pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

Category: Uncategorized

This music is the picture and the poem

This audio clip is selected from a 1972 Poland Seminary High School band concert in Poland, Ohio, under the direction of my father, James Fagnano. The clarinet student featured is Ralph Lutz.

This was an extraordinary group of dedicated, passionate student musicians. Dad brought out the best in them — and they, in him. Over the years, I began to wonder if my memories of these high school students sounding more like a fantastic college or even professional musicians was simply overblown in my head. I’m thankful for these recordings. This band was every bit as good as I recall.

Per Kevin Cook, who, with Richard Woolford, kindly contacted me to get some of Dad’s music into my sister’s and my hands, these few selections are from “recordings made on Richard Woolford’s tape recorder, which Mark Kostyk made copies of and ultimately digitized. Since Rick was in band, Ralph Hutchinson served as the recording engineer. Kudos to Ralph for his diligent work. I contacted Rick and asked if he would allow me to share these recordings with others and he gave me his blessing.”

Guys, I can’t thank you enough. Warm smile and hugs to you all.

This second selection is titled Bugler’s Holiday (1972). The featured soloists are Loren Popio, Steve Alleman, and Karl Ivansen.


This third selection is titled Tone Poem (1970).

The fourth is titled Variations on a Korean Folk Song (1969).




I would love to share all I was given.

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. 

©  Marie Elena Good, 2022

2022 Bomb Cyclone Christmas (to the tune of White Christmas)

Photo by Temo Berishvili on Pexels.com


Prelude:
     The wind is howling,
     as temps dip low
     and birdfeeders whirl and weave.
     Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.
     We’re hosting here, I believe.

     But we’ve a Bomb Cyclone
     on our hands,
     and it threatens to wreck our plans.


We’re dreaming of a white Christmas,
but not quite like the one on tap
where each wind gust threatens
to hurl its weapons
and blues fill our weather map.

We’re dreaming of a white Christmas,
with fam’ly here tomorrow night.
We have lots of yummies
to fill our tummies,
but safe travel’s not in sight.

We’re dreaming of a white Christmas
but winds are sweeping off the snow
‘til no treetop glistens.
White-out conditions
make car travel a no-go.

We may not have a white Christmas,
but we have power on inside.
Water pipes did not burst.
It could be much worse,
so we’ll take it all in stride.

Still hoping Christmas Eve happens
and safely we can gather here
for some much sought-after
food, fun, and laughter,
and we can spread some Christmas cheer!

© Marie Elena Good, 2022

Don’t ask me how

Photo by Nadezhda Moryak on Pexels.com

Don’t Ask Me How

there are things my brain knows,
but doesn’t tell me.

Or maybe there is a disconnect
between this side of my brain
and the other side.

Like years ago
when I helped a friend bake
potato chip cookies
to take to my cousin later that night.
Somewhere, my brain knew he was
getting work training on the other side
of the country.
But not the part of my brain
helping my friend bake.  That part
might as well have been with my cousin
on the other side of the country.

Or that time in the shower
an hour ago
when I was thinking about
hosting Christmas Eve,
praying the weather holds out
and guests are safe in travel.  Praying
for these guests that are my family –
my daughter and her family
my cousins and their grown kids
and their little children

and the sudden slap of that’s all.

No grandparents.  No aunts and uncles.
No parents. 

Now, that’s us. 

My brain knows this.
It intimately knows this information
that it didn’t share with me
until the shower started searching
for tears.

Don’t ask me how.

© Marie Elena Good, 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! 

GIVING THANKS while sick for Thanksgiving


This photo is not a well-focused, balanced, artistic photo. It is just my snapshot
of homemade chicken noodle soup, made by my super caring husband.
It is one thing I have to be thankful for while I am sick on my favorite week of the year.
And there are so many others.
My cozy home, with the Christmas tree up, and a comfortable recliner from which to enjoy it.
My soft lavender robe, and just-as-soft tissues for my nose.
A family member who will be doing a Thanksgiving meal “porch drop” for Keith and me,
and other family members who offered the same
and friends and students who have offered food and help and loving words of encouragement
and who check in on me just because they are selfless souls who care deeply
and a doctor able to see me on the same day I called
and insurance to pay the doctor and the medicine
and a comfortable spare bedroom for Keith to sleep in so I don’t keep him awake with my cough
and WhatsApp to keep in touch for free with my daughter in India
and the amazing, gentle care she is receiving for a herniated disc, from grandmotherly women
and doctors making daily home visits to the room she is renting from these women
and the ease of heart it helps me feel while she is there alone and in pain and without my help
and the Father of All who is no less there than He is here
and the vast array of birds and fun critters outside my huge windows that let in all the light
and loving souls in my life who share their beautiful words and prayers and sentiments and lives
and parents who passed on, but left themselves in unspeakable ways right here in my heart
and children who struggle, but l.o.v.e. in all the ways afforded to them, and who I proudly call my own
and granddaughters who give joy in ways I never could have imagined
and their daddy who is not just an in-law to me
and music
and poetry
and books
and life
and Jesus in the nativity beneath my tree, and His saving cross at the top
and the Word of God
and the Lamb of God
and the love of God
and no period, because there is no end




Untitled Hygge

Photo by Dina Nasyrova on Pexels.com

Snuggle with a sleepy story
under a thick layer
of quiet.


(c) Marie Elena Good, 2022

In the Far Reaches

Deanna’s cutie camel, all tuckered out


WD November Chapbook Challenge, Day 4.  Write an “In the (blank )” poem

In the Far Reaches

There’s currently nine
and a half-hours’ time diff’rence
between her and me. 

I use what seems nine
checking the clock to reckon
what time it is, there.

© Marie Elena Good, 2022

“Asking for a friend.”

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

WD November Chapbook Challenge. Day 1.  Write a beginning poem, or an ending poem

“Asking for a friend”

Dear fellow persons,
When did handwritten letters
become an art form?

Birthday greetings change
from carefully picked cards, to
instant facebook posts?

Did spelling our words
become an imposition
on us?  idk.

When did we mutate
from people people, to mere
convenience junkies?

Have we managed to
make effortlessness a god
of our own doing?

A god that will bring
us to our knees when we see
it filched our intents

made us its robots
robbed us of our humanness
made us drop our

love.

© Marie Elena Good, 2022

PLEASE, NO MORE AFTERS

Photo by Mathias Reding on Pexels.com

A Ukrainian student,
who speaks nearly no English,
brings a map and photos
to class. 

The map shows her home,
and its proximity to Russia.
Her quivering finger moves across it
showing us her escape route.
Border-to-border, across Ukraine.
Romania.
Germany.
The U.S.A.

She moves from photo to photo.
“Our central park.”
Before,
and after.

“Capitol building.”
Before,
and after. 

Her house,
out of photo’s view by centimeters,
“here,” her finger rests. 
The building in view,
demolished. 


Her house? 
Likely an “after.” 

© Marie Elena Good, 2022

#apictureisworthathousandwords
#prayforUkraine