BREAK OF DAY (an Aubade)
“Break of Day,” we say –
And let me weigh in on that.
Or not,
For if the scales tip further,
They may break with the day.
pictured words
a simple pairing of pictures and poetry
Category: Poetic Bloomings
May 25, 2016
May 23, 2016
PRETEND I PENNED THIS
PHOTO COURTESY OF LOVABLE IMAGES (lovableimages.blogspot.com)
My lover asks me:
“What is the difference between me and the sky?”
The difference, my love,
is that when you laugh,
I forget about the sky.”*
I sigh.
Forever I’ll yearn to compose,
In verse or prose, for you my love, and affirmation thereof.
‘til then, let’s kiss
And pretend I penned this.
© Marie Elena Good
* “My Lover Asks Me” By Nizar Qabbani
May 22, 2016
BROKEN
“DESCENT OF THE DEPREDATORY” BY DEANNA MARIE METTS
Two decades passed
Since liquor last passed my lips.
Past pain eclipsed my gain;
The ache of wounded heart
Returned again to tear apart
My fragile strength.
Now what lengths will I go
To hide the flow of the drink;
Make everyone think I am well?
Well, I’m not. I’m fraught
With what brought me here.
I can’t disappear. Couldn’t then
When men, cavalier, had their way –
Reduced me to prey.
Two decades erased
With a taste.
My wholeness now broken,
“Just take me,” unspoken,
While hades trades truth for a snake –
With each sip I take,
I break.
© Marie Elena Good, 2016
“With each sip I take, I break” is actually a partial line from Peaceful Easy Feeling by Walter Wojtanik.
(Not to worry about me, friends. This is fiction, though sadly loosely based on the plight of someone dear to me and for whom I daily pray.)
May 18, 2016
UNTITLED RYŪKA FORM
After school, two five-year-old boys
Hug and cry in the parking lot
As one is moving far away
And how would it be possible
To span that large of a distance
When you are two five-year-old boys
Whose parents are not acquainted
And all there is left to do is
Hold each other and cry
© Marie Elena Good, 2016
Photo credit: Pixabay.com
May 15, 2016
INVENTION’S FOE (a Sonnetina Tre)
Photo credit: shutterstock.com
What right have I to claim a poet’s heart?
What write have I inside this heart I feign?
What depth of wisdom have I to impart,
Or story that’s not dreary, nor inane?
Perfectionism is invention’s foe:
Methodically it stalls, then stops me cold.
I want to breathe and let the words just flow –
Exhale a poem exquisite to behold.
My only hope to fight perfection’s sway?
Curl up in something soft at end of day.
© Marie Elena Good, 2016
May 11, 2016
WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN
A semi swerves. Suddenly,
We’re face-to-face, in my lane.
A dozen scenarios
Run through my mind;
Weighing my options.
Though it seems like forever,
It’s a flash. And just like that,
It’s over.
© Marie Elena Good, 2016
BOKETTO FORM (created by Walter Wojtanik of Poetic Bloomings):
Describes a moment in time.
Two stanzas.
First stanza syllable count: 7, 7, 7, 4, 5.
Second stanza syllable count: 7, 7, 3.
May 8, 2016
MOTHER OF ALZHEIMER’S
Photo by Themes.com
Who birthed (unearthed)
This unwelcome invasion,
Or gave it the right
To hijack each occasion
Meant to endure and assure her
She’s loved. She belongs.
It ceaselessly wrongs her,
Assassinates her senses;
Condenses her being
To fleeting moments,
Thought amputation,
Self dislocation,
And few kin.
And it will win.
© Marie Elena Good, 2016
pictured words 