This used to be yelled
in a sing-song way
in every household
every day
when we would all clamor
to answer the call
of the one lone phone
that hung on the wall.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
In response to Robert Lee Brewer’s 2021 April PAD Challenge: Day 10 – Writer’s Digest (Day 10: Write a Get Blank poem)
She’ll never slice me,
squeeze, or zest me, if you just
sketch me a sweet face.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
In response to Robert Lee Brewer’s 2021 April PAD Challenge: Day 9 – Writer’s Digest (Day 9: Write a PERSONA poem)
You are a lightyear.
I, millions of light seconds,
lined up and waiting.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
In response to Robert Lee Brewer’s 2021 April PAD Challenge: Day 8 – Writer’s Digest (Day 4: Write a Metaphor poem).
Her argument couldn’t be finer:
“Don’t want you to think I’m a whiner.
I’m not just a shirker
I AM a hard worker!”
She said, from her threadbare recliner.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
In response to Robert Lee Brewer’s 2021 April PAD Challenge: Day 4 – Writer’s Digest (Day 4: Write an ACTIVE poem).
Pondering the blood-drenched tree
There but for His mercy, me
Tear-stained face, I bow the knee
Hallelujah! He is risen!
Low, for me His blood was drained
Love entombed, yet not contained
Absolution, as ordained
Hallelujah! He is risen!
(c) Marie Elena Good, 2013
uncompromised love
articulated by a
silent, empty tomb
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
In response to Robert Lee Brewer’s 2021 April Poem-a-Day Challenge at Poetic Asides (Day 3: Write a Communication poem).
Words may speak comfort
to the wounded. But, more so,
a shoulder. A tear.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
In response to Robert Lee Brewer’s 2021 April Poem-a-Day Challenge at Poetic Asides (Day 3: Write a Communication poem).
The last twenty four hours –
bearer of agonizing anguish
and hideous horror.
Had I known what was to come,
I would have stayed away –
far away
from you.
And I
would have safeguarded myself
from this enslaving loss.
I would have listened
to your compelling lessons –
your world-altering truths.
But I would have kept my distance
… and I,
I would have sat not at your feet,
but the foot of the hill.
I’d have sought your perfect rest,
but not at your breast.
And I can’t think of Judas
and how you knew. You knew.
And how Peter did just as you said –
denied you.
Three times denied you,
and I …
I wouldn’t have believed it.
The others you called,
scattered.
Frightened.
Confused.
Afraid for their lives, perhaps.
And I, myself, afraid.
But the women … oh,
the women …
how they were there for you today
along Golgotha’s way!
They wiped your wounded face
listened to your howls of pain
watched your mother’s horror
wailed
until your life left
and your silence spilled.
But the women remained
(chained to image and sound
that will never be loosed)
– produced a ceaseless cry.
The women,
and I.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
In response to Robert Lee Brewer’s 2021 April Poem-a-Day Challenge at Poetic Asides (Day 2: Write a What does the future hold poem).
WITH HIGH LEVEL OF ACCURACY, I PREDICT:
As soon as hands are wash-me wet,
my phone will start to ring.
When I am snoozing, you can bet
my phone will start to ring.
The moment we sit down to eat,
my phone will start to ring.
Before my urgent task’s complete,
my phone will start to ring.
The final seconds of the game,
my phone will start to ring.
Car warranty’s good, but all the same,
my phone will start to ring.
About to step in to the bath,
my phone will start to ring.
When I have moved from rile to wrath,
my phone will start to ring.
When I’m with someone, it is known
my phone will start to ring.
The second I put down my phone?
My phone will start to ring.
While pulling up my drive at home,
my phone will start to ring.
When nearly finished with my poem,
my … Sorry. I need to get this …
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
In response to Robert Lee Brewer’s 2021 April Poem-a-Day Challenge at Poetic Asides (Day 2: Write a What does the future hold poem).
He asked for water.
We’d never seen each other,
and we were alone:
He (a Jewish man)
and Samaritan-woman-
me, knowing my place.
Finding it a bit
amusing, I asked Him why
He asked this of me.
He spoke in riddle,
“If you knew who was asking,
you’d have asked of Him,
and He’d have given
the gift of living water.”
Then He spoke again
and everything
there is to know about me,
He already knew.
I wasn’t disturbed.
There was nothing unsettling
in His countenance.
There was not a doubt
the gift He offered me was
His for the giving.
I drew His water.
But He? He quenched a thirst I
never knew I had.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
In response to Robert Lee Brewer’s 2021 April Poem-a-Day Challenge at Poetic Asides (Day 1: Write an introduction poem).
