pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

Category: Poetic Bloomings

Two Sisters in Three Chapters

My big sister and me

Chapter 1.  Rain.

The day I was born,
it rained hard on my sister …
submerging her soul.

Chapter 2. Wombs.

Her first pregnancy’s
uniqueness dimmed, when I found
myself pregnant, too.

Pregnant together
again. A son for me. A
tragic loss for her.

Simultaneous
third pregnancies perhaps seemed
a cruel joke, to her.

Chapter 3.  Lost and Found.

In thirty-five days,
we lost Mom and Dad, and found
a common heartache.

In thirty-five days,
we lost Mom and Dad, and found
shared grief is shared love.

In thirty-five days,
we lost Mom and Dad, and found
a needed sister.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020


As Awkward as Two on an Elevator

He says hi there;
she says hello.
“Which floor?” he asks.
She doesn’t know.
His finger waits,
then starts to tap.
Her face turns red.
She thinks, “Oh crap.
Why can’t I think?
Just pick a floor!”
Her brain congeals.
He taps some more.
“Just. Pick. A. Floor.”
That thought now slips
from clotted brain
through tense, pursed lips.
With sideways glance
and impish smirk,
he presses 12.
(Joker?  Or Jerk?)
Long, silent ride
can’t end too soon.
It seems to take
all afternoon.
She ruminates
entire ride,
should parting words
be kind?  Or snide?
She isn’t sure
how this should end –

Just like my awkward
poem, my friend.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

I Remember John-John’s Third Birthday

My five-year-old eyes
watched a three year old salute
his daddy’s coffin.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

Written in response to Walt Wojtanik’s “I remember …” prompt at Poetic Bloomings.

I’m All Wet (Limerick)

Photo by Brianna Martinez on Pexels.com

I love gentle rain (yep, you bet),
but I do not like floods, tears, or sweat.
Love lakes, streams, and seas,
and love raindrops that freeze.
But I most love my liquid assets.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

FLOURISHING

Photo by Keith R. Good

Sow seeds of love –
for their blooms
are beautiful,
and guaranteed
to reseed.


© Marie Elena Good, 2010

 

Home is where I watch the Buckeyes with Dad

326532_10150402244248600_867049858_o

As August slips into the back side,
and daylight is squeezed
into fewer hours,
I miss the distant sound
of drum cadence,
bringing in a new season.
In just a couple weeks,
Dad and I would have had
our decades-long ritual
of gathering in front of the T.V.
and saying (as though it is a surprise),
“Can you believe it is already
the first game of the season?
Didn’t the season just end?”

It didn’t matter whose home we
were in,

until it did.

Those final years, he became too frail,
and it became harder,
and then impossible,
to get Mom out the door.
So we would haul food to their place,
and hope Dad could stay awake
and out of the bathroom
for most of the game.
We hoped he could enjoy it
a fraction of what he used to.

The lamp that was part of each home
Mom and Dad called theirs
now lights my front window
as I write poems
about football
and marching bands
and drum cadence
and Mom
and Dad.

Because poems
and their light
are all that remain.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

 

RHYTHM AND RHYME, RHYTHM AND RHYME

hands music sound black and white

Photo by Stephen Niemeier on Pexels.com

Some folks enjoy rhyming:
embedded in scheme,
delighted in priming
delectable scene
exact in its timing –
tight; metrically clean.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

RHODODENDRON

rhododendron-5240283_640

She was planted with care,
right there
where her dark leaves and white flowers
would give hours of joy each day.
But it hasn’t worked that way.

Years have passed
since she last bloomed.
She seemed entombed
immured, as she simply
endured

until Keith dug her up,
changed the makeup below,
which allowed the free flow
of water to root, and
we can’t dispute the wonder.

Once freed from earth’s clay,
we saw growth the first day.
Now she won’t just survive.
She’ll thrive.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

MORNING’S OPEN WINDOW CALLS

44055646_1410227092442536_8299354611039338496_o

Photo by Keith R. Good

I see and hear the birds, the deer,
the kids that play across the way.
I feel the breeze, and watch the trees react,
and I make eye contact with Chickadee.
I smile as he rests on my sill.
Then I refill my coffee mug,
sit snug and still and know
the golden glow of morning sun,
and glorious One who made it rise
and harmonize with all I see
outside my window;
inside me.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

YESTERDAYS (Father’s Day 2020 Sonnet for my Dad)

84066191_10157322938913600_1641668025314705408_n

 

Just one more chance to hear your drum set swing,
And feel the pride well up inside my core.
And I believe I’d give most anything
To watch as you conduct a band once more.

To hear you call Mom Sweet Pea one more time,
And see the love for her in aging eyes
That cleaved to days of youth, well past their prime,
Embracing the enchantment love implies.

From time to time, I feel as though you’re near.
I sometimes hear your words play through my mind.
Oh how I’d love to linger for a year
While you are here, and death is left behind.

Though we may try to hold what fades away,
Our yesterdays were never meant to stay.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020