Poetic Bloomings | pictured words

Eleven

Mature well beyond her years and big for her age, she is not a girly girl. She looks very much young- adult, and is sometimes mistaken as such. Those her age can’t relate to her, nor she to them. Yet in the midst, her kindness for all, shines. Her laughter comes easily. She faces young adult assumptions, expectations, misperceptions, and uncertainties. She seeks clothing and hair styles in an effort to make her more comfortable in her own skin. Today, we are at her Christmas-gift hair appointment. Appointment complete, her stylist says, “Pretty. What do you think?”

Eyes in mirror smile
while unexpected soft voice
slips, “I am pretty.”

© Marie Elena Good 2023

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January 15, 2023

VISIT WITH GRANDPA

Photo by Francisco Fernu00e1ndez on Pexels.com

Visit with Grandpa

Walking up my street,
I see a man walking toward me.
Aww. Looks like Grandpa, I think,
knowing it couldn’t be.
As we get closer, there is no mistaking.
Yes, it is Grandpa.
I don’t want to wake up, and miss out.
He approaches me.
“Grandpa!”
He gives me a hug.
As is nearly always the case when I dream
of the dead, all senses are engaged.

“Grandpa, what are you doing here?”
He says he came to tell me not to worry about
circumstances that were consuming me.
Everything would be just fine.

Then he says, “You know I can’t stay.”
Yes, of course.
I just don’t want to lose him again
so quickly.

“But I will come back,” he assures.
He hugs me again, and,
just that quick,
he’s gone.

My long, detailed dream continues.
It seems to last a good portion of the night.

Suddenly, there he is again.
This time, he doesn’t speak.
His silence stills me,
while it declares a grand reassurance.

I wake from the dream,
recognizing it hadn’t been merely a dream.

And I smile.
When he said he would return,
I hadn’t realized he meant
that quickly.
That night.
That dream.

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January 8, 2023

Not to Mention the Smell of Wet Wool

Not to Mention the Smell of Wet Wool

Thought by now I’d be asleep,
but I’m not, because these sheep
will not let me close my eyes,
will not sing me lullabies,
gripe and whine and bleat and cry,
in from rain, they then drip-dry
on my pillow and bedspread,
on my PJs and my head,
arguing amongst themselves,
busting up my bedroom shelves,
dancing with their noisy hooves,
(must admit they’ve got the moves)…
I could just go on and on.
Woe to me, here comes the dawn.
Counting sheep must be unwise.
Next time, I’ll just close my eyes.

© Marie Elena Good, 2023

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January 1, 2023

NEW WORD FOR 2023

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

Each year, I choose a word.
Grace, joy, giving, hospitality, empathy, prayer …
You know, words that improve my focus
and my life.
Not one for resolutions,
the idea of a word of the year appeals to me.
It is simple. Embraceable.
I nearly chose prayer again,
but after much thought and, well, prayer,
I decided on open.
Open heart.
Open door.
Open to grace, joy, giving, hospitality, empathy, prayer …
Open.
And I’ll open 2023 in prayer
that my Lord will more fully open my heart
to His open arms.

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December 25, 2022

King of Uncommon Love

“Let earth receive her King.”

King of Uncommon Love

Where are the humble kings?
Those who do nothing
     but what their father tells them to do?
Where are those who set aside power
who leave glory
who serve
who wash the feet
     of friend and foe
who wear sandals
who cook fish on the shore
who feed multitudes
     with a few fish and rolls
who change water to wine
    for wedding guests
who walk with, feed, and touch
    those deemed unclean
who spend time
    with those others shun
who come not to judge,
     but to save
who give their lives for their people.
Where is a King of uncommon love?
Look to a manger.
Look to a cross.
Then come.
Come,
     let us adore Him.

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December 18, 2022

GIFT

GIFT

What is the best gift but food for one who is hungry, and drink for one who thirsts? For those who feel most unlovable, love feels most crucial, yet most inaccessible. For those who’ve done wrong, the most meaningful gift is forgiveness in full. For this, God set His power aside to be born of a virgin as a helpless newborn boy, reliant on a woman’s breast for nourishment, heart for love, and her tutelage and care for survival and growth. For this, Christ Jesus came: to feed, to love, to quench, and to fully forgive.

The extravagance
of the season, embodied:
God wrapped in infant.

(Full disclosure: I decided to write this haibun, using the final 17 syllables I’d written many years ago. May the Gift of this season settle into your own heart.)

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December 4, 2022

Now, we wait

Painting by Akiane Kramarik

“The world waits for a miracle. The heart longs for a little bit of hope.”  ~ Light of the World, Lauren Daigle

Now, We Wait.

His feet left Paradise to touch earth’s soil 
as we, embroiled in distress,
tried to access His heart.
Some walked with Him, 
and He unlocked their closed souls - 
leaving their lack exposed
and showing them His plenty
in the face of His poverty.  
They learned Him.  They loved Him. 
But the moment He upturned death,
they truly knew Him.
And now, we wait for His return.
We yearn for the Prince of Peace to increase, 
and our anguish, decrease.
Light of the World, right us.
Lift us.  Gift us hearing ears,
seeing eyes, 
and hope, 
realized.  

© Marie Elena Good, 2022


P.S.  I LOVE this painting!

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November 27, 2022

Sky Blue (Crayola color born in 1958, the year of my birth)

Rose Lake Photo credit: Keith R. Good, 2014

Who came to decide
the precise color of sky –
which blue hue, and why?

For the ocean’s sky
on a sunny day, may be
pegged as Robin’s Egg,

while she that adorns
a brisk Erie autumn morn
is a deep, cold blue –

the loveliest hue.
And I’ve clamed her and named her
my October Sky.

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November 13, 2022

Bonnie

Bonnie

She showed up at the nursing home, waiting to be let in. Of course her chances for entry were near zero, as animals were not welcome. But this pretty golden retriever would not take no for an answer. I don’t know the story of how she actually gained entrance. I can only tell you that by the time my grandmother was in their care, she had already become part of the facility’s staff. We were told that, from her very first moment inside, it seemed like she had just always been there. She knew where everything was. She knew the routine. She knew this was a quiet place, and she abided. She knew when a patient was soon to die. She graciously stayed with them and comforted them until they passed … but not before seeking entry permission from a nurse. She knew her role. This was her life’s work.

I wonder … sometimes,
might we glimpse Eden’s garden
in full bloom, pre-fall

© Marie Elena Good, 2022

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