pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

Category: Poetic Bloomings

MY SPIRIT’S SONG (a poem with wrapped refrains)

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Image by Colin Behrens, courtesy of Pixabay 

I’ve often said it is no toss
‘tween loss of sight or hearing loss.
for music is to me as bread.
It feeds my soul, I’ve often said.

My heart beats to a melody –
a bond abiding breathlessly
as harmonies are coursing through,
in tune with what my heart beats to.

And I believe when angels sing,
our parched earth sips from worship’s spring
to praise a God we can’t conceive.
They catch my ear, and I believe.

It need not be a “worship song”
to lift my eyes and make me long
to sit upon my Father’s knee,
and see my worries need not be.

Should I not hear jazz beat of drum,
or soothing sound from cello’s strum –
Good Father, hearer of my prayer,
please sing to me, should I not hear.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

 

 

 

 

 

RELATIONSHIP

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This is an age of unbroken connection.
Our fingertips tap into instant links.
We’ve little tolerance for imperfection,
And as our ego grows, our goodwill shrinks.

And in this age of unbroken connection,
Our face-to-face relationships have waned.
Resulting loss of physical affection
May render us emotionally maimed.

Now suddenly a time of social distance
Is thrust upon us necessarily.
Most look for ways to be of some assistance,
And find these ways, extraordinarily.

I’m thankful in this time of social distance
For God, who binds my drifting heart to His.
Our Father God pursues us with persistence.
Be still, and let Him show you who He is.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

Quick note: My last three lines include words and truths from scripture, and from a long-loved hymn, as follows:

“Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing” by Robert Robinson includes the phrase of prayer, “Bind my wandering heart to thee.”

The Bible overflows with God’s pursuit of us, including Psalm 139.

Psalm 46:10 tells us, “Be still, and know that I am God.”

MARIE MAYNARD DALY

Nineteen Twenty One:
A Black U.S. immigrant
fathered a female,

born in Queens, New York.
His wife came from a home of
voracious readers.

A Cornell student,
he’d majored in chemistry
until funds went dry.

As their baby grew,
she developed a hunger
for education.

Her mother spent long
hours reading to her from the
books that graced their home.

Books on the subject
of science and scientists
sparked interest in her.

She earned her B.S.,
then M.S., then Ph.D.,
in chemistry … this

making her the first
African-American
woman to do so.

Now a professor
and researcher, her studies
helped to discover

the relationship
between high cholesterol,
and clogged arteries.

Her groundbreaking work
helped to clarify how the
human body works.

Marie M. Daly.
I had to dig to find her.
A treasure unearthed.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

Information and some direct phrasing from: https://www.biography.com/scientist/marie-m-daly

The research I did as a result of Walt Wojtanik’s prompt at Poetic Bloomings ending up helping me discover this amazing woman, right in time for Black History Month.  Thankful!

Second Week of February (an Ekphrastic poem)

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It has been four years
since we nearly lost Izzy,
our grandbaby girl.

It has been two years
since my mother passed on to
the heavenly realm.

Now my son-in-law’s
mother is hospitalized,
fighting for her life.

The second week of
the second month of each year
feels like a movie –

a film I am in,
but choose to view from a safe
distance. Unseated.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

Finding my poetic voice

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A poet and his princess 

In April of 2009,
I shyly met poets online.
But there was one who
would help me break through.
I call him my partner in rhyme.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

I’m thankful for this man I’ve known for 10 years, but have yet to meet.  Without his encouragement, I would never have referred to myself as a “poet.”  I’m not the best poet, and never will be, but I am a poet nonetheless.  Thank you, Walt.  Thank you.

P.S.  This little gal looks like she could brighten the darkest of days!  ❤

 

IRONICALLY ENOUGH

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I’m a home body
but sometimes to what degree
still surprises me.

I have no swagger
but sometimes I am staggered
I look so haggard.

I’m now sixty one.
Changes in me equal none.
So why am I stunned?

I’m simply Marie,
and nothing should surprise me.
But “should,” is the key.

No surprise to me:
My prized phrase that has lasted?
“I’m flabbergasted.”

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

FOREVER SIX

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This little beauty is no longer six, wouldn’t want to be six, and would probably want me to let you know this is not based on a true story.  But I paired my poem with this pic because, well, I love her death and the ‘tude totally works. 😉   Not sure who snapped this shot.  Maybe her daddy? 

“I think I’ll be six now forever and ever,”
she said, and I told her she’d need to be clever
to pull off this whimsical, wondrous endeavor.
Now, did I believe her?  I didn’t.  However,
she smirked as she pulled out her six-ever lever.
‘K. Whatever.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

(This is a sequel to Now We are Six, by the extraordinary A. A. Milne.  My poem begins with his final line.)

ARMED TO THE TEETH

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Image courtesy of Pixabay’s ThePixelman

My stomach is tied up in knots.
I wonder who’s calling the shots.
And will they admit
when the bullet gets bit
even they had their own second thoughts?

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

THE PAST IS A FOREIGN COUNTRY

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Photo by Keith R. Good, 2014

“The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.”  From The Go-Between, by L.P. Hartley

Hindsight is a curious thing.
It can swing from delight
to fright, and anything between.
I mean, we’ve seen the ways
the history books make crooks
look chaste.  But oh,
the aftertaste.
And who would know
we owe apologies for
theologies twisted,
persisted, and falsely
scripted.
As we become aware
and lay bare the lies,
our own past appears
foreign in our eyes.
Don’t bury the dead.
Look behind; look ahead.
Yearn for better days.
Find better ways.
Learn who we are.
Raise the bar.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

DEANNA (BRIGHT AS DAY)

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Freehand original art by Deanna Marie Metts

Her light was dimmed years ago. Everything she enjoyed was taken from her.  Books.  Music.  Art.  NY Times crosswords. Energy. Drive. Laughter. All of it, gone.  All of it.  But in God’s timing and in His way, the expression of herself through her art has been returned.  Not in the same way, but brand new, as God renewed her spirit and drew her to Himself.  Rekindling her light with His own, she is never truly alone.   New Spirit. New Light never fails her, despite that which ails her.

At her drawing board,
what was lost is now restored.
New way. Bright as Day.

© Marie Elena Good, 2019