Todays and Tomorrows are Made of Moments
I hail tomorrow
as if this day I have is
not nearly enough.
Or dread tomorrow
as if this day I am in
is all that matters.
Lord help me embrace
the moments and hours of now,
before time slips by.
Help me spend my time
in ways that venerate You.
Not frivolously.
Not indifferently.
Kindly. Considerately.
In lockstep with You.
© Marie Elena Good 2026
#seventeenintwentysix
You know the saying: “There aren’t enough hours in a day.” For me, it seems true. Whether I’m swamped or have a relatively clear schedule, tasks sit languidly. Then there’s, “God gave them more than 24 hours in a day.” This isn’t a saying. It is simply what my husband and I tell each other regarding a few people we intimately know. These are people whose eyes appear to focus on the manifold good God seems to ask of them. Their hands and feet don’t falter. They accomplish more in one day than I do in perhaps a month. Evidently time is of no concern when motivated hearts are in sync with God’s own.
“She would have helped
had she but found the time,”
the saddest stone cries.
© Marie Elena Good 2026
I Am Not There
I am not there, where you are.
I try to understand through your eyes.
Through your heart.
But I am not there, where you are.
Sometimes I think, perhaps, maybe
we are experiencing life
in multiverse.
I am not convinced it even exists.
But
I am not there, where you are.
I look at what you look at,
but I don’t see what you see.
I listen to what you listen to,
but I don’t hear what you hear.
And you are not here, where I am.
You look at what I look at,
but you don’t see what I see.
You listen to what I listen to,
but you don’t hear what I hear.
You are not here, where I am.
And I am not there.
© Marie Elena Good 2025
Mom and Dad used to live
two doors down from us.
Some mornings
Dad would walk over,
sit down for a cup of coffee
and a few laughs.
Eventually, coffee became
an excuse for a talk.
For questions.
One day his question was,
“Will you keep this in a safe place for me?”
He opened a tiny matchbox-sized box,
pulled out a piece of paper that was
folded, and folded, and folded, and
he read it to me.
It was a poem. The first he’d ever written.
He was a young boy, and it was to his dad
who had unexpectedly passed.
I watched him fold and fold and fold
and carefully put it back in the box
while I pondered why suddenly,
after close to 7 decades,
did he need me to keep it safe for him?
One day his question was
from his doctor:
“Do you have a plan in place for if
she becomes violent?”
One day his question was,
“Do you think I need to worry
about her beginning to wander?”
One day his question was,
“What will I do
the day we wake up
and she doesn’t know me?”
Two doors down from us,
Mom and Dad used to live.
© Marie Elena Good 2026
Mom passed February 9, 2018. Dad passed 35 days later. They were interred together on September 8, 2018 — the anniversary of their wedding.
“But when he had thought this over, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream, saying, ‘Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife; for the Child who has been conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit.’” ~ Matthew 1:20
“ … an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream. “Get up,” he said, “take the child and his mother and escape to Egypt. Stay there until I tell you, for Herod is going to search for the child to kill him.”So he got up, took the child and his mother during the night and left for Egypt, where he stayed until the death of Herod. And so was fulfilled what the Lord had said through the prophet: “Out of Egypt I called my son.” ~ Matthew 2:13-15
POSSIBLE PONDERINGS OF A CARPENTER NAMED JOSEPH
God gifted me a mind to work with wood,
which business customers respect, it seems.
I’ve taught my son my craft since his boyhood,
but never spoke about my angel dreams.
The default mind of carpentry is ruled.
It’s symmetry. It’s slated, and exact.
A carpenter is practiced, skilled, and schooled.
I see in my own son much more than that.
I cannot count the multitude of times
these angels’ words return to haunt my mind.
My years have not played out in paradigms —
my anchor-bolted views left far behind.
I cannot say I’ve understood the role
as asked of me by Mary, or by God.
I’ve questioned in my heart and in my soul,
if Mary’s story was a mere façade.
Though some advised me, “Have her put away,”
I knew the horrid fate she would have faced.
I could not stand the thought that they may slay
the one whose love and life I have embraced.
But, truth-be-told, it’s turned me inside-out,
accepting what the angels showed to me.
I sometimes wish I’d chosen my own route,
but then I look around me and I see:
The pureness of a son we can’t explain.
His understanding of the ancient scrolls.
An innate wisdom he could never feign.
We’re wholly humbled to accept our roles.
© Marie Elena Good 2025
Woodland
A forest of hardwood and pine
whispers calm to my soul
as we stroll its quiet path of leaves
and fine needles
with the occasional call
of small birds,
conversation of crows,
or tune composed of
breeze strumming the trees
to the rhythm of woodpecker’s tap,
even as our own whispers overlap
woodland’s song —
one I wish to carry lifelong.
© Marie Elena Good 2025
Photo by David Corliss
Wind gusts at fifty
wreaked havoc on her for hours.
So she said, “Enough,”
and she up and left,
carrying all she calls hers
to Buffalo’s banks.
Her now-vacated
western shore gets foot traffic,
sans ruby slippers.
© Marie Elena Good, 2025
“Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy.
O, Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love; For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; it is in dying that we are born again to eternal life.” ~ Anonymous(attributed to St. Francis of Assisi)
Sonnet for Lord, Make Me an Instrument of Your Peace
Of many writings I wish were my own,
this certainly resides among the best.
And while this poet’s name remains unknown,
their heart’s benevolence is manifest.
And oh to be an instrument of peace
And oh to harmonize with God’s great grace
No dissonance released from my mouthpiece
No notes omitted, wrestled, or misplaced
God likens clanging cymbals and loud gongs
to those who harbor hate within their soul.
I want to spill His love where there are wrongs –
the love that brings us peace and makes us whole.
Don’t want to be a cymbal or a gong –
Just long to harmonize with Him in song.
© Marie Elena Good 2025
RED (sonnet for a cabin in the woods)
We’re back in Red, a cabin we once knew.
She was the first to which we came for rest.
But then we switched to one we know as Blue.
Both feel like home, and neither one is “best.”
Nostalgia here in Red, intense and deep,
returns us to our long-forgotten years
of risky hikes (both treacherous and steep).
Our younger selves don’t hear our future fears.
Inherent wisdom fills her ancient beams.
They’ve centuries of stories, as has she.
Her cozy manner begs us (so it seems):
Speak quiet love, relax, and be carefree.
Surrounded by strong hardwood and soft fir,
Red’s presence stirs up thoughts of who we were.
© Marie Elena Good 2025
LET’S BE OPEN
Well, while our government remains shut down
and citizens debate who is at fault
and billionaires don’t lose one grain of ground,
*SNAP benefits are coming to a halt.
Our churches, mosques, and temples work to fill
the need our government’s left in its wake.
We’ll all step up to compensate — but still,
where will we find resources it will take?
We’ll find it in abundance we consume.
We’ll find the here and there that we can spare.
We’ll set our table, and we’ll make more room.
And even those themselves in need will share.
While left and right debate who is at fault,
the poor among us feel the full assault.
© Marie Elena Good 2025
*Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program
“For I was hungry, and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me into your home.” ~ Jesus of Nazareth
pictured words 