A WALK AND IMAGINE
A Poetry Collection
By
Susan Schoeffield
Published by Susan Schoeffield at Smashwords
copyright 2010 Susan Schoeffield
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DEDICATION
To those who create my support system,
past, present and future
PREFACE
Painting is silent poetry, and poetry is painting that speaks. Plutarch (c. 46 – 120 AD)
As the artist uses brushes, the poet uses words. The seemingly random poems contained in this collection are connected by a common thread. All of them speak to a part of my life, be it as a writer, a soulmate or a seeker. Together, they create the image of who I am and how I got here. These reflections come to life as my personal portrait, painted by loving hands with words.
*******
A Walk and Imagine
Into the woods I walk.
The rich, dark soil beneath my feet
bears the footprints of hikers before me.
The sound of birds chattering breaks the silence.
I imagine myself surrounded by many,
yet I walk alone.
Along the beach I walk.
The smell of the salt air invigorates me.
A seagull cries as he soars above.
Children laugh and play where ocean meets sand.
I imagine myself sailing off to distant lands,
yet I remain where I am.
Into your heart I walk.
The softness of your eyes fills me with warmth.
The smile you share or the touch of your hand
takes me to new and exciting places in my soul.
I imagine myself in love,
and I am.
*******
Painting Words
You ask me where they come from,
these words I choose to write.
They spring forth from my senses,
my hearing, touch and sight.
They’re formed by observations,
from love, from hurt, from life.
They paint my inner canvas,
these words my palette knife.
*******
Afraid of Being Alone
The feeling of loneliness
grips me with terror,
and tears I cannot control
ceaselessly fall from my eyes.
I cry for what I think is lost
but, in reality,
is merely misplaced.
My stomach in knots,
I try to bring reason to this
unfounded fear.
But rational thinking eludes me.
Darkness envelops my spirit.
Panic sets in as another empty day
threatens any sense of contentment.
And tears, never fully contained,
continue their merciless journey.
*******
Seasonal Order
When many years have passed,
the mind begins to do wondrous things.
It becomes open to all the possibilities of a spring day,
of a summer rain, of the leaves hanging on for dear life before the fall.
Even a blinding winter storm offers promise.
This seasonal order is the cycle of life,
a straightforward and pristine stability in an existence of confusion.
Such stability so often misses the mark when one is young.
Youth cannot understand the need for refreshing, for revitalizing;
can’t understand the fear of holding on before age wipes away the present;
can’t comprehend the danger of being forever finished by the cold.
Those of us lucky enough to appreciate the complexities of all the seasons bring
have climbed the ladder of age and wink below to those that follow.
We’ve seen the good times and the bad.
We’ve learned from both.
We know.
*******
The Boundaries of Love
Anger makes or breaks us.
A single word can tear apart
the foundation so carefully laid.
Hurt for the sake of hurting
is painful to both sides.
Yet we learn, and learn again,
that angry words cannot thrive
within the boundaries of love.
*******
Love’s Voyage
As an infant, love came freely,
with no stipulations.
The unique and helpless baby
made it flow from an endless fountain.
It was given and returned easily,
with no threat of being taken away or withheld.
It was love in its purest form
by its simple demonstration.
As a teenager, love was more complicated.
Without constraints just a few years ago,
the awkwardness of adolescence made
it difficult to reciprocate or convey.
On the path between childhood and maturity,
it was taken for granted as a rightful possession,
but was seldom passed on
without impossible preconditions.
As a young adult, love grew even more complex.
Centered on the passion of a moment,
it wasn’t understood on a deeper level.
The growing process far from over,
the depth of what it meant was buried by
all-or-nothing expectations.
It exploded in flames when assumptions were burned
by the fire of disappointment.
Today, love encompasses everything.
It defines what I want and where I’m going.
It exists in the simple joy of waking each day,
in the smell of a freshly mowed lawn,
on a walk in the sand at the ocean’s edge,
in the faith and trust I put in our relationship.
It is who I am, who you are, and who we are.
We find comfort in its splendor
and are enraptured by the magic it performs.
*******
The Exit Points to Home
My home is my inspiration,
where my mother and father
walked, talked, laughed and cried,
where my basset hound stares at me with soulful eyes
and my black lab puppy redefines enthusiasm,
where your smiling eyes and gentle spirit
offer love with no boundaries.
