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.
Our hearts were lit the moment you were born.
This blue-eyed chubby cherub, ours to hold.
It seemed you brought with you a love well worn;
If you could speak, the stories you’d have told.
Your toddler legs gave movement toward your dreams.
But no, not near enough for your designs.
You needed flight to capture those moonbeams,
And wishes aren’t contained by boundary lines!
In thirteen years, you’ve hardly changed a bit:
You’re soft of heart, while strong of mind and drive.
You’re beautiful. You can’t contain your wit.
It’s our delight to watch you grow and thrive.
We see inside those laughing eyes of blue,
Intelligence and warmth reside in you.
© Marie Elena Good, 2024
Happy Birthday, Soph! We love you!
Nonna and Poppa
He created all that we are,
and are not aware of.
And so that we