Posted in Magic 9

Lovers in Treble

A graceful dance across the floor
is resonating in our arms.
The music begs us ask for more
when swelling notes announce the end.
So we compose another score
and base its movements on our own.
The harmonies we’re looking for
are melodies of subtle charms,
their lyrics sung by our rapport.

© Susan Schoeffield

Posted in Terza Rima

Hearts Hear The Song

Under sparkling stars in a summer night heat,
together we dance in the shadow of trees,
two hearts in the moment deciding the beat.

Branches sway with us to a soft, rhythmic breeze.
A chorus of tree frogs sing heartfelt delights
to balance a fervent and starry-eyed tease.

As if we are victims of foresty sprites,
we find ourselves gliding across earthen floors
with movements more graceful in nocturnal lights.

The music crescendos as passion explores
two lovers engrossed in romantic rapports.

© Susan Schoeffield

Posted in Cadae

In Tune

I’m content
here
in my own song.
Each
stanza and chorus
harmonizes with the universe
where I’m
forever free to breathe
in all the music
around me.
This gift, of measured
rhythms and rhymes, resonates with
beauty in sunrises and sunsets
composing my melody.

© Susan Schoeffield

This is written in the mathematical poetry form called Cadae. In this poem, each line’s syllable count corresponds to the first fourteen digits of Pi (3-1-4-1-5-9-2-6-5-3-5-8-9-7). Since Pi is infinite, I suppose I could try writing The Never-Ending Poem … but not today.

Posted in Free Verse

Buffetting The Beach (with Jimmy Buffett)

Come Monday,
Take the Weather with You
Back to the Island
When the Coast is Clear.
If It All Falls Down,
It’s All About the Water.
Stranded on a Sandbar,
There’s Nothin’ Soft About Hard Times.
Nautical Wheelers
Kick It In Second Wind,
Livin’ It Up.
Tryin’ to Reason with Hurricane Season?
Turn Up the Heat and Chill the Rose.
Nothin’ But A Breeze!
Oysters and Pearls …
Cheeseburger in Paradise …
Fruitcakes.
It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere.
Wonder Why We Ever Go Home?

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for the 5/18/14 prompt to “Say It With Music” at Creative Bloomings to write a poem using titles of a favorite artist’s songs.

Posted in Pensee

50 Years Grateful (my tribute to The Beatles)

50 Years Grateful

A child,
eyes on the screen,
saw more than four musicians,
looked beyond pleasant melodies
at the strength within words.

Those words
were my passion
and in them I discovered
the beauty found in poetry
by the songs they composed.

My life
became a quest
of finding my own rhythm
in the construction of poems,
and I have them to thank.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for the 2/9/14 prompt at Creative Bloomings: write a “tribute” poem.

Posted in Sonnetina Tre

The Saxophone Of Broken Blues

The Saxophone of Broken Blues

Its pitch just so, its notes played tight,
the saxophone of broken blues
embraces sounds that slice the night.
then fades away like day-old news.

A howling sound, a plaintive wail
when love and enmity combine
to raise the strong, destroy the frail
with piercing truth in every line.

That saxophone of broken blues
invokes the passion of the muse.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for the 1/26/14 Creative Bloomings prompt to write a poem based on a favorite line from one of the poems by a Creative Bloomings’ poet. As my inspiration, I chose a line from “Why I Like Silence” by Jane Shlensky.

Posted in Quatrain

A Musical Memory

Poetic Asides November 2013 Poem-A-Day Challenge – Day 8: an “inanimate object” poem

A Musical Memory

I once thought of giving this relic away.
I could only imagine what daddy might say
if his record player was no longer here.
Possessions were few, and he held this one dear.

The turntable warped to a slight degree,
the needle not sharp like it used to be.
But there it sits proudly, polished and dusted
reviving a yesterday partially rusted.

I look through the records he used to play
by Crosby, Sinatra and Robert Goulet.
At one time, not really my own cup of tea
but something quite magical happened to me.

Watching the vinyl gracefully turn,
tears start to well and my heart starts to burn.
Enjoying a gift that no Christmas could bring,
with eyes closed, I listen to my daddy sing.

© Susan Schoeffield

 

Posted to Poetic Asides on 11/8/13 at 5:17 p.m.