Posted in Internal Rhyme


I’m back and I lack, I admit.
I type lots of tripe. Might quit.
I slog through a bog, perplexed.
What’s next?

Long days in a haze. I’m scared.
Can’t think. On the brink. Impaired.
I’m fogged in the smog. I’m vexed.
What’s next?

It’s time for a rhyme or two.
I’m fine. Write a line. It’s due.
I jog, clear the clog, wipe specs.
That’s next!

© Susan Schoeffield

Today is Day 31 of Creative Bloomings “Granada Camp for Wayward Poets.” We’ve survived the grueling pace at camp and now things are back to normal. But what is “normal” and what we do now, poetically speaking?

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 Quatrain

Ready Or Not

I had my reservations
when I first came to this place,
consumed by hesitations
from a fear I’d meet disgrace.
With challenges abundant
on this single, outdoor theme,
I thought I‘d be redundant,
which brought down my self-esteem.

And so, I plodded warily
(at least, on days I could)
and wrote, not always merrily
and sometimes not so good.
I poemed about rainy days,
the food, romance and fears,
and in this campground poem maze
learned much from poet peers.

Now looking back, I understand
it’s not about the theme
but following a daily plan
to form a writing scheme.
Some prompts I’ll be forgetting
from our host, that wily scamp,
but much I’ll be regretting
when I leave Granada Camp.

© Susan Schoeffield

Day 29 at Creative Bloomngs “Granada Camp for Wayward Poets” had us looking back and reflecting on something positive about our camping experience. For this prompt, I decided to write about my experience with the poem-a-day camp challenge.

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 Luc-Bat

Soggy Supersized Stroll

We were already lost,
in itself a high cost to pay.
Camp was so far away.
Then a light summer spray began.
Not a part of our plan,
sudden winds made a fan with drops
pulling out all the stops.
We were soaked from our tops to shoes.
Nothing left we could lose,
moving forward we’d choose to run,
but with no sense of fun,
to the place we’d begun (we’d hope).
Down a slick, slimy slope
in a brown, muddy soap on shale,
fighting urges to wail,
we got back to the trail at last.
And if ever we’re asked,
rainy day hikes this vast are quashed.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for the Day 24 of Creative Bloomings “Granada Camp for Wayward Poets” prompt to write a poem about being caught outside in the rain.

Posted in Quatrain

Shenandoah National Park, Virginia

Southbound on the Skyline Drive,
sagging spirits come alive.
I’m addicted to this place,
breathing in its gentle pace.

Mountain laurel, touch-me-nots,
trumpet vines fill earthen pots.
Red-tailed hawks are often seen
and the falcons Peregrine.

Happy chipmunks stop to eat
fudge they’ve stolen for a treat.
Bear cubs running zag and zig.
Mom behind them, head quite big!

Overlooks with gorgeous views
stimulate the muse in Sooze.
Nothing here leaves me distraught,
angry, sad or overwrought.

Nature’s playground brings me peace,
subtle joys I pray won’t cease.
All I witness makes me thrive
‘til I’m back on Skyline Drive.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for Day 23 of Creative Bloomings “Granada Camp for Wayward Poets” where we’re prompted to write a poem about places in a park setting where we go to escape from the routine of our daily lives.

Posted in Free Verse

Lost In My Surroundings

I run down the trail, hunting for answers
in this refuge far from home,
answers to who and why I am.
I come to this spot not for a vacation
but to escape the heavy presence of myself.
Can I find a sign in the dignity of nature?
A family of bear cubs romps through the woods,
clumsy feet snapping twigs.
Leaping over a log, a pair of young wolves
howl in their delight at this improvised game.
I pause to skip stones across the lake
watching lazy ripples extend over the water.
A solitary figure maneuvers a canoe
back to his nylon hotel after filling his canteen.
I’m jealous. Mine remains empty.
While fireflies work as a lantern,
I contemplate my life with less enthusiasm
than I have for the magnificent stars.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for Day 21 of  Creative Bloomings
“Grenada Camp for Wayward Poets”. The prompt for today was to write a poem containing these nineteen words: trail, sign, nature, bear, family, canoe, hotel, canteen, escape, lantern, stars, vacation, hunting, log, home, howl, water, magnificent, stones

Posted in Haiku

Sunrise, Sunset

early rising sun
shower of golden yellow
warms a chilly tent

beauty soothes at dusk
pink and amber sky unwinds
closes out the day

© Susan Schoeffield

We’re into Day 18 at Creative Bloomings “Grenada Camp for Wayward Poets” July 2014 PAD Challenge. The prompt: take a paired combination of words, relate them to camping or the Great Outdoors, then write a two-stanza poem, each stanza referring to one of the words in the pair.

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.