twenty-five or thirty-some years
yet to go … or less
looking at past records
of family births and deaths
my dad felt a hundred years
was too long to stick around for
my mother thought that ninety-four
was quite a bit too short
neither was pleased
don’t know what I’ll think
when my world and I transform
when time becomes eternity
maybe I’ll notice, or perhaps I’ll
forget what came before
Copyright © 2019-11-29, by Liz Bennefeld. All rights reserved.
no more ideas
nothing to be done with that
but to keep still
listening from my silence
to the heartbeat of the world
Copyright © 2019-11-23, by Lizl Bennefeld. All rights reserved.
too warm to wear the snow boots…
too cold for slippers
Copyright © 2019-11-22, by Liz Bennefeld.
too small to descend slowly
tumbles through the wind
blowing under inside doors
filling outside’s tiny cracks
Copyright © 2019-11-21, by Elizabeth W. Bennefeld.
restless leaves dance
across the newly white grass
never still for long
errant winds stir them around
shaking off the falling snow
tanka. Copyright © 2019•11•13, Liz Bennefeld.
Copyright © 2019-07-14, by Lizl Bennefeld.
Also published on my WordPress blog, The Moments Between.
pictures tucked away at end of summer…
promises of winter’s end
Copyright © 2019-04-12, by Lizl Bennefeld.
Write a kimo, an Israeli form that tends to capture a moment (like a photograph in words), using three unrhymed lines with syllable count 10, 7, 6. (Cuyahoga County Public Library)
ice crystals scattered in a shrinking patch
glistening in the sunlight…
exhaling their last breaths
Copyright © 2019-04-08, by Lizl Bennefeld.
My first poem for this Monday was written for the Ronovan Writes Weekly Haiku Prompt Challenge, and can be found on my Quilted Poetry blog: River’s Crest.
a walk in the garden
snow deeper than me, head and tail…
Copyright © 2019-04-03, Lizl Bennefeld, text and photo.
Also posted on The Moments Between.