpable.
Every swallow brings back the aroma and flavor
Lingering in my senses long after we came home.
Absolute contentment flows through my body.
No bitter aftertaste spoils the effect.
Drinking cups full of golden moments refreshes me.

© Susan Schoeffield

Based on a prompt from The Daily Poet: Day-By-Day Prompts For Your Writing Practice: “Acrostic Place” to write a poem about an object you purchased on a trip. Each line begins with a successive letter from the name of the place where you bought the item. My poem relates to Westmoreland State Park in Virginia.

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.