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Examples of my poetry

Lunchtime in an Open Field

 

Frank stands five yards from his neighbor’s shed,

hands in his army coat pockets and a silver whistle

between cracked lips that minutes before had French-

 

kissed a Marlboro. Only thirteen degrees at noon,

his breath steams against a hearty north wind,

vanishing four feet above the snow-covered ground.

 

Sadie, a sand-splotched German shorthair, points

and pees in chaotic sniff-circles across the open field,

running on fire one moment then bottle-stopping at

 

what another beau or bitch left behind. She scours the

bottom of a chain link fence dividing her from a shepherd

jetting lot line to lot line in jealous frenzy for her freedom.

 

Then she jackknifes to a stop. The rabbit’s perfume is stronger

than the evergreen it hides beneath. But Frank’s silent whistle

commands her to his side where he grumbles, “Lunch is over.”

​

Published in "Zest for Pets"

Poets Choice poetry anthology, August 2023

Tomatoes

 

With cold, wet hands, she

slices red tomatoes to the

glass plate. So tight is the

skin, it pops.

 

Above the ceramic sink, a

double-hung, thick with paint,

invites spring’s breezes to

chastise yellow dot curtains.

 

Nestled in her palm, the

tomato is a frail bird,

innocent to the blade’s

slice through her knuckle.

 

The tomato splits in the sink.

The glass plate shatters to

the floor, and the slices

soak stains in the rug.

 

The blood drizzles down her

fingers, mixes with her

wedding band, collects in

her cuticles.

 

She sets the knife steady

on the counter, wraps her hand

in a flour towel, and shuts

the window tight.

1 Corinthians 13: 4-8 at the airport

 

He is patient

as he navigates his vows to 

her through the airport terminal. 

 

He is kind

when helping her stand so she can walk

on her own into the women’s restroom. 

 

He is not envious

of the couples shouldering totes from

sandy beaches and trips abroad. 

 

He does not boast

of working two, sometimes three, jobs,

so she could stay home with the kids.

​

He is neither proud nor rude 

as he guides both her wheelchair and 

their suitcase through the busy terminal. 

 

He does not seek 

attention or pity for his circumstances

or her condition that limits them both. 

 

He is not angered

by the loss of their romance now

packaged in dutiful devotion. 

 

He does not judge 

those who exhaust their impatience

at his age and slow, arthritic gait.

 

He does not curse

their backs or wish them ill. 

He absorbs their insults in silence.

 

Instead, he rejoices

in four children who will greet them at the next airport with six grandchildren in tow. 

 

He rewards her

with a gentle touch and silly quips, 

knowing his humor can make her laugh. 

 

He protects her dignity.

He trusts in his Lord.

He hopes he can care for her

and endure for them both,

 

and be the one who lives longer

so she will not be left alone. 

Carl Sandburg once said, "Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance."

It can also be a dance that creates an echo.

© 2026 by Jeanne Schieffer

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