raindrops on the roofraindrops on the window paneraindrops all aboutrain came down, this week, in sheetsthat can’t be used for sails
ripples slide onshore
whispering along the sand—
night songs in moonlight
as the restless ocean sighs…
falls more deeply into sleep
Copyright © 2017-11-07, by Elizabeth W. Bennefeld.
NaHaiWriMo prompt for 7 Nov. 2017: sigh
the breath of morning
tints eastern skies … as night’s hand
tucks away its stars
Copyright © 2017-11-06, by Lizl Bennefeld.
I went through a number of variations on this. Still not sure which one I like the best. This, which I mailed in for my poem-a-day group, or the adaptation I used for Ronovan Writes Haiku weekly challenge. Or perhaps one of the drafts that I deleted.
blanket of new snow
puffy clouds hold in earth’s warmth
rabbit tracks melt first
Copyright © November 4, 2017, by Elizabeth W. (Lizl) Bennefeld.
tiny snowflakes driftdown in slow motion…to groundtoo warm to hold them
Also, I made a stab at using the prompt for today from the NaHaiWriMo page: hurricane
hurricane of sights
cacophony of noises
chaos on chaos
worlds don’t end by fire or ice
but buried by falling stars
unfurl your wings
catch and sail the solar wind
from Venus to Earth
hide inside Luna’s shadow—
count the myriad divers stars
Copyright © 2017-11-02, by Lizl Bennefeld.
NaHaiWriMo prompt for November 2: solar wind.
I went with NaHaiWriMo’s prompt, again: solar wind. I remember reading a science fiction book (I think it was in Lightwing, by Tara Harper, 1992) that included traveling from asteroid to asteroid using foil sails powered by the solar winds of the star where their space station was placed in orbit. Sometimes I dream of it
cradled by blades of grass—
free of dew
one feather fell to earth
together the rest still fly
Copyright © 2017-11-01, by Lizl Bennefeld.
Not a novelist, I intend to write (at least) one poem a day during November 2017, during the 2017 #NaNoWriMo challenge.
Nth Dimension Travel
the perfect place, filled
with people going somewhere—
step aside from them
picture one unnumbered world
where green, vibrant valleys wait
cross over, mindful
to watch your step–don’t look up
and lose the pathway
two stations, many journeys
may you new tomorrows find
Copyright © 2017-08-24, by Elizabeth Bennefeld.
Prompt: Something that happens again and again.
“Tulips at Springtime”
One year soon after I was married,
my mother ordered tulip bulbs
to be planted in the fall,
sent all the way from Holland,
from the farm on which they grow.
She planted bulbs and gave us some.
We placed ours near to those
my husband’s mother planted
many years ago to complement
the lily tulips favored
by the folks who’d come before.
My mother’s gone, his mother, too,
but still the tulips grow.
I wonder if the children of
the folks who lived here
half a century ago remember,
too, the blooms that grew,
planted by their mom and dad
and maybe them.
the last memories
“Tulips at Springtime”. Copyright © 2017-04-30, by Elizabeth Bennefeld.
Prompt: The (blank), replace “blank” to make the poem’s title.
My father’s final worry,
which he took to his grave,
was his children’s children
and their children living
in a world in which
there would no longer be
clean air or water,
healthy food or crops–
a world in which the haves
would eat the have-nots
when the time had come
that nothing else was left.
“The Future”. Copyright © 2017-04-30, by Elizabeth Bennefeld.
Note: This poem is loosely based on a description of one of the last conversations he had with his oldest son, before our father died in February. My father had strong convictions about the expanding effects of climate change and what it would mean for the next generations. At age 100+, with no health problems to speak of, Father decided, one evening, to take a nap, and didn’t wake up, again.
the lake in winter
gentle touch of winter’s cold
water’s smooth surface
the quiet of falling snow
the chime as each flake fractures
Copyright © 27 April 2017, by Elizabeth W. Bennefeld.
Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest:
For today’s prompt, write a regret poem. Most people regret some action they’ve taken over the years, whether it’s saying the wrong thing, making the wrong choice, or putting off something for a tomorrow that never comes. Write about your own regrets, or the regrets of others (this is a great opportunity to write a persona poem).
Angry, still, she would have said,
Just keep away from me!
You ruin everything you touch,
speaking out…butting in.
Let, at least, my dying be
about me, with my friends.
I only care about my own.
My death belongs to me!
