REDUCED
She drips eloquence,
but her needs, desires, and core
are not free to speak.
© Marie Elena Good, 2022
#seventeenintwentytwo
pictured words
a simple pairing of pictures and poetry
Category: Poetic Bloomings
May 29, 2022
May 22, 2022
GARDEN SONG (a waltmarie)
A Buffalo poet and I have never met, yet we tend a common garden of unlocked gate, with poets we welcome as friends we’ve also never met who plant pretty poesies of love and life -- friends who share themselves with verses that enrich the song in us. © Marie Elena Good, 2022 #waltmarie This is a little tribute to Walt Wojtanik of Buffalo and the poets who frequent the poetry site we share, called Poetic Bloomings. The form used (waltmarie) was created by Candace Kubinec, and featured on the Writer's Digest. Here are the guidelines for writing the Waltmarie: -10 lines -Even lines are two syllables in length, odd lines are longer (no specific syllable count) -Even lines make their own mini-poem if read separately
April 17, 2022
HOLY WEEK
The week leading up
to the most sacred of our
Christian holidays
looks back on events
saturated with the love
of our Lord Jesus,
impregnated with
prophesies being fulfilled
in His light and life:
Some, miraculous.
Some, endearing. Some, baffling.
Others, horrific.
A dizzying week.
A hill of execution.
A crucifixion.
But …
I believe that the
road to Golgotha began
in a feeding trough
where a virgin girl
gave birth to a baby boy
who already knew
the way.
© Marie Elena Good, 2022
He is risen, indeed!
February 20, 2022
LIFE, COMPOSED IN THREE PARTS
Part 1. LEGATO Since love and laughter sang the notes to her childhood, she tuned in to life. She felt melodic, harmonious, and ready to embrace her song. Part 2. ARPEGGIO A child bride’s ballad, meant to mirror her childhood, ends in broken chords. A sharp turn taken, her imposed solo becomes a balanced duet as her new partner discards the shards, and the two play in consonance. Her children (her heart), born improvisers, still long to dance their own dance. Part 3. CODA Moons rose and set. Her parents grew sickly; her song became elegy. Still, her partner hums his strength, and her Composer breathes psalms in her lungs. © Marie Elena Good, 2022
January 30, 2022
My Years of Teaching
There are the teachers
equipped with knowledge, and the
skills to impart it
There are the teachers
with a passion for learning
that is contagious.
There are the teachers
who delight in (and well-wield)
books, maps, and whiteboards.
I am gifted with
none of that. But I love, and
love assists learning.
© Marie Elena Good, 2022
January 9, 2022
FIRST, DO NO HARM
I’m itchin’ to upgrade, and pitchin’ a fit. For now, I’m afraid, I have zilch to submit. While someone is flippin’ through pages of verse, I want my name there before I’m in a hearse. It’s paltry and petty, this dream I’ve unfurled. But? Improvin’ at versin’ can’t worsen the world. © Marie Elena Good, 2022
January 3, 2022
OPEN MINDED
I am of the age
where knocks at the door did not
need to be scheduled.
This was a time when
hospitality welcomed
spontaneity.
A time when one was
made to feel valuable –
greeted with a smile
and a hand gesture
first ushering you in, then
offering a seat.
I wish I could say
that is a custom I still
embrace. But it’s not.
Feeling unprepared
makes me uneasy, and it
seeps right through my smile.
I hope to become
genuinely embracing
of a friendly knock –
to swing wide the door –
no thought of untidiness;
no eye on the time.
© Marie Elena Good, 2022
December 19, 2021
CROSS OF CHRIST
My place atop the Christmas tree
may seem a lofty place for me,
but humbly, I point down below
through greenery and lights aglow
to manger scene that holds the Christ
who paid the price in sacrifice
for every woman, man, and child –
this perfect Lamb – this undefiled
Rescuer, Redeemer, God
I represent, and richly laud.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
Written in response to Walt Wojtanik’s prompt at Poetic Bloomings to write about Christmas from the point of view of an inanimate object. If you look closely, you can see the cross that tops my Christmas tree.
October 10, 2021
Remotely Interested in Travel
With suitcase in hand as she leaves, the thought of it drives her to heaves. Oh what joy it might bring but it isn’t her thing, so she now leaves it up to Rick Steves. © Marie Elena Good, 2021 (Would love to know who to credit for this image.)
September 26, 2021
FALL
There’s a chill in the air. Just enough to grab a sweater and cute boots. Enough to birth sweet, crisp apples. The kind of perfect chill that calls my dad to mind - the pride I felt watching him direct the Star-Spangled Banner for the football pregame on a perfect autumn afternoon that smelled of popcorn and stadium dogs. The kind of chill that warms my heart and feeds my joy. Fall: The season of my heart. Fall: Collapse. As I drink in the season, life collapses at the feet of a friend. She writes of the woeful loss of her husband with words that both singe and chill. I know her only from afar, but I know her. How often have her stirring words and soothing photos of the beauty surrounding her touched my heart, and lifted my spirits? How often has she bravely shared the slow slide of Alzheimer’s as it stole her sweetheart far too soon? When the news came to me, I spent much time vainly stringing words and counting syllables - only to realize there’s a chill in the air, and no words warm enough. © Marie Elena Good, 2021 Dearest Janet: May you feel the strength of our Father’s love, and the warmth of your Poetic Bloomings family. Gentle hugs …
pictured words 