My home is my inspiration,
the essence of my heart and soul.
*******
Humbled By Love
You inscribe the heart you abduct
with notable passion and devotion.
Your love will never deceive me,
and I am humbled by its honesty.
*******
Troubled Meditation
Serenity should be easy to find on a snowy, winter day.
The powdery, white flakes fall rapidly to the ground,
covering everything below with a blanket of peaceful quiet.
But my mind is unfettered by this wintry scene.
I am cursed by the dance of uncertainty
and bewildered by the music of silence.
Some days I move more toward the headstone
than headlong into life’s great pursuits.
*******
The Art of Snow
Outside my window
soft, white flakes steadily dance
from the sky at deliberate speed.
One builds upon the other.
Similar, but none are the same.
A scientific principle in action?
Nature merely doing what nature does?
Easier to believe in a simple explanation
than to analyze a complicated faith.
*******
Clouds Overtook
Clouds overtook the clear, blue sky
and swirled overhead last week.
A menacing grayness appeared up above.
The threatening forecast was bleak.
Clouds overtook the colors of sun
and filled the air with a chill.
Too heavy to keep all the rain they contained,
they pelted my spirit and will.
Clouds overtook my lightness of heart
and replaced it with colors of sad.
But under the shadows, a beacon appeared
to illuminate all that I had.
White, puffy clouds overtook the gray,
giving way to an unyielding light.
From love that surrounds me and keeps me fulfilled,
the forecast within me is bright.
*******
Waiting
The lingering smell of your perfume
fills the air.
It reminds me of your presence
and the joy of having you near.
The shadow of your absence
tries to conceal that memory.
But I reach out beyond the limits of
isolation
and touch the exhilarating magic
in your return.
*******
I Stand In Awe
I stand in awe of the changing seasons.
The force behind nature is mighty, indeed.
How quickly we pass from the slight chill
in a colorful autumn
to the barren beauty of the bitter frost.
Leaves that gingerly cling to safety of their branches,
find themselves sailing gently to the
earth below,
only to discover their rich, warm hues
shriveled and crumbling beneath
a frozen blanket of snow and sleet.
Then somehow, the buds that lay dormant
under the icy glaze of winter
take their place in the ongoing cycle of magic.
The cold melts away into a hint of
spring’s affirmation that new life follows the old.
The air smells fresh.
The soil smells new.
From there, it builds on its momentum to the
glorious orange, heat in summer’s crescendo
of energy and spirit,
moving ever forward to its maximum intensity
and bringing us to the ultimate desire of being alive.
I stand in awe of the changing seasons.
To whatever entity controls this magnificent
sequence of events,
we are forever indebted.
*******
Beyond the Senses
Should my senses ever fail me,
with my shell devoid of sight or sound,
your presence will always infuse my spirit
as you breathe life into my soul
and diminish my loss by the serenity of your love.
*******
Variations of Gray
A cold, bleak day
fills the sky with gray,
defining itself in the blurry shade of gloom.
A sad, lonely heart
Is colored by gray,
and promises nothing to overcome its dismal hues.
Your beautiful eyes,
a perfect shade of gray,
offer hope, love and laughter
to rise above the monotonous tones of darkness.
*******
Reflection
A round ball of light
sits gracefully above the water,
offering promise for tomorrow
and fulfillment in the day passed.
*******
Words
Sharpened tongues
speak pointless words,
draw the line between love and hate,
and leaden the heart with sadness.
*******
Stay Within the Lines
Stay within the lines,
my babysitter said,
the green goes here, the blue goes there,
and what comes next is red.
You can’t go out beyond the lines
or you’ll be sent to bed.
Stay within the lines,
my driving teacher said,
You always stay in your own lane
and keep your eyes ahead.
If you should lose your focus here,
you just might wind up dead.
Stay within the lines,
my parents always said.
A time for school, a time for work,
to date, and then to wed.
A very normal life to them
that filled my soul with dread.
Stay within the lines,
the whole, wide world has said.
But that’s not where I chose to go.
I walked my road instead.
I followed where my heart has gone
And seldom was misled.
