Copyright © February 2015, by Liz Bennefeld.
All rights reserved.
Day 6
“Like Fireflies”
Like fireflies at eventide
You light my dark’ning way
And when at last full night has come,
please lead me home, I pray.
Your love has ever held me.
My heart is in your hand.
I hear the heav’nly chorus,
the full celestial band.
Like fireflies at eventide
You light my dark’ning way
And when at last full night has come,
please lead me home, I pray.
You’ve overfilled my cup with joy.
Now help me do your will.
Your peace is overflowing.
This heart of mine is still.
Like fireflies at eventide
You light my dark’ning way
And when at last full night has come,
please lead me home, I pray.
I’ve tried to love your children
As you would have us do.
Let judgment come from heaven.
Your love will see us through.
Like fireflies at eventide
You light our dark’ning way
And when at last full night has come,
please bring us home, we pray.
Written on 26 February 2015, Copyright © 2015 February, Elizabeth W. Bennefeld. All rights reserved.
Day 7
“No Favors”
We did him no favors, keeping him alive beyond his time. All alone, now, safe from any germ or poison or dirt or grass or fresh, cold air and sun of an autumn morning, rays of light that caress, not treetops, now, but barren ground. It would be a kindness if keepers let him sleep one last time and let him never wake again. Or join him in that cage of glass that keeps him far away and yet so near to gentle touches, fingers running through his fur. Whisper sweet words of not-aloneness in his ear. The last animal on Earth that is not man lies dying. Do not let him die alone.
Day 8
“O Hidden Drawer”
Secrets tucked away against tomorrows,
Life that’s not yet realized. Keeper of Mysteries,
You hold a cache of tokens that reflect
A different me, a stranger to close friends.
Three flash memory sticks that contain
Passwords for devices and accounts
I no longer own or which have sat in a closet,
Broken, for months or years or decades.
Keys are in the drawer. Relatives’ keys
To safe deposit boxes–I don’t know where–
Left to me for their safekeeping.
When they’re dead, I’ll throw away the keys.
Short-term hope! My husband bought
A raffle ticket for me, in case I should like
Another chance for him to win a prize
Without himself appearing spendthrifty.
And last: one extended bolt release, three thumb tacks,
And an old gift card with an expiration date
That makes it useful into the next decade,
Should I have to get out of town in a hurry.
Day 9
Three “Exile” Poems
Crisis
They came for them, today, the last trees in our town.
They stripped away the last remaining biomass for
energy to run these trucks carrying the soldiers
that keep us safe, to serve the
dwindling few and
those they still
command.
The Journey
Is he downstairs, again, fallen asleep in his chair…
or did we bury him under Terra’s summer sun,
and I’ve forgotten once more
during the long, cold
night?
Remembrance
Lulled to sleep by weeping sands against the window,
mixed by winds with sleet and snow, I dream
of golden, glorious clouds racing before
that one last towering storm, the day
the Earth last heard our voices,
felt our steps, and then
was washed by rains
no more.
Day 10
“Reflection”
I stand before a frost-encrusted window,
shiv’ring in the season’s deadening chill,
and watch a solitary flake of snow
drift down to settle on my window sill.
I hear behind me in the fireplace
a log collapse. It showers sparkling cinders
high into the air to fall and lace
my rug with crimson tracks of dying embers.
The eastern skyline shows a hint of color,
that silent vision of night’s death begun.
In sharp cold at the birth of winter,
autumn leaves fall past me one by one.
So, too, this year, like all the rest, drifts by.
Not with regrets, but not without a sigh.
Written in 1967, final revisions in February 2015 & September 2018, by Elizabeth W. Bennefeld. All rights reserved. I’m finally happy with it (but continue to tweak it.)
Quilted Poetry 