Though innocent, Jesus was still crucified.
Enormous, the evidence that He had died,
He lives, per the witnesses who testified.
But not just per witnesses back in the day -
I know Him and know that He hears when I pray.
I feel His strong presence along my pathway.
I knew Him before I became a schoolchild.
His unequaled love leaves me awed and beguiled.
All thanks be to Him we’re with God, reconciled.
© Marie Elena Good, 2024
So, armed men to Toledo were sent,
and full war was the solid intent.
But despite the alert,
only one man was hurt,
with poor Michigan left to lament.
Well, this war was as short as this verse.
There was hardly the need for a nurse.
One side kept its realty,
and one got its *U.P.,
with not even a wage to disburse!
© Marie Elena Good, 2024
*U.P. is what they call their Upper Peninsula
I asked the voice of the future to write me a sonnet about AI-generated poetry. In the blink of an eye, a perfectly penned sonnet winked mockingly at me from my screen. Other words that came to mind were impeccable and flawless. I wish I could say it was so perfect it felt scrubbed. But it didn’t. It felt artistic. Creative. And, truth be told, inspired. Using the word inspired to describe an electronically generated poem makes me shudder.
What does it matter
if words flow from warmth of heart?
It matters to me.
© Marie Elena Good, 2024
Some applaud. Some shout disapproval. Some sit, in
silence –
a silence of voice, silence of manner, or what
may be
a silence born of fear. Our voice (our noise) is
used to
swing. And sway. And get our way. And
advance
the plan we believe must be, until we truly see
a cause.
© Marie Elena Good, 2024
The waltmarie uses even lines of two syllables each to create a mini poem within the poem. Though not poetic, here it is:
Silence
may be
used to
advance
a cause.
We say goodbye to the end of a year,
and cheer on a new one.
But time’s end is nothing.
A five-and-dime’s storybook fiction.
Merely a period made with pencil,
easily erased. Easily replaced
with a comma.
A question.
Simply a suggestion.
Take this grain-of-salt eve,
and grieve not for a closing,
for it is just posing as such.
© Marie Elena Good, 2023
Happy New Year, all!
During intensely busy seasons in life, sudden slight ailments can present a crucial stillness … moments to consider that which goes unnoticed in life’s rush. My ears receive the sound of soft breeze outside my window. Birdsong becomes a symphony, which draws my eyes outdoors. My soul soars to blues in high places. Sparrows in the bird bath splash, relishing refreshing spray. Serenity ensues as my spirit sings praise to my God. Suddenly, I sense words slipping from my mind’s recesses, and I must shape and preserve them before they are lost. So satisfying, this necessitated pause that allows time to stop elusive words from slipping from tenuous grasp.
It isn’t illness
if the stillness that ensues
is life sustaining.
© Marie Elena Good, 2023
Toledo Main
This grand dame has stood tall since 1937, all while stooping to serve our region “of makers, dreamers, and doers.” She seems the heartbeat of downtown, freely welcoming all who want to peruse the volumes of knowledge and wonder she houses. I believe anything you want to learn about our own region, and branching out into the far reaches of the known universe, may be found within her walls. You may ask what would make us want to look through her books, what with the world at our fingertips in such a literal sense via the phone in our hand. It’s hard to imagine that some may have never fingered through paper pages filled with words that others over generations have fingered and read as well. In a library, history is not found in the pages of history books alone, but in the pages of every book on every shelf .. each page silently chronicling the very fingerprints of those who have been there before us. How many lives have touched the book we now hold in our hand? How many have absorbed and come to an understanding quite like our own? Or perhaps nothing like our own? How many people like us, or immeasurably different, have we made eye contact with as we skim the world-wide web? How many have we smiled at, and potentially rescued their day … or they, ours?
Gather the volumes
and let volumes speak of you.
Be read. Read others.
© Marie Elena Good, 2023
“MARIE” – an acrostic profile poem
MERCIFUL.
She finds it easy to be merciful, as she experiences daily the mercy of her God.
APPROACHABLE.
Welcoming eyes and ready smile … not peculiar enough to frighten, nor so lovely as to intimidate.
REDEEMED.
Sinner-deemed-sinless, a debt she can’t pay.
INDEBTED.
Humbly and deeply thankful for parents who taught much, and loved regardless; an abundance of encouraging, uplifting, loyal friends and extended family; and mostly her Creator, whose unyielding love, grace, and mercy breathe her very existence.
ENTHUSIASTIC.
Taught by her father that “Nothing great was ever accomplished without enthusiasm.”
(c) Marie Elena Good, 2011
How I Long to Speak to Comets
He sang the universe
into existence.
An estimated one septillion
stars,
each with a name
given by Him.
Oh, to be bestowed
the voice of an angel
to have sung with Him a star.
Just one.
And oh, how I long to speak
to comets.
To utter one sound
one note the comets comprehend,
then to soar on their tails,
singing praise to the One
who fashioned us.
© Marie Elena Good, 2023
The line, “How I long to speak to comets,” comes from poet friend Damon Dean’s A Comet, Green. Damon’s poetry may be found at: https://sevenacresky.com/
How to Recognize Yourself In somewhat of a hurry, she quickens her steps. Her eyes shift right as her side vision catches a glimpse of scurried movement in a store window. In what seems like a nanosecond, her eyes are looking ahead of her again. Just like that, her pace slows drastically, as her eyes again shift right in a nearly imperceivable attempt to pull themselves together. “No,” they try to convince themselves, “that is not her. That is not us.” She allows herself to come to a full stop. She turns to face the window, to stare into those eyes that betray her. The woman staring back at her has sparse brows, and even sparser lips. Her shoulders droop, negating the fact that she feels erect. Her upper arms sag. She wears sensible shoes. She doesn’t know what the big hurry was. Eyes search for signs of former beauty. Christ reminds us, we are His bride. © Marie Elena Good, 2023
pictured words 