NAVIGATING LIFE
Some stare straight ahead.
Some can’t help but gaze behind.
Others, eyes closed, dream.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
#seventeensyllables
pictured words
a simple pairing of pictures and poetry
Category: Poetic Bloomings
March 3, 2021
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
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
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.
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
to the level of love.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
January 31, 2021
NOT FOR LACK OF MUSIC
She hosts a host of
concerts of many genres
in her core, daily,
hourly, or even
moment-by-moment. And in
those moments, she’s moved
but she doesn’t move.
Not really. Oh, perhaps she
sways. Shifts her shoulders
imperceptibly.
She’s intimate with rhythm.
She knows which music
begs an offbeat tap.
She was likely introduced
long before her birth.
Drum cadence stirs her.
Jazz makes her long to sing. Swing.
Waltz softens her eyes,
behind which she glides
across an icy-smooth floor.
She, frozen in place.
Perhaps she will dance
with moonbeams on the wall, while
the house is asleep.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
The idea of dancing with moonbeams on the wall while the house is asleep is from “TOM’S BEACH, Scène Fourteen: A View Inside Out,” by brilliant poet Marilyn Braendeholm. More of her work may be found here: The Journal – Random. Thoughts. Notes. (wordpress.com) .
January 17, 2021
UPS AND DOWNS
I put my feet up
and sip down hot tea,
then fall fast asleep.
(That doggone T.V!)
I climb up the stairs
and head down the hall,
then into my bed
I sluggishly crawl.
Too soon I wake up,
‘cause I have to pee.
*sigh* Back down the hall …
(That doggone hot tea!)
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
January 10, 2021
BRANCHING OUT (AN AMERICAN SENTENCE)
When the time comes to branch out, we mustn’t fear going out on a limb.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
January 3, 2021
A PLEA TO MY GOD
It’s time to unveil
a new year. Inhale fresh air,
and care for what’s there.
Let my voice take wing
to sing in the key of peace.
May mercy increase
where now there are chains.
Where cold-heartedness remains,
may warmth fill my veins.
Let love with no caps
gush compassion, not rationed
in morsels or scraps.
Make me teachable
and easily reachable
when You wish to speak.
Please help me seek You.
In new ways through this new year,
help me feel You near.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
December 27, 2020
ON 2020
This year destroyed us.
I’ll never be convinced that
We can survive this.
There’s no going back.
I know it. So don’t tell me
Better times will come.
God no longer cares.
Hear me. Do not believe that
God is in control.
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
This poem is 3 stanzas. Each stanza has 17-syllables (5/7/5). This is my first ever attempt at a Reverse format poem. (Read the poem from the top line, down … and then read it from the bottom line, up.)
December 20, 2020
O HUMBLE TOWN OF SPLENDID STAR
O Bethlehem,
do you know the One you have birthed?
Let the earth rejoice;
raise her voice in song!
For the long-awaited Christ was born of Mary –
the very woman the angel blessed.
She feeds the King at her breast,
as angel choirs sing praise,
and a star blazes above you,
O little town.
No crown for this babe
who is able to save,
and will conquer the grave someday
yet for now, rests in hay –
This Way.
This Truth.
This Life.
O Bethlehem …
your star, a royal diadem.
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
pictured words 