UNTITLED
May we learn by heart
that live is three quarters love
and one quarter “I.”
(c) Marie Elena Good 2017
pictured words
a simple pairing of pictures and poetry
April 25, 2024
April 22, 2024
AND THIS
Image credit: Pexels
My son and I sit together with his little cat family in his humble Cleveland apartment. He grabs his book of Hubble Telescope photos. He is fascinated with the universe and knows a great deal more about it than I do. He turns page after page, oohing and ahh’ing over the astounding beauty. Immensity. Luminosity. Each stunning photo compels him to share with me what he knows, and launches him to the next. I am enjoying hearing the excitement in his swelling voice as we explore multiple moons and distant galaxies.
Then, the Milky Way.
His eyes grow tender. Voice, soft.
“And this? This is home.”
© Marie Elena Good, 2024
April 21, 2024
CHURCH
CHURCH
Brick and mortar
house far too many walls,
as though Jesus
never came.
April 21, 2024
HUMANITY, ECLIPSED
A Syrian friend
flees the supper table with
her whole family
leaving home-cooked meal
to decay in silence, as
bombs scream her story.
While bombs shake her house
in Ukraine, a sweet young child
runs out the front door,
glares at a gutless
foe, shakes her fist, and bellows,
“You cannot scare me!”
A gentle woman
from Afghanistan stumbles
as she tries to bolt
away from the bombs
in her path. She breaks her nose.
But her lungs still breathe.
More friends from Ukraine
had no light, no heat for months.
This, in my friend’s words:
“Life is divided
into before and after
war came to our house.”
In shadows, evil
slinks across the globe beneath
our sentinel moon.
© Marie Elena Good, 2024
These are just a few of the stories of war-weary refugee friends of mine. These few don’t express but an infinitesimal spec of the havoc war wreaked on our planet in the time it took me to pen this poem. What we humans are willing to do to fellow humans is unspeakably horrific.
April 14, 2024
Far-reaching light
Photo of March Lake Erie morning sky, by Carrie Wakeman
My Father, may I
ask that as the sun rises,
I may sing for joy.
That as the sun sets,
I will recall each moment
spent in Your presence.
Not just for me. For
all whom the sun, moon, and stars
reflect Your love’s light.
© Marie Elena Good, 2024
April 8, 2024
TOTALITY, MAUMEE OHIO 2024
Photo by Keith R. Good
darkness fell swiftly
air cooled notably
birds fell silent
awe remains
© Marie Elena Good, 2024
#seventeenintwentyfour
“The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.” ~ Psalm 19:1
April 7, 2024
MIDWEST
Photo by Keith R. Good
You may not have guessed, but I can attest that the Midwest is blessed. And might I suggest your quest be to test if I jest in what I’ve expressed, lest your life be suppressed and you end up depressed for your lack of Midwest nest. I’m from the Midwest, and sincerely request that you come be my guest.
And yes, I’m obsessed.
© Marie Elena Good, 2024
April 6, 2024
MOREL OF THE STORY (food for thought in 17 syllables)
1.
I yam mad, you crepe!
You stocked me and stole a quiche.
I artichoke you.
2.
News.
Olive it bad.
Endive got to know,
Who leeked it?
I’ll just wine and stew.
3.
Soda ya think it’s thyme
To pear up and rhyme?
Say where,
I’ll meat you there!
#seventeenineighteen times three!
March 31, 2024
HE IS RISEN, INDEED (a Stornello for Easter Sunday)
Though innocent, Jesus was still crucified.
Enormous, the evidence that He had died,
He lives, per the witnesses who testified.
But not just per witnesses back in the day -
I know Him and know that He hears when I pray.
I feel His strong presence along my pathway.
I knew Him before I became a schoolchild.
His unequaled love leaves me awed and beguiled.
All thanks be to Him we’re with God, reconciled.
© Marie Elena Good, 2024
March 30, 2024
SUBSTANTIATION
Image by Jeff Jacobs from Pixabay
The science proved to
the many eyewitnesses
that Jesus was dead.
More eyewitnesses
prove historically to us
that Jesus now lives.
#seventeenintwentyfour
pictured words 