*******
Freedom Remains
Much has been said
about our freedom disappearing
beneath the dome of Congress.
But as long as we remain
steadfast in our devotion
to the beliefs of our founding fathers,
our freedom remains intact.
*******
Broken Bridge
Our bridge is broken.
Plank by plank, we built it,
and plank by plank, we brought it down.
Once, we could reach across
with outstretched hands
touching heart, mind and soul.
Now, we stay on our own side,
keeping our thoughts and needs
to ourselves,
without risk of tumbling
into the blackened hole of indifference.
*******
To Imitate Julie & Julia
I can stare at a cookbook for hours on end.
Its recipes tease and beguile.
But I too often hesitate trying them out
for, in truth, I am no Julia Child.
I can boil water and scramble an egg,
and a dish or two I have compiled
but no Boeuf Bourguignon or soufflés make my list,
since I’m anything but Julia Child.
But somewhere exists in the back of my brain
an ambition that’s grown for a while:
to conquer those recipes borne out of France
with an ease that would please Julia Child.
I would rule in my kitchen with no sense of fear
and the outcome would not be reviled.
I’d be serving up menus to rival the best,
like the great Master Chef, Julia Child.
I might sauté my chicken with mushrooms and cream,
make a Buche de Noel, as I smile
at the French Chef within me, enjoying success,
saying Bon Appetit, Julia Child!
*******
State of Slumber
A starless night sky
enshrouds the room with a black, velvet blanket.
Beneath it, the tranquility of sleep eludes me.
My mind focuses on everything
and nothing.
It spins around and around,
trapped on a carousel that refuses to suspend its cycle.
Promises shatter like crystal.
Hope drowns in a quagmire of deceit.
A crack in the curtain, denying daybreak’s entry,
leaves me longing for something,
anything,
that will weigh down these eyelids
to find refuge in that blissful state of slumber.
*******
Entwined
We live I harmony,
you and I.
Our lives are so entwined
that one can’t breathe without the other.
And in the hours of sleep,
when the night is still and silent,
we continue to grow closer.
*******
Renewed to the Nth Degree
The mountains of Shenandoah aren’t the
grandest mountains on the continent.
Their majesty is dwarfed by
the Rockies, the Sierras, the Smokies.
But they’re close to our hearts and prized in our lives.
It was there I camped and hiked alone,
seduced by the wonders of nature for the very first time.
The city girl was never more aware of how intense
a smell could be,
the fragrance of mountain greenery,
the scent of rich, brown soil.
It was there you and I became friends.
Those mystical mountains readied the way
for what would come later.
They bound us together,
the source of our renewal,
the replenishment of body, mind and spirit.
And so they remain.
Bad day, bad week, bad karma.
The mantra repeats itself whenever we need it.
Let’s go to the mountains.
Let’s watch the green line rise to the summit.
Let’s glory in the magic of gold and crimson leaves
that last for the briefest of moments before
sharing the barrenness that comes before the cycle begins anew.
Renew us again, each time we ask you
to embrace us with your peace.
*******
Photographs
Photographs take me to good and bad places.
Memories of days when time was an undefined term,
when tomorrows were a mystery,
and yesterdays were too few to matter.
Faces appear before me,
eyes searching mine,
with innocence abounding.
Years have tarnished some of those images,
the purity of youth giving way to harsher realities.
Others show love that was trapped by the cruelty of aging,
where these photographs were either forgotten
or swept away by more pressing needs.
Much was lost to the passage of time.
Promise faded away to regret.
Loyalty and love dissolved to indifference.
Desperately trying to regain a sense of self,
I’m left with an empty space in my soul
and a handful of photographs.
*******
Mankind Unites
The world they once belonged to
has crumbled in a pile,
and every day that passes
creates a another trial.
Their bodies yearn for mending.
So great are their demands.
But comfort comes to them in aid
from man’s unselfish hands.
*******
The Clock
The clock hanging in this lonely room
ticks off seconds, minutes and hours.
It transforms the morning into afternoon,
and afternoon into evening.
Yet the story it tells is not the passage of time.
It speaks of the vacant space within me,
yearning for your presence to fill the void.
*******
A Lesson
Only smoldering embers remained.
