pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

Category: Poetic Bloomings

September 7, 2018

THERE ARE TIMES (AND WE ARE IN THEM)

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There are times (and we are in them)
when people communicate
without vision,
in every way in which that phrase
may be defined.

There are times (and we are in them)
when truth seems intangible,
and lies lie before us.
With us.
In us.

There are times (and we are in them)
when the enemy of our souls
thinks he has the best of us,
because we give him reason.

There are times (and we are in them)
when the God who created all
sees His creation through eyes
we cannot even glimpse,
much less grasp.

There are times (and we are in them)
when this same God
immeasurably loves His weak children
and holds our downcast, shamed faces
in His hands.

There are times (and we are in them)
when the need for one another
is greater than the sum total
of the sin we daily live.

There are times (and we are in them)
that crave recognition of
our Savior’s costly love for us –
to help us see ourselves and others
for what we are:
children
in need of love.

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

2 Comments
September 2, 2018

TIME IS OF THE ES-SCENTS

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Too much time to toil
smells like coffee break.
Too much time to broil
stinks of ruined steak.

Too much time spent mowing
smells of outside, in.
Too much time spent crowing
reeks of haughty din.

Time spent giving speeches
hints of stage-fright sweat.
Time spent strolling beaches?
Stale outlook reset.

Wasted time on druthers
leaves stench day-to-day.
Time spent loving others
breathes in sweet bouquet.

© Marie Elena Good

4 Comments
August 26, 2018

DIAG-NOSES

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He was handsome.
Warmhearted.
Excellent mind,
when it mattered.
Nobody more well-
mannered.

Clearly he had the world
at his fingertips.

Then came the diagnoses:
and they were many,
and they were hard to stomach.

This unmasking of
high impact issues
caused setbacks.
He felt he was
plunging into limbo.
No more spearheading projects.
No more chairing committees.
No more researching solutions
at breakneck speed.

But then good news was delivered!
He’d been misdiagnosed all along!

The moral of the story?
Though I try bloody hard to be humerus 
It’s all in vein.

And you know what else?
For as long as you have breath,
you’ll never not see noses
in diagnoses.

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

6 Comments
August 19, 2018

SCATTER BRAINED

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It’s not so much in the forgetting,
nor even in the retrieving.
See, it’s in the connecting.
Though my brain is smallish,
that which is stored

here,

is far too often not perceiving
that which is stored

there.

The nerve!
Apparently my data is shy –
certified tongue-tied.
Unwilling to bond with
or respond to
the other facts and files
in my brain’s adjacent aisles.
They may as well be miles apart.

Oh the trials that stem
from data that scatters.
It matters.

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

2 Comments
August 12, 2018

As I Near My Autumn Days

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As I near my autumn days,
I think of all I have not experienced.

No trips abroad.
No vacation home.
No award-winning book.
No fame.
No second-glance beauty.

I think of all I have not experienced.
Yet, let the autumn leaves summon,

For I am content to sit side-by-side,
In dappled sunlight or soaking rain.

(c) Marie Elena Good, 2012

14 Comments
August 12, 2018

PICTURED WORDS

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They say a picture paints a thousand words.
The pairing of the two gives me delight.
And if a picture paints a thousand words,
Then picture this:  a picture painted write.

The pairing of the two gives me delight –
A complement of image with my words –
Appealing to my mind, and to my sight.
Perhaps a picture paints a thousand words

But here is what I try hard to pursue:
I strive to bat a thousand, with a few.

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

This morning at Poetic Bloomings, Walt Wojtanick prompted us to write about our own blog. 

2 Comments
August 10, 2018

NOTHING LOST

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As I embrace One who was slain,
and forfeit self,
what will I gain?
Eternal life in Christ is mine
not of my self,
but His design.
His agony, my boundless gain
corrupted self
cannot attain.
In death to self I gain no loss
my life secured
on Calvary’s cross.

(c) Marie Elena Good, 2012

“For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will save it. What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, and yet lose or forfeit their very self?” ~ Luke 9:24-25.

2 Comments
August 8, 2018

ANTI-AE FRESLIGHE (pronounced ay fresh lee)

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I do not like Ae freslighe, Ma’am.
I do not like her sans iamb.
She messes with my rhythmic ear.
I wish that she would disappear.
I do not like Ae freslighe, Ma’am.
I’d rather eat green eggs and spam.

© copyright 2013, Marie Elena Good

“The Ae freslighe (ay fresh lee) is a fascinating, but fairly challenging Celtic poetic form.”  ~ R.J. Clarken

Per Terry Clitheroe of The Poets Garret (http://www.thepoetsgarret.com/celtic1.html):

Ae freslighe: (ay fresh lee):

Each stanza is a quatrain of seven syllables. Lines one and three rhyme with a triple (three syllable) rhyme and two and four use a double (two syllable) rhyme.  The poem should end with the first syllable, word, or the complete line that it began with.

x x x x (x x a)
x x x x x (x b)
x x x x (x x a)
x x x x x (x b)

 

4 Comments
August 5, 2018

No Place Like Home

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Photo credit:  Pixabay

The garden gate parts,
releasing sweet aroma
of former florae.

She softly steps in,
breathing the beauty that binds
virtuous voices.

The presence of peace
silences the restlessness
grinding at the gate.

Now bejeweled with joy,
renewing friends and florae,
she picks up her pen.

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

Response to Poetic Bloomings Prompt #209

4 Comments
August 3, 2018

TIME TO TEND (ANNOUNCEMENT of REOPENING OF POETIC BLOOMINGS!)

Spring Sunset At Lake Garda Desktop Background

Image credit:  Pixabay

She and a friend she’d never seen
used to tend a garden – serene
and seemingly ceaseless.
Meandering beauty gleaned
from home, and continents afar –
grand cognizance of sand to star,

and all that lay between.

There came a time, what needed tending
sadly meant the swift suspending
of this space the tenders prized –
teemed with blooms that mesmerized.
Sorrow burrowed ‘neath the furrowed fields.
Gone, fresh blossoms.  No new yields.

Seasons rose, and seasons fell.
A new day dawned and she, compelled
by want and bond, returned to see
once-planted seeds still bloom, carefree.

Her heart looked east, and there he was,
with tools and seeds and garden gloves.
He glanced, and flashed that knowing grin,
tendered a spade, and said, “Let’s dig in!”
And they both saw that it was fate,

as they unlatched the garden gate.

© Marie Elena Good

ANNOUNCEMENT: 

Walter J. Wojtanik and I are teaming back up to reopen our Poetic Bloomings site.  We’d love to have you join us there!

More details:  https://poeticbloomings2.wordpress.com/2018/07/31/the-return-of-bloomings/ 

4 Comments