Poetic Bloomings | pictured words

May 30, 2021

BENEATH THE MOON OF GOD’S CHOOSING

In the midst of war
(and there is always a war)
lies grim misjudging.
Fear of difference.
Insatiable greed for land.
Resolute loathing.
Dire false impressions.
Grave miscommunications.

And a common moon.

And beneath that moon,
in God’s perfect alignment,
is home to us all.
We’ve food and water
(if only we’d gladly share),
great plains and mountains,
celebrated seas
with unfathomably large
communal mammals.
With microscopic
yet astoundingly complex
sentient beings.
Sands God has numbered
stay in place as our home spins,
not spilling a drop
of the vast waters
that both adorn and provide,
beautify and quench.

And though we do not
tend to her needs (let alone
the needs of “others”),
God gave us this home
brilliantly placed beneath the
moon of His choosing,
populated with
children He chooses to love.
(There are no “others.”}

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May 16, 2021

JUST YESTERDAY

I loved gardening
beneath sun and deep blue sky
in sensible shoes.

I loved Keith as he
painted old cheap plastic pots
‘seventies Corvettes.

I loved filling them
with flamboyant petunias,
modest marigolds.

I loved settling in,
sipping black coffee, watching
red robins rummage.

© Marie Elena Good, 2021

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May 2, 2021

Resumé of a Ten-Year-Old Who Wants to Volunteer at a School for Refugee Women and Children

She spent the entire afternoon asking me relevant, insightful questions about the school’s students, staff, and mission. How do you teach babies and preschoolers a second language? What countries do they come from? What languages are spoken? Which is the most common? (She made note of Arabic, and couldn’t wait to ask her mom if she can begin studying it via Rosetta Stone or Duolingo). Would I please contact the volunteer coordinator to see if it is acceptable for a ten-year-old to volunteer to help the adults care for the children? Are masks required? Is there a dress code? Is there a form her parents could complete and sign, giving her permission to volunteer there? Even if they can’t let her volunteer yet, can she take a tour of the school, and meet the staff? Oh, and would I please tell them she is mature for her age?

Eager native sprout
seeks to share energy to
root and bloom transplants.

© Marie Elena Good, 2021

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March 28, 2021

PALM SUNDAY

She carried her King –
Prince of Peace, and Lord of all,
while suckling her foal.

“Now when they drew near to Jerusalem and came to Bethphage, to the Mount of Olives, then Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go into the village in front of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her. Untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, you shall say, ‘The Lord needs them,’ and he will send them at once.” This took place to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet, saying, “Say to the daughter of Zion, ‘Behold, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a beast of burden.” ~ Matthew 21:1-5

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March 21, 2021

EASIER SAID THAN MUM

She spewed out a detailed confession.
Her friend made a robust suggestion:
Don’t let your mouth gush –
You must learn to hush
when asked a rhetorical question.

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March 14, 2021

Every little seed

Bloom confidently.
Even breeze-scattered seed is
rooted by God’s breath.

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March 3, 2021

NAVIGATING LIFE

Some stare straight ahead.
Some can’t help but gaze behind.
Others, eyes closed, dream.

#seventeensyllables

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February 28, 2021

MY WRITING SPACE, IN THIS MOMENT

scattered furniture
what used to be here, now there
drop cloths and paint fumes

jazz notes billowing
rollers, brushes, straight edges –
that man God gave me

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February 21, 2021

Gray Area

She was taught to think in black and white.
She sits,
feverishly writing. Puts down her pencil, and
ponders
the thoughts that made it to paper. But more so,
how black
the emptied back of her mind now seems. Blank
and white
really, so she fixates on how erasure smudges
make gray.

© Marie Elena Good, 2021
#Waltmarie

Poem within reads:

She sits,
ponders
how black
and white
make gray.

The Waltmarie, created by Candace Kubinec, is a 10-line form of any subject. The even-numbered lines are 2 syllables, and must form their own poem when read separately. The odd-numbered lines are longer, with no syllable count restrictions.

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February 14, 2021

NO WORDS FOR MY LOVE

My love for you is deep,
yet my words steep in
tepid water.
No flavor; nothing to savor.
They begin, but fade,
delayed by … what?
A depth I can’t reach,
though I beseech them.
A well with no bucket.
A spell I can’t cast.
My tone, a droning bore.
I wish my words would
soar
surprise
rise

revel

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Category: Poetic Bloomings