night’s soft cloak
sun’s lingering warmth
summer’s breeze is redolent
with scents of sleeping flowers
Copyright © 2019-04-22, by Lizl Bennefeld.
Brewer’s prompt for Day 20: Write a dark poem.
Hay(na)Ku, a new form by Eileen R. Tabio, has one word in the first line, two in the second and three in the third, with each word having as many syllables as you wish. Try one! (Cuyahoga Library Writers Center, Day 10)
puppies fast asleep
Copyright © 2019-04-13, 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.
Prompt: Write a nonet, a nine-line poem, with the first line containing nine syllables, the next eight, so on until the last line has one syllable. (Cuyahoga County Public Library)
Words Fail Me
Sometimes the shape of each letter is
more compelling than words’ meanings.
Playing tricks on sore eyes,
they duck and vanish
into the mist
Copyright © 2019-04-07, by Lizl Bennefeld.
fresh breath of cold
sunlight on frosted branches
Copyright © 2019-01-19, by Liz Bennefeld.
Frosty Branches [photo]. Copyright © 2010-01-19, Liz Bennefeld, photographer.
Crying children whisper through my dreams,
their voices faint and dying
from hunger and from fading hope.
I hold my heart untouched
behind a wall of patient waiting.
A few more months, my heart,
a few months only and they’ll die,
their crying cease.
Then only ghosts of crying children
will disturb your sleep.
Originally published as “Ghosts of Crying Children” in the January/February 1980 issue of OURS (as of 1994, the Adoptive Families Magazine), “Crying Children” has since been re-published in other venues). [Minor revisions.]
if trees had wings—
need not trust to fickle winds
to safely bear their seed
if the heart could hear tomorrow…
choose to go or stay
Copyright © 2018-08-12, by Elizabeth Bennefeld.
the colors of springtime
the scent of autumn’s falling leaves
non, je ne regrette rien
© Elizabeth W. Bennefeld, 2018-05-31.
Written in response to Mara Eastern’s (maraeastern[dot]com) post on that date on the discontinuation of WP’s weekly Photo Challenge (among too many other things).
the wind rests quiet on the land
faint sunlight shrinks behind
tree branches and blue clouds
pasted on a blue-grey sky
birds sing summonings
then nestle into nests
for warmth throughout
a night with which the cold
returns too soon
cling to the cold, a shield
against the warming days
Copyright © 2018-05-11, by Lizl Bennefeld.
Brewer: For today’s prompt, write a story poem. Think of a story, could be a long, complicated, winding story, but for a poem, it may make more sense to make it a short, direct story.
Sort of a plot summary of a book that I wrote, many years ago, and then put aside. I have no suitable photos to go with it. Comes to mind, again, every once in a while, morphing over…nearly 4 decades.
“Blood to Blood”
Not who he thought, his father,
not he who was seated as chairman
in his grandfather’s boardroom.
His true father, not by name, but blood,
one who labored in his mother’s gardens,
holding his hand as he took his first steps,
sharing carrots with him from those gardens.
Eating green peas nested in their pods,
they watched koi fish swim among the lilies.
As he grew, listening to rain and
painting the colors of the wind,
he came into his heritage and ran.
Not a heritage of wealth,
but fear, fleeing to the one
who taught him how to run.
Copyright © 2018-04-28, by Elizabeth Bennefeld.