Those things I thought I treasured
more than life itself were gone.
Clothing, books, and soulless possessions
disappeared in a sweltering blaze.
A hard lesson learned, but learned it was.
My family and my life, my most cherished gifts,
endured the flames and smoke.
A higher being renewed my understanding
of what home really means.
*******
Moments of Silence
Much passes between us
in those moments when words are unspoken.
To hear the thoughts in your head,
to know the feelings in your heart,
is more revealing to me than a thousand words.
*******
Peace Bridge
Bringing
Respect
Into
Diverse
Global
Endeavors
*******
Undercover Canine
When you first came into our lives,
your head seemed to be covered by ears.
They reached way below your short body
and got tangled up in your legs when you ran.
We watched you laying in your little bed,
perfectly content to be there.
Or so we thought.
While we slept, you were awake.
You had your own ideas about
where you wanted to be.
In the morning, we were surprised to find you
curled up in a tight little ball, under the blanket.
A warm and soft body mass,
softly snoring,
your chest rising and falling ever so slightly.
We could swear you were smiling.
And we were never sure how you got there.
You weren’t a real baby,
although you were always treated like one.
And you were always a baby to us.
The first night without you,
and for many nights that followed,
it was hard to fall asleep.
No one pawed at the blanket to crawl underneath.
No one took the time and energy you expended
to find that special place where comfort abounded.
You are missed, my little friend.
The memories of your drooping ears covering your face,
the blankets covering your body by your own design,
will be with us forever.
*******
Direction
Every day we draw a line
to where we’d like to go.
But often, we erase the plan
as if we somehow know
a pointed act by someone else
will suddenly bestow
a sharpened sense of urgency
to force ourselves to grow.
*******
These Words
These words we inscribe here
connect us to each other.
They give life to what drives us forward.
They are notable for the pictures they paint
and for the sweet sounds of expression.
They spank our senses into being aware
and abduct us to a place where images breathe
from the poet’s soul.
*******
In The Mirror
Reflecting in the mirror is an image
I can hardly place.
Where is the youthful exuberance,
the unquestioning zest for life,
the unlimited future?
Like the lush, green grass gone brown
at summer's end,
so, too, have the years blossomed
and withered away.
And with them have gone unrealized dreams,
once quite believable,
now barely recognizable.
Yet, all in all, looking back at years faded,
more fruit has been borne than ashes scattered.
Immature expectations are replaced by
more practical dreams.
And these dreams, fulfilled, surpass the lofty
ideals of youth,
building memories unequaled in their beauty,
unexpected in their depth.
No longer a child of uncertain future
exists in the mirror.
An older image lives there now,
one comforted by the pleasure of a well-lived life.
*******
Attached Beyond Their Lifetimes
I walked around the house,
still in a daze from all that happened.
It was hard to imagine they could
both be gone in two, short weeks.
Everywhere I looked, everything I touched,
reminded me of who they were
and what they meant to each other.
Closets were full of mom’s clothes that
hadn’t been worn since that horrid disease
began ravaging her mind,
They’d been replaced first by house dresses,
then by pajamas, then hospital gowns.
Photos of her family, her dogs and her friends
were left in drawers for others to find.
She could no longer remember who they were.
My dad’s model trains in the basement
longed to be run around the track again.
His wordworking tools were scattered everywhere
waiting for his patient hands to build again.
Unfinished letters begged to be written.
Empty canvases begged to be painted.
All were things he never planned to abandon.
He’d been taking care of her for sixty-six years.
He was her primary caregiver
from the beginning of her journey into darkness.
He knew she’d be leaving him soon.
It weighed heavy on his heart, too heavy.
There was nothing more he could do for her here.
He needed to get things ready for
when she arrived at her new home.
I guess that’s what happens when two
lives are bound together over so many years.
Cherishing the good times, overcoming disappointments,
sharing joys and sorrows, living life.
That sort of love for another human being
cannot be broken by the mere act of dying.
*******
Haiti
Desperation
offers no serenity.
Hope
remains buried in the rubble of a garden.
A
stringless guitar gives no music of promise.
The
prescription for their healing lies
in
hands yet to be seen.
*******
Blizzard in Baltimore – The Return
Once again, another blizzard
has come to abduct us in its winter web.
