pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

Category: Uncategorized

Crayola and Me, 1958

crayons

Photo credit:  Today I Found Out

I began as Flesh,
But only because it was 1958,
And they didn’t yet understand
A white baby may have a tint
Of Raw Sienna.

No understanding that changing Indian Red
To Chestnut is not only untrue,
But negates a child’s ability to learn
That Indian Red describes a pigment native
To India,
And not the skin of a Native American,

Or for that matter, the ability to learn what it meant to be
Prussian.
Was it easier to change Prussian to Midnight,
Than to teach us the blues of history?

And sixteen new colors were added that year, and
When I turned four I was no longer Flesh,
But Peach.
Peach with still no tint,
And no understanding that Peach is not white,
And I am not white, and I am not Peach.

But colors are sharp,
And when the summer sun shines
On sixty four colors left on Grandma’s porch,
They can run together
and
Permanently
Mingle.

© Marie Elena Good

LOOKING BACK / FORWARD MARCH

a-conductors-baton-lying-on-sheet-music,1000314

We line the street
Despite the heat;
Await the beat
Of drums.

The cadence stirs
My heart, and spurs
Excitement! Here
It comes!

The Stars and Stripes
And countless types
Of instruments
Pass by.

The pride I feel
Is deep and real
Beneath mid-
Summer’s sky.

My father’s band,
Baton in hand
Directing more
Than tunes.

His students find
He’s guided minds
And morals
Many moons.

Time marched along
So fast. So long,
Oh fleeting song
Of summer.

Now winter’s come
And slowed the drum –
But oh, I love
The drummer.

(With love and great respect for Dad … drummer, conductor, teacher, mentor,  father)

© Marie Elena Good, 2016

NIGHT SMILES, NILES OHIO

Sunny day of summer play with friends
Ends.

Night falls.
Streetlights call me home.
Bathed and pj’d,
Porch swing lulls, but cannot dull
The day’s fun,
Spun of love.

Mom smiles;
Files away another day.
We pray and say goodnight.
Sleep tight.
Sweet dreams.

Even the moon beams.

 

© Marie Elena Good 2016

 

 

SUMMER NIGHTS ON BELMONT

Sounds of fun
Blow in through my window.

Mistaking laughter for music,
My curtains dance on the breeze,
While my head has trouble staying on the pillow.

© Marie Elena Good 2016

 

 

MAKES NO DIFFERENCE WHO YOU ARE

Jiminy_Cricket

Image courtesy of en.wikipedia.org

A star-struck me in childhood bliss
Off day dreaming, as dreamers do
And in this dream, I steal a kiss …
And would, were I a cricket too.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2016

Pathya Vat Prayer Verse

Pathya Vat Prayer verse

Sadly finding
Old fashioned prayer
Wretchedly rare;
Socially railed

 

© Marie Elena Good

TWIST HER

wizard 3

Photo credit:  thedancingimage.blogspot

What changes would no twister bring?
Everything.

The wicked witch? I guarantee
Would still be

Ruby slipper’d, with stockings striped
Black and white.

Her Aunt Em’s home would not take flight
No straw psyche; no tin goodwill
Contentment would elude her still
And everything would still be black and white.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2016

AND IT’S NEVER OKAY

hatedoesntbelonghere2-390x220

Bomb or gun
Mass or one

Gay or straight
Hate is hate

Foreign-run
Or homespun

Vain debate
Hate is hate

Deeply flawed
“Under God”

Won’t negate
Hate is hate

 

(c) Marie Elena Good, 2016

Photo from http://www.gmpcc.org.uk/news/stand-together-against-hate-crime/ .

2016 PRESUMPTIVE NOMINEES

clinton-trump-3

I do not trust each nominee.
I cannot vote for T nor C.
I will not vote for he nor she.
I cannot, will not! Nope, not me!

This poem I penned is childlike:
Less fighter jet – more toddler trike.
But this election’s not grown up –
We’re drowning in a sippy cup.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2016

“Mary” (Entry from the journal of Mary of Magdala)

 

1

This morning
This mourning broke me.
Reality pierced my soul,
Left a gaping hole, with fears
No tears can fill.

This morning
His eyes haunted me,
As I already strained to recall
The implausible love I saw in them
Before the cross.

This morning
I longed to once again see myself –
Me as he saw me –
The me he presented to others –
Instead of the wretch I see in me.

This morning,
In darkness of mood and day,
I made my way to his tomb.
My heart and breath halted
As my eyes assaulted my senses.

This morning
He was gone.
I was even robbed of his lifeless body?
The cruelty of this was agonizing
And my wounds grew deeper still.

This morning
I wept harder and longer and deeper
Than I ever have before –
Not even at the cross, for I was too traumatized
For tears.

This morning
I saw men?  Angels?  Someone – something – angels
At the head and foot where he had lain.
They asked me why I was weeping.
How could I explain such pain?

This morning
I turned and saw a man – the gardener?
He asked me the same question the angels had.
“Woman, why are you weeping?”
Once my closed throat allowed me to speak,
I begged of him, “PLEASE sir, where have you put him?”

“Mary.”

Rabboni!

This morning
Mourning broke.
Light rose from darkness,
Spoke my name,
And I will never be the same.

 

 

©Marie Elena Good

Gospel of John, Chapter 20

Photo credit:  Shutterstock.com