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
When the time comes to branch out, we mustn’t fear going out on a limb.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
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
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.)
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
Few know of Sue, the Santa Shrew,
and that’s a curious thing in view
of all the schmoozing she would do
once scooting down each chimney flue.
She’d shoot the breeze with skillful ease
in English, Welsh, or Taiwanese,
while feasting on her hostess’ cheese.
Then right back up the flue she’d squeeze.
‘Round every tree, she’d socialize –
she’d dramatize and improvise,
and aggrandize, and summarize.
Shrew ebullience, epitomized.
As starlit skies turned pinks and golds,
Sue’d slip ‘tween Santa’s soft cloak folds
and there, she’d dream of each household
and all her stories, still untold.
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
The best gift of all
Doesn’t come from a sleigh.
No, the best gift of all?
Sacred love, in scant hay.
(c) Marie Elena Good, 2020
‘Twas the morning of Christmas,
And Santa was spent,
Having just returned home
From his yearly event.
After taking his shower
And downing his Joe,
He awoke Mrs. Claus
With a sweet kiss hello.
On their loveseat they sat
With the best Book on earth
To read St. Luke’s account
Of the Christ Child’s birth.
“By miraculous means
A young woman conceived,
And the baby she bore
Would save all the deceived,”
“Which includes you and me,”
Santa said, his voice low;
His eyes brimming with tears
From his heart’s overflow.
“And the best gift of all
Doesn’t come from my sleigh.
No, the best gift of all?
Sacred love, in scant hay.”
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
The once-mighty turkey is … slight.
There’s not a potato in sight.
The gravy’s spread thinner –
More snack-like than dinner.
The fridge was attacked late last night.
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
This year’s Thanksgiving
is like a tweaked simile:
two peas in a pot.
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