The soft, pretty flakes don’t deceive me.
I’ll soon to be buried by nature’s wrath,
one hand holding a snow shovel,
the other one gripping my ice melt.
When they do my postmortem,
they’ll find my insides ensconced in snow,
and they’ll inscribe on my tombstone,
“she died from cabin fever.”
*******
Maybe When I Remember
Maybe when I remember
the one who brings sun to my day
and stars to my night,
I’ll be able to smile at whatever I perceive as wrong.
Maybe when I remember
all the things you do in the course of a day
to bring comfort to my soul and laughter to my eyes,
I’ll be at peace with who I am and where I’m going.
Maybe when I remember
how you completely define who I am,
I will love you more, if such a thing is possible.
Maybe when I remember all the things
that make you and I one entity,
the focus of my life won’t be so much on me,
but on the best part of what we are together.
*******
If Only It Would Stop Raining
Another damp, gray day.
It’s well before evening,
yet the house is lighter inside than out.
Unrelenting rain saturates
the last of the autumn leaves
clinging helplessly to their branches.
My mood is as bleak as the weather.
Unrelenting rain drenches
my spirit with a hopelessness that
is foreign to me,
foreign and uncomfortable.
If only it would stop raining,
I might be tempted to escape
my warm and safe sanctuary,
leaving my melancholy and despair
to evaporate before I returned.
At least until tomorrow,
when it’s supposed to rain again.
*******
Released
I watched her lying there on the hospital bed.
Her eyes closed, her body still,
her mind locked in a dungeon with no visible key.
Even with her frail and motionless body,
she was somehow still alive,
while a part of me died with every visit.
Life is full of “if onlys”.
If only I spent more time with her.
If only I showed more respect and less attitude.
If only I appreciated the mother she had been.
If only she could be by my side as the person she was.
And now, in my quiet desperation,
I knew our time was ending.
But I had mourned her passing years ago,
as she slipped farther and farther away
into the black hole of dementia.
I cried, a good bit for myself,
but more for what she missed in the passing decade.
Retirement years with my father,
days they should have enjoyed to the fullest,
were an increasingly endless journey into the darkest of nights.
And then, she let go.
She released herself from that earthly vessel
and moved on to a higher plane.
On this day, the ravaging disease took no prisoner.
She left this temporary dwelling for a better place,
where her mind would forever be free.
*******
Broken Promise
Impassive to the headstone
beyond the garden gate,
a broken promise dance begins,
unfettered by its fate.
*******
Respectful Contemplation
The metamorphosis of gentle breezes into hurricane winds.
The transformation of a tiny spark into a fiery, destructive blaze.
The simple alteration of a leaf from green to gold to brown.
I am struck by the steadfastness of change
and contemplate, with renewed respect,
the power controlling our destiny.
*******
When I Look
When I look at you,
I see limitless caring,
unwavering support,
and love given freely.
When I look in you,
I see longings and desires
I live to bring to fruition.
*******
Douglas Fir
Our Christmas Days do not have gold
or frankincense or myrrh.
But what we do have every year is
a great, big Douglas Fir.
It’s filled with ornaments galore
and lights so bright they blur.
There’s a Christmas train that runs around
our holiday Douglas Fir.
Beneath the tree, the dogs will sleep,
the kittens stretch and purr.
It seems that all of us agree.
It’s a mighty nice Douglas Fir.
Our families often disagree,
but today they will concur
that the prettiest sight they’ve seen today
is our festive Douglas Fir.
And when our dinner guests are gone,
we relax with a nice liqueur.
We toast the beauty of this day
and our beautiful Douglas Fir.
Another Christmas come and gone,
and we’re back to the way we were.
But the memory of the day lives on
with what’s left of our Douglas Fir.
*******
A Slippery Walk Through Love
A dozen years ago,
when we first got together,
I never imagined our relationship would survive.
Too many times, I’d seen couples I thought
were on rock solid footing
suddenly drift apart and fade away.
The sun that always shined on their days
was darkened by night, drowned by relentless rain.
We, ourselves, came to places on our path
where the ground began to give way,
where obstacles seemed impossible to pass.
