pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

Category: Poetic Bloomings

The Other Side

Photo by Chait Goli on Pexels.com

The Other Side

Can we count the blades
that seize carbon dioxide
and share oxygen

reduce pollution
even as they cool our air
and clean our water

aid noise reduction
provide wildlife habitat
support stress relief

offer a clean hill
for our children to roll down
(and we adults), and

furnish spongy space
for toddlers to toddle, while
tickling their piggies?

© Marie Elena Good 2025

IF YOU FEED THEM, THEY WILL COME

Photos by Keith R. Good, who attracts and cares for our birds 

IF YOU FEED THEM, THEY WILL COME

Aging comes with what seems almost an expectation: Bird beguilement. But my own love of birds began in junior high on Audubon Lane, where pheasants favored our backyard. And though those days have long passed, I can still enjoy the crimson male cardinal singing to his autumn-color lifelong partner. Our bluejays, if not for being common, would be coveted. I’m captivated by the bold ladderback and bright red splash on the red belly woodpecker. The soft sorrowing song of mourning doves does not sadden me in the least. It makes me smile. I giggle at the quirky little honk of the nuthatch as he darts up and down our trees. I find the cheerful little black-capped chickadee entirely enchanting. Goldfinches, bright as lemons, titter as they sail the air as though on waves. When we hear the intricate trill of tiny wrens, we know spring has entered. Orange orioles take our breath away with their arrival. And, of course, the minute emerald body and ruby throat of the hummer is electrifying. These and countless more captivate and delight us. They make our home, home.

Doing what we can
to attract the vocalists
that color our yard.


© Marie Elena Good, 2025

S*U*R*R*E*N*D*E*R

S*U*R*R*E*N*D*E*R

Me, a young girl in
a whirlwind of sudden change.
Strange new surroundings.

Unsure what is real,
or who, in this new-to-me
space, can be trusted:

One who stands rusted;
one too timid to answer;
and you, straw dancer.

They win me over
(especially you), and they
chauffeur me to Oz

because, because, be-
cause, because – because they’re there,
and they care. Deeply.

Green skin. Broom. Smoke. Threats.
And me, tricked.  I lost my friends
when I clicked my heels.

But to my surprise,
I see you in these eyes I’ve
always known, at home.

© Marie Elena Good 2025

Say What poem

The Heart of Golgotha

Photo by MART PRODUCTION on Pexels.com

“And heaven’s peace and perfect justice kissed a guilty world with love.” ~ Dyma gariad fel y moroedd

The Heart of Golgotha

Before He stepped foot,
He knew the path: Golgotha,
“the place of a skull.”

He knew it, for He
had formed it. Created it
with God His Father.

Before carrying
the crossbeam on this long path,
He created it

before man became;
before woman, born of man,
bore The Son of Man;

before the first sin
had ever been committed,
or life led to death,

and before you were
formed in your own mother’s womb,
He knew you, and He

chose you, and He chose
the horrific path He’d walk
and death He’d conquer.

It was a matter
of turning your face to Him;
of loving you first.

It was a matter
of bonding your heart to His,
for eternity.

© Marie Elena Good, 2025

“Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” ~ John 15:13

As I Stop at the Light

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

As I Stop at the Light

She, with little to her name, fumbles a moment in her purse, rolls down her window, and hands money to the man with the sign she can’t read.  He thanks her, and says, “God bless you.”  All she understands is his smile, which she returns with a nod of her head.  She rolls up her window.  I place my hand on her shoulder.  She smiles at me, and I at her. 

And how could I have
immediately known her,
if not for the light.

© Marie Elena Good 2025

Untitled angst


If not for nations
coming to my own doorstep,
I’d never know them.

I’d never have seen
they’re here to feed me the food
that comforts their souls.

I’d never have seen
they’re here to make my home both
strong and welcoming.

They’re here to make us
kinder. Gentler.  Here to make
their own lives better,

but also the lives
of all those who welcomed them,
and those who didn’t. 

I want to save them
from the strangling hands of this
administration.

If not for Donald,
would Vance, Rubio, Musk, Noem,
and all the others

be so emboldened
to heartless vindictiveness
and mercilessness? 

If not for clear signs
from history (you know which),
one might never know.

© Marie Elena Good 2025

Untitled haibun-like firehose

Photo by Francesco Ungaro on Pexels.com

this not a trickle but a wide-open firehose that is not meant to douse flames but to disorient the American people leaving us reeling feeling discounted disregarded overlooked overwhelmed overpowered and overthrown (overthrown?) unquestionably and categorically overthrown and now so unrecognizable my country looks far more distorted than even what I see through my wrinkled retina and make no mistake this firehose is intentional gish gallop in its inundation and devastation and

How can one stall a
strategic tsunami with
a spoon and a sponge?

(c) Marie Elena Good 2025

I am

Photo by Designecologist on Pexels.com

“I am”

It is a small book –
just seventy-five pages
cover to cover.

As the pages turn,
the voices of brave women
speak in harmony

using a language
they did not grow up speaking;
now trying to learn.

Here, they’ve been given
the opportunity to
escape grave danger.

Their stories speak of
the safety afforded them
here in the U.S.

They came here via
invitation.  Legally.
and “through the front door.”

And though they miss home,
they “know” they are safe. Some for
the very first time

in their entire life.
They enrich our lives with their
smiles and love.

They pay their taxes.
They obey our laws. They are
happy to be here.

But there is a “but.”
The safety they felt sure of
when they wrote, “I am”

swiftly disappeared.
From one semester of school
to the next, it’s gone.

The front door has slammed.
Families are being shoved
out through the back door.

Insecurity
is gripping them once again.
We’ve become lawless.

They’ve become victims
of we who invited them,
then pointed fingers

shouted “criminal!”
and decided they are a
danger to our lives.

We have no reason.
They have no recourse
.

 © Marie Elena Good 2025

Eye of the Beholder

Photo by PNW Production on Pexels.com

Eye of the Beholder

Some of the most
physically gorgeous
sincere
generous
intelligent
strongest
kindest women I know —
women I have the privilege of loving
and being loved by —

scream

Not with their voices

but with their color
covering
accent
mother tongue. 

They scream,
Foreigner!
Criminal!
Unsafe!
Unwelcome!

The beautiful truths in their hearts
are misperceived. 
They are viewed as ugly lies
in the eyes of the listeners
who hear only what they are told
to hear. 

If only you knew them. 
If only you were willing
to spend time
communicating
communing
sharing food
exchanging smiles
searching their eyes
tracing their hearts
experiencing their generosity,

your hate and fear would
shut up
shut down.

Your heart and home would
open
expand
make way.

You would hear not screams, but
intelligent ideas
endearing emotions
liberal benevolence
soothing sentiments

and you would do anything in your power
to protect their lives and their hearts,
and protect your relationship with them.

Anything.

© Marie Elena Good 2025