Copyright © 2017-04-26, by Elizabeth Bennefeld.
I love enumeratio poetry! I decided just to have fun with this, and made a numbered list in response to the prompt. As an aside, here: I have been writing (and referring to) survival lists/guides ever since I started journaling sometime in the sixties, while I still was in high school. As I finished each journal, I would copy my list into the new one, go through the old one to pull out the “creative writing” pages, and then shred or burn the old journal. I quit doing paper journals around beginning of the century.
Write yourself a survival guide as a list poem: What are the things you need to know to survive? What should you have known? What do you need to remember? What do you know that only you can tell yourself? What items do you need? What actions do you need to take? [Sarah Tatro, Poetry Super Highway]
Things I decided, at one time or another, that I knew and needed to remember
(most recent edition)
1. Nobody knows the answers. Everyone is making it up as they go along.
2. It’s better to screw up making your own mistakes than making someone else’s.
3. Make a list of what you know and, if possible, why you think you know it. Then make decisions on the basis of that list, not on what you want to be real when you’re going crazy.
4. God understands your messes, and they don’t bother Him. He doesn’t confuse them with what or who you are, and neither should you.
5. Gain or loss, pleasure or pain, discovery or routine, sickness or health, friends or isolation, life or death. There are no guarantees or promises concerning these, life’s incidentals. And, they don’t count.
6. You are not alone. You are always loved. You are loved and valued neither more nor less than any and every other living being in creation. You are cared for. Always. No matter what.
7. Act justly, observe appropriate opportunities to perform acts of loving kindness, walk discretely with God and everyone else. As one among all the others.
8. We are all equally responsible. God is the One who’s capable.
9. You will never come to the end of things you do not know, or, knowing, things you do not understand. Not in your job description. You are responsible to give and receive love.
10. You have a profound purpose in life. You achieved it sometime before you turned twenty (or ten … or thirty), and you’ll never know what it was. Everything since then has been gravy.
Copyright © 2017-04-25, by Lizl Bennefeld.
There has been much back-and-forth on our poetry association’s mailing list about contemporary English haiku. I am feeling my way.
bare dirt heaped
where a bush used to grow
our only mountain
Copyright © 24 April 2017, by Elizabeth W. Bennefeld.
I chose the “horizon” prompt from nahaiwrimo and wrote this poem in consideration of the weekend’s wet and windy weather.
a day of rest
on the horizon
the sun peers through heavy clouds
forecast, partly wet
frogs take heart in the damp dawn
I stoke the fire, heat the tea
“a day of rest”. Copyright © 24 April 2017, by Elizabeth Bennefeld.
NaHaiWriMo prompt: shooting star
Jeweled shooting stars
line the wooded limestone path
on which I wander.
Copyright © 22 April 2017, by Elizabeth Bennefeld.
The Jeweled Shooting Star is a wildflower that grows in Minnesota.
The NaHaiWriMo prompt was “shooting star”, but the “write a Georgic poem” (“a poem dealing with practical aspects of agriculture and rural affairs”) was taken from day 22’s list of prompts for our small group.
Jeweled Shooting Stars
take three or more years to bloom,
planted in dry soil.
Copyright © 2017-04-23, by Lizl Bennefeld.
Photo is located at www.wildflower.org.
Prompt: Typically we can only see the moon and stars at night; however what if inexplicably the stars were visible in the blue sky of the middle of the day? How would a poet (such as yourself!) describe this phenomenon? [Silano, Martha; Agodon, Kelli. The Daily Poet: Day-By-Day Prompts For Your Writing Practice, Two Sylvias Press.]
I didn’t describe the phenomenon. Instead, I wondered, what if there were a lot of stars close enough to a planet to be seen in daylight in addition to the primary sun? Just for fun, I considered how that might be expressed in the context of religious verse.
“The God of the Suns”
While stolid Sol o’ersees the day-to-days
and helps the world go on in myriad ways,
pay your close attention also
to the farther suns that show,
glittering streams of sparkling light
across the sky in day and night.
They touch the long-term course of time
and bring about life’s gifts sublime.
Copyright © April 2017, by Lizl (Elizabeth) Bennefeld. All rights reserved.
Prompt from NaHaiWriMo: “Candle”
All the Years
In your memory
a candle at the window
each day as light fades
Copyright © 2017-04-19, by Lizl (Elizabeth) Bennefeld.