Posted in Internal Rhyme

Scorched Torch

It started out with a spark and a shout.
There wasn’t a doubt this love was true
but no type of glue could keep you in place.
Off you would race to whomever you found
not willingly bound to promises made.
Our union decayed because of your ways
and the flames in our blaze quickly fizzled,
drizzled with your self-serving arrogance.
You removed any semblance of respect
and I detect you’ll always be the same.
Love isn’t a game, it’s a lesson learned.
When you play with fire, you might get burned.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for the 2/4/15 prompt at Poetic Asides to write a “disappointment” poem. Fortunately, I haven’t felt this way in a long time.

Posted in Chronos


Memories never to be unlocked
lie dormant in a keyless mind.
Eyes focus on nothing
yet seem able to see everything
except those by her side.

© Susan Schoeffield

It seems I’m still fascinated with mathematical poetry. The Chronos form is built around the root of Pi (9.8696). This poem is a sad reminder of my mother’s final days battling dementia.

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 Octameter


The ocean rolls in.
Foam covers my toes,
wet sand grabs my feet.
I’m locked in this place.
My lifeless statue,
with sad, empty face
and nothing to feel,
refuses embrace.

The sea sprays its mist.
An angry sun burns.
Denying defeat,
my dry eyes insist
that nothing is wrong.
Yet letdowns persist.
I hide in this space
with no saving grace.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for the 6/25/14 prompt at Creative Bloomings “Inform Poets” to write a poem in the Octameter style.

Posted in Ghazal

Fanning The Flames

The fingers of the music in the songs the DJ played
dug into the arms of her heart. Those songs the DJ played

tore open old wounds, exposing her pain and her passion.
More than a melody was there in songs the DJ played.

Buried within those compositions were truths she denied.
Brokenness would not stay hidden from songs the DJ played.

She found no escape from sorrow that followed her footsteps.
Her sadness only grew stronger by songs the DJ played.

Love given freely then stolen away haunted her soul.
Unmasked tears flowed in tempo with the songs the DJ played.

“Turn the radio off, Susan. There’s nothing to be gained
by holding onto bitterness through songs the DJ played.”

Reason can’t fight the torment of an unrelenting sound.
She only hears her bleeding heart in songs the DJ played.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for the 6/18/14 prompt at Creative Bloomings “Inform Poets” to write a poem in the Ghazal style.

Posted in Nove Otto



A fragile thing I used to hold
began as something fresh and bold
then slipped away on shifting sand.

Perhaps my fingers, holding tight,
released their grip, so it took flight
to places it believed more grand.

An impasse I could never breach
has moved forever from my reach
the heart I once held in my hand.

© Susan Schoeffield

My take on the prompt at Poetic Asides to write a “handheld” poem.

Posted in Lento




Stumbled through the daily fog.
Fumbled dreams have run their course.
Tumbled down a muddy bog,
crumbled by a callous force.

Feeling pain in every heartstring,
empty vows mean not a thing.
Reeling, words intent to sting
tempt me far from where I cling.

Holding on has lost its pleasure.
Moulding me to your designs,
scolding me as tarnished treasure,
folding me in crooked vines.

Powers I chose to neglect
touch the disappearing bliss.
Hours pass as I reflect.
Much has changed since our first kiss.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for the 1/29/14 Creative BloomingsInform Poets” prompt to write a poem in the Lento style.  More information about Lento poetry can be found at Shadow Poetry.