It wasn’t just the learning process of what a relationship meant.
There were outside forces blocking the road,
clouding our vision, confusing our direction.
Your father dying so young,
your grandmother shortly thereafter.
The pain you endured month after month.
I couldn’t fix it.
I could only embrace you and hold you steady
and comfort you with love, spoken and unspoken.
Then later, my mom and dad,
dying two weeks apart.
I thought I would lose my mind.
I couldn’t make the simplest decision.
And there you were.
Loving me enough to allow me to grieve,
taking care of everything, including my heart.
I look back to our hike down Milam Gap.
Three stream crossings
over slippery rocks we couldn’t see.
Being there for each other when our feet would miss the mark,
offering a hand, holding onto each other to regain our balance,
until the next treacherous rock came along.
Life imitates hikes? Sometimes it does.
We’ve watched each other slip and slide
on life’s rugged terrain.
But I’ll always be there for you,
as you’ve always been there for me,
to steady your foothold and keep you from falling.
*******
The Diet Gods
I think about The Diet gods
on each and every day,
who say what foods are good for me,
and what to throw away.
I read their books and plan my meals
the way a trainer does.
But more than once temptation asks
for one more sugar buzz.
A Christmas cookie in the tin,
with candy close at hand.
I know if cravings reel me in,
my waistline will expand.
I guess I’ll grab a carrot stick.
The Diet gods love that.
But how I miss those precious carbs
and wicked, wondrous fats!
*******
State of Forgiveness
Misguided words cut like a knife
through softened butter.
But the hurt is the same
were the knife blade dull.
Absorbed by my own inconvenience,
the better part of me falls in the abyss
of selfish indignation.
To forgive these momentary outbursts
and look beyond the pain inflicted
would be impossible for some.
Yet you prove, time and again,
the deeper definition of love
by giving me time
to learn this lesson of forgiveness
and grow from who I am into who I want to be.
*******
Your Eyes
From the time I first knew that I loved you,
it was hard for my heart to disguise
how I needed to be with you always,
how I needed the love in your eyes.
You have brought to my spirit a passion
beyond anything I could surmise.
For the fire you’ve brought to these ashes,
I’ve been blessed by the love in your eyes.
Though the river can sometimes be murky
and a black cloak envelops the skies,
the best way to emerge from the darkness
is by trusting the love in your eyes.
When it’s time for my heart to stop beating
after saying our final goodbyes,
as I leave for my next destination,
I’ll take with me the love in your eyes.
*******
Jamaica is Calling
A prescription for serenity:
Dance to the sounds of a steel guitar,
and add rum drinks with little umbrellas.
*******
Time Marches On
Some
time ago, in the world we once knew
there was no computer on which
we could view
the thoughts in our heads. But with crayons to
write,
we would make those block letters with childish delight.
We
moved up the ladder to what would come next
and the yellow lead
pencil created the text.
But like typewriters, carbons and crinkly
stencil,
pens, then computers, chewed away at the pencil.
*******
To Be Afraid
To be afraid is a common thread
That holds us all together.
Whether we find ourselves afraid of snakes,
or aging, or bad weather,
we share this bond of senseless fear
that can’t be overcome
by wishing that it wasn’t so
and, thus, we each succumb.
*******
Should I Forget
Should I forget what spring smells like,
I can look passed the morning dew
to a budding tree or beginning blooms.
The springtime smells like new.
Should I forget what summer smells like,
I’ll remember the summertime norm
of flip-flops, shorts and blazing sun.
The summer smells like warm.
Should I forget what autumn smells like,
I can look at the trees exchange
their leaves of green for yellow and red.
The autumn smells like change.
Should I forget what winter smells like,
I can watch as the season takes hold.
A pond turns to ice, the rain turns to snow.
The winter smells like cold.
Should I forget what loves smells like
an easy answer is due.
For everything you are to me,
the smell of love is you.
*******
The Master Builder
One day, when I was a wee, little kid,
I found where my brother’s Legos were hid.
He wasn’t around, so I made them my own
and, Voila! a master builder was grown.
My building reached up, beyond the skies,
or so it appeared to my five-year old eyes.
The master builder giggled with glee
at the hard plastic building in front of me.
But glory and fame would not be my prize.
I looked up to see anger in an eight-year old’s eyes.
My brother was mad that I’d taken his toys.
Thought the master builder, What’s the matter with boys?
Let go of my Legos! my brother roared,
then he knocked my building all over the floor.
The master builder started to weep,
but somehow managed to kick the creep.
He ran to my mother, as brothers will do,
to complain, once again, about young sister, Sue.
My mother, much to my brother’s chagrin,
helped the master builder create again.
With her help and her patience, the new building grew
to the heavens and higher, and that’s when I knew
though a son very often is Mom’s precious pearl,
master builder wins out when it’s Mom’s little girl!
*******
Outside and In
You crept into my life
gently, at first,
allowing me to get used to you
sharing my space.
A short distance in time
brought unfamiliar fireworks to life,
exploding throughout my senses,
enriching the soil
where our union was planted,
watching it grow more powerful
than could ever be imagined.
Walls I created, brick by brick,
to protect my remnants of sanity
shattered into a pile of dust,
imploded by a force beyond nature,
creating a space to transform
this solitary being
into the other half of two.
*******
Love Thought
A love,
deeper than definition,
sharper than wisdom,
makes room for foibles.
*******
Looking Back
She lay beneath the hardened earth,
her injured mind, at rest.
From eighty-seven years to choose,
which one did she think best?
Perhaps the day my dad retired,
that gave them time to spend
entire days to share their lives
with each one’s dearest friend.
The homes they built with loving hands?
The faith that got them through
those days of endless teenage angst
from children, Mike and Sue?
The joy of bringing babies home,
to nurture through the years?
To know the husband that she chose
would calm new parent fears?
Or could it be the Second War
that kept them so apart,
yet never really far away
from one another’s heart?
A child in the Depression years,
who learned to do without,
she also knew, in darkest times,
a seed of hope could sprout.
The promise of tomorrows
grew within her in the womb.
She lived a full and happy life
those decades from the tomb.
*******
Constructed to Last
Start with two people in love as the base.
Pour in a concrete mixture of
hope, respect, conflict and resolution.
To this foundation, add children, in any shape or size,
leaving room for additional conflict and resolution,
high levels of stress and unmeasured devotion.
Build a monument of memories
to last beyond a lifetime.
*******
To Be A Pencil
If I could change to something else, a pencil I would choose.
On paper I would write the words to satisfy the muse.
I’d never have to think myself as dull, without a point.
That blessed electric sharpener would be my favorite joint.
If words I wrote were taken wrong, they’d easily erase.
If I should find myself worn out, the old shell I’d replace.
And being pencil thin would be a thing I wouldn’t dread.
I’m somewhat like a pencil now: my butt is filled with lead.
*******
Lost to the Future
A
soul overwhelmed by despair
lay still on a cold, metal
board.
Would the postmortem about to begin
reveal all the
hidden demons
in every corner of his being?
Would it find the
deceptions
that formed his unflinching misery?
With his life an
incomplete jigsaw puzzle,
no glasses were strong enough for him to
see
what might have unfolded in a future now denied.
*******
Eyes
A soulmate’s eyes,
separated by distance,
stare deeply into the spirit of their union,
with love undiminished
by time or space.
*******
Lost and Found
Years flow like a mighty river
cascading over a waterfall.
Cherished relationships often perish in its wake.
The loss sometimes takes years to absorb
and even longer to fully appreciate.
Yet when destiny allows a reconnection,
the underlying cause for the breach is unclear.
More of the pleasant memories are awakened
than the reason for a broken alliance.
*******
Confection Delights
I hate to admit it. It’s sad, but it’s true,
but I can’t walk away from a Peanut Chew.
And when I am down, I come quickly back up
with a Reese’s Chocolate Peanut Butter Cup.
I know it’s a crutch, but I stifle my tears
with two or more bites of a Three Muskateers.
Those diet gods, angry, will have to endure,
for how can you camp without one more, sweet S’More?
A Kit-Kat, a Twixt, Almond Joy or a Mounds
will lower the tension, though raising the pounds.
But who’d take a salad with dry, tasteless toppers
instead of those chocolatey, malt flavored Whoppers?
*******
Too Long, Too Much
Time is moving way too slowly.
The hours between your leaving for work
And coming back home
are not hours at all, but time standing still.
You leave to make money,
to provide for your family,
to be out in the world of people and power
and, hopefully, to make a difference.
I stay here at home,
to take care of the children,
to take care of the house,
and, hopefully, to make it a home,
a safe haven for your mind and your soul.
Sometimes, the waiting is unbearable.
The seasonal darkness that comes way too early,
the cold, the rain, the ice, the snow,
are the obstacles placed in the way
of your safe and speedy return.
If I worry too often, forgive me.
It’s just who I am.
Perhaps, I love you a little too much.
Maybe, I need you a little too much.
Definitely, a minute, an hour, a lifetime without you
is too much to imagine.
*******
The Dream Within
Within me, there was always a dream
that I would be needed,
that I would be loved.
Within you, I found the pathway
which guided me toward
making that dream a reality.
*******
Transformation
If the world in which I live
were as simple as it tries to appear,
love would be easy to attain.
But nothing is that simple
True love is not guaranteed
without nurturing it every day.
To reap the rewards from this ongoing process,
love must be transformed from
a selfish hope into a selfless reality.
*******
Freedom from Perfection
Every day,
I fight the forces of nature.
I watch my hair turn grayer,
see my waistline disappear,
notice my height diminish, ever so slightly.
I try to fight the signs of aging,
with hair dye, vitamins and diets.
And then I remember a simple truth.
You took me as I was and take me as I am.
You never signed on for perfection.
You give me the freedom to be me.
*******
More Than Enough
How do you measure
what’s enough?
Do you add up material possessions,
money, power, fame?
Do those things alone bring fulfillment?
My meter for those things
barely rises above zero.
But I have you.
I have the family we share
and the home we’ve built together.
How could I want for more
when what I have is more than enough?
*******
And Then Suddenly
Faith wasn’t something that burned in my soul.
If it wasn’t right there to be seen,
it would always remain an enigma to me,
or a brace on which others might lean.
Too often I’d been disappointed before
when I reached out for something with zeal.
But you came along, bringing light to my dark.
And then suddenly, faith became real.
Hope would never be my middle name.
The pessimist always took hold.
If something was going to go wrong, it would.
Discouragement never got old.
But one, tiny spark lit my path of despair,
when you offered your heartfelt appeal
to enter my future with you by my side.
And then suddenly, hope became real.
Love took a long time coming my way.
It detoured around me, it seems.
While others I knew were enjoying its fruit,
it left me alone with my dreams.
But the pain from being rejected before
was a pain you were ready to heal
by filling my void with affection so strong.
And then suddenly, love became real.
*******
Afraid to be Undiscovered
The craft of poetry is a gift.
The images swirl in my head,
creating an intricate tapestry,
held tight by my words as the thread.
But I fear that the gift might be wasted
if the poems aren’t found to be read.
*******
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Susan Schoeffield is the Managing Editor of The Poetry Hut, a quarterly, online poetry magazine. In addition, she administers two weekly poetry prompt blogs, The Magnified Muse and A Muse Fuse, as well as a blog featuring her haiku poetry, called Haiku Harbor. A Walk and Imagine is Susan’s first collection of poetry and she is in the process of compiling her second collection, And Autumn Remembers.
Susan’s first novel, Tarnished Idols, A Silver Screen Murder Mystery, is available at www.smashwords.com. She is currently working on the second book in that series, Reel Madness. In addition, Susan is working on the first book in a new series, Distilled Demons, A Speakeasy Murder Mystery.
As of September 1, 2010, Susan will become a regular host on internet radio and script special programming at www.baltimorenetradio.com. In July 2010, she co-hosted and co-scripted a program for its “Just For Old Time Sake” series on The British Invasion.
Susan lives in Baltimore, Maryland, with her long-time partner, Lynda, their two dogs (Simon and Tucker) and two cats (Pogo and Pawley). When she and Lynda can get away, they like to breathe the clear mountain air of the Shenandoah Mountains in Virginia or enjoy the ocean’s majesty at any beach.
Susan hopes you have enjoyed A Walk and Imagine. She would love to hear from you! Please share your thoughts about this book with her at me@susanschoeffield.com