Posted in Sonnet Variation

Beyond Frosted Panes

The silence of this wintry day
attests to nature’s strong display
as whitened blankets wrap around
the sleeping forms which line the ground.

The calmness of this stormy peace
enfolds us with its warming fleece.
Yet even in this quiet place
some move along at steady pace.

A squirrel scampers here and there.
A cardinal darts through the air.
From cozy den, a fox will wake
to gaze upon each falling flake.

These creatures all enjoy the show,
while footprints mar the pristine snow.

© Susan Schoeffield

Posted in Internal Rhyme

Why I Abhor Thor

I don’t adore Thor. He’s a bore, and what’s more
I deplore the sight of his might dressed in white.
No delight do I know from this snow. It can go
back to where I won’t care if it dares to ensnare
with its not very nice slice of hard, frosty ice.
You’re a chore, Mr. Thor. Take your roar out the door!

© Susan Schoeffield

Another poem written for the 3/1/15 post at the Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild to write a rhyming poem on any topic in any form.  If the weather forecasters are right and the next named winter storm pays us a visit, I’m ready for him.

Posted in Quatrain

No Business Like Snow Business

I know I’m obsessive. I have been since youth.
There’s no point denying that hard and fast truth.
When I get a teaser that snowflakes might fall,
I’m on my computer, awaiting the call

on how many inches of snow to expect.
(No wonder my friends give me little respect.)
Though I prefer summer and hot humid days,
a possible snowstorm can make my eyes glaze.

I’m not into skiing down white, frozen hills
or building a snowman with powdery frills.
In fact, there’s not much about snow that I like
except when I’m told that a blizzard might strike.

I know that it’s childish, not fitting my age.
Though I’m up in decades, I’m no wizened sage.
Yes, snow still excites me, at least from afar.
All common sense leaves as it bids au revoir.

© Susan Schoeffield

Posted in Quatrain

A Sense Of Chaos

Last night, a wicked storm came through
and suddenly our power blew.
When in my state of fast asleep,
upon my bed the cat did creep

to ask me, in his loudest mew,
if there was something I could do.
From under covers safe and warm,
I ventured forth to face the storm.

The heater died with power loss.
I could have sworn the room had frost.
No going back, no place to hide.
The dogs were keen to go outside.

The time was lost in darkened clocks.
I slipped cold feet inside of socks
and stumbled to the kitchen door
through which I heard the thunder roar.

Though not yet dawn, my nerves were fraught.
I longed for working coffee pot.
A nice hot brew would warm within.
It’s time to let the pups back in.

No smell of coffee could compete
with those wet dogs and muddy feet.
I dried them off with puppy towels
ignoring all their playful growls.

I would not join them in this game.
The unmade bed called out my name.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for the 10/5/14 prompt at Creative Bloomings “Sunday Seed” to write a poem based on your powers of observation at random states of acuity.

Posted in Constanza

Deluge Delusion

The somberness of steady rain
falls heavy on a weary soul,
extracting much too high a toll.

The spirit’s poor attempt to feign
a sense of calm amidst the storm
is acted out to misinform,

as if exists a tiny grain
of hope to cause a cosmic spark
to lighten up the wretched dark.

With inner dragons not yet slain,
no knight can keep the beast at bay
so rain continues through the day.

And thus a haunted, bleak refrain
repeats itself, a tragic song
to sink the weak and tempt the strong.

© Susan Schoeffield

Playing around with poetic forms today. This poem is written as a ConstanzaPoet Note: I’m not as despondent as this poem might suggest, although doing laundry sometimes fills me with despair.