Posted in Minute Poetry

Night Crawlers

Asleep, I hear the ghostly screams
in what it seems
are scolding tones
to chill my bones.

Although I try to turn away,
I have to stay
as visions spew
their hateful brew.

But in the fading dark of night
I touch the light
and stow my fear
with useless gear.

© Susan Schoeffield

Posted in HexSonnetta

The Enemies Within

Are all the tears that burn her eyes
resulting from the blinding light
of apparitions seen at night?
But why should phantoms so despise
this soul submerged in tortured cries,
her pain their absolute delight.

Their violence left her spirit weak.
Relentless thrusts with angry sword
made helpless fear their great reward.
Through muffled sobs, she dared not speak.
The prospects for escape were bleak,
her prayers for rescue went ignored.

Responding to their midnight crimes,
awake, she died a thousand times.

© Susan Schoeffield

I’m engaging my more solemn side with today’s daily poem. A Facebook friend recently posted that someone he knew had committed suicide. Depression is a serious illness and when someone is its prisoner, it becomes life-threatening.

Posted in Haiku

Under The Veil

fog entombs the town
mysterious ghost-like mist
buries what’s within

© Susan Schoeffield

To all my WordPress friends in the path of the coming blizzard, stay safe. You’ll be in my thoughts as you weather this next storm!

Posted in Quatrain

Still, Still, Still

The moon reflects off whitened ground,
in iridescent, steady streams
and here, amid the silent sound,
the snowflakes waltz upon its beams.

For one brief moment, all is calm
eclipsing all the worldly woes.
With mankind touched by soothing balm,
upon the earth a yearning flows

to melt the frost from undue hate.
When words are joined by thoughts and deeds,
the frozen fields could generate
a harvest rich from yuletide seeds.

Yet hope alone won’t lessen fear
with silent nights and moonlit beams.
Beyond the season’s short-lived cheer,
may peace on earth be more than dreams.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for the 12/14/14 prompt at Creative Bloomings “Sunday Seed” to write a poem inspired by a Christmas or Holiday song.

Posted in Quatrain

From The Shadows

An eerie darkness fills the town
enveloping my soul in fear.
Assisting as my spirits drown
are sounds of footsteps drawing near.

Adrift on pools of panicked sweat,
no prayers can fuel my lack of faith.
My frightened eyes assess the threat.
First comes a witch and then a wraith.

The blackest thoughts invade my brain
from one too many bourbons neat.
While struggling with dreadful pain,
the haunting ghouls shout trick or treat.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for the 10/29/14 prompt at Poetic Asides to write an “emerging” poem.

Posted in Quatrain

The Rising Tide

A sadness swelling in my breast
deprives me of much needed rest.
My mind replays an endless spate
of hurtful words imbued with hate.

Hostility drips from the tongue
with venom nonchalantly flung.
If someone dares to disagree,
we scoff at such simplicity.

How easily we victimize
through rage’s aim to minimize
another person’s point of view,
while more debasing words ensue.

Though coated in a thick veneer,
unpleasant truths are crystal clear.
With ev’ry vile, demeaning post,
this growing hatred I fear most.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for the 8/17/14 prompt at Creative Bloomings to write a poem about something we fear. NOTE: This poem was awarded a Brilliant Bloom award by Creative Bloomings on 8/23/14. I’m truly honored!

Posted in Free Verse

I’m Not

I should be used to it.
Cutting through the silence,
its swift, sharp blade
rips through my sleeping world.
I jump up from peaceful slumber.
There it is again.
A cold sweat drips down my neck.
Clammy hands grab the sheets for protection.
I’m not afraid of the dark
but sound amplifies in quiet, darkened spaces.
I roll over on my pillow, barely missing the cat,
and quickly turn on the light.
Once again, that eerie, plaintive wail
fills every corner of the room.
I release the sheets and stare at the bottom of the bed.
There she is, sound asleep. The Basset Hound.
Her legs are running, her nose is twitching.
Catching up with the source of her distress,
the dreaming dog howls again.
I should be used to it.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for the 6/25/14 prompt at Poetic Asides to write a word-association poem choosing one or more words from this list: toast, pop, right, paper, howl, little.