pictured words

Two Poems for Mother’s Day

The Mother of Alzheimer’s

Who birthed (unearthed)
This unwelcome invasion,
Or gave it the right
To hijack each occasion
Meant to endure and assure her
She’s loved. She belongs.

It ceaselessly wrongs her,
Assassinates her senses;
Condenses her being
To fleeting moments,
Thought amputation,
Self dislocation,
And few kin.

And it will win.

© Marie Elena Good, 2016

Mom’s Passing (2018)

She began speaking
of needing to get ready
for the bus (taxi?)

that would very soon
be arriving to take her.
If she knew where to,

she didn’t tell us.
Such questions were hard for her,
so we wouldn’t ask.

We’d just pack for her,
had she asked us to do so.
For years she couldn’t.

She couldn’t decide
what to take, or what to leave.
Empty her closet.

Sleep in the guest room,
as her bed was filled with clothes
she would take nowhere.

Now she couldn’t leave.
Couldn’t get up from her bed.
She didn’t know that.

She didn’t know that
she was on hospice care now.
She didn’t know that

her last fall would be
what interrupts this disease,
and its progression.

That it would still win,
but wouldn’t finish the race.
So she would win, too.

… and the “slow goodbye”
ended in twenty eighteen,
when she journeyed on.

© Marie Elena Good 2026

3 Comments

April 26, 2026

What Do I See?

I look out my window,
and what do I see?
Two squirrels playing tag
in a big maple tree.

I look out my window,
and what do I see?
A face in a cloud
with a funny goatee.

I look out my window,
and what do I see?
My mom’s picnic table
and pitcher of tea.

I look out my window,
and what do I see?
The wind left a space
where my shoes used to be!

I look out my window,
and what do I see?
I see Bigfoot’s footprints!
(You might disagree.)

I look out my window
and what do I see?
Our bee balm is blooming,
and see? There’s a bee!

I look out my window,
and what do I see?
I see the black cap
of a cute chickadee.

I look out my window,
and what do I see?
I see squirrels, trees, and bees,
and a pitcher of tea.
I see funny cloud shapes,
and a cute chickadee.
I see bee balm and Bigfoot.
(You’ll still disagree.)

(But in all of my views,
I don’t see my new shoes.)

I look out my window,
what more do I see?
I reliably see
a reflection of me.

3 Comments

April 22, 2026

Spontaneously (an American Sentence)

Raw and unrefined, the crude reliably gushes from within him.

Written for Robert Lee Brewer’s April Poem-a-Day challenge. Today’s prompt is to write a natural poem.

Allen Ginsberg created the poetic form he called the American Sentence. It is a complete sentence of 17 syllables.

April 19, 2026

Of Haiku and Children’s Stories

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Of Haiku and Children’s Stories

once upon a time
and five-syllable launches:
openings I trust

© Marie Elena Good 2026

April 17, 2026

My Haiku Offering for National Haiku Day

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We’re not asked to build
a bigger table. We’re asked
to join them for tea.

(c) Marie Elena Good 2026

4 Comments

April 17, 2026

Of Questionable Sayings (an American Sentence)

But if something goes missing, now it’s nothing that’s new under the sun.

Allen Ginsberg created the poetic form he called the American Sentence. It is a complete sentence of 17 syllables.

1 Comment

April 12, 2026

Of Certainty (an American Sentence)

I believe the only thing set in stone, is that it’s not mine to throw.

Written for Robert Lee Brewer’s April Poem-a-Day challenge. Today’s prompt is to write a set poem.

Allen Ginsberg created the poetic form he called the American Sentence. It is a complete sentence of 17 syllables.

3 Comments

April 11, 2026

Of My Travels (an American Sentence)

Of My Travels (an American Sentence)

Rest assured, my returns have never ended with the goal of splash down.

© Marie Elena Good 2026

Nasa’s Artemis 2 returned yesterday. Interestingly, the woman (Christina Koch) is a former student of my poet friend Jane Schlensky!

Written for Robert Lee Brewer’s April Poem-a-Day challenge. Today’s prompt is to write a home poem.

Allen Ginsberg created the poetic form he called the American Sentence. It is a complete sentence of 17 syllables.

3 Comments

April 7, 2026

Of an a.m. annihilation announcement (an American Sentence)

Has it dawned on you yet that he’s become unhinged in his twilight years?

Written for Robert Lee Brewer’s April Poem-a-Day challenge. Today’s prompt is to write a dawn and/or dusk poem.

Allen Ginsberg created the poetic form he called the American Sentence. It is a complete sentence of 17 syllables.

April 6, 2026

Favorite Color

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You know how people sometimes ask what your favorite color is? It has always been so hard for me to give a firm, convincing response. The green outdoors is so life-giving that I love to bring it inside. And when I wear it, it makes my eyes look pretty green. Soft, watery blue is lovely and restful. YlnMn blue is the most magnificent color I have ever laid eyes on. It is even better than royal or cobalt. Lemony yellow is cheerful and bright. My husband likes it when I wear red, though I don’t own much. Gray is fantastic for making any imaginable color near it pop. Being my favorite season and bringing welcome childhood memories, autumn colors warm my heart. But it wasn’t until this weekend that I suddenly realized I do have an absolute favorite.

Spring’s first buds and blooms.
Snowfall. Fresh sheet of paper.
Purity and peace.

© Marie Elena Good 2026

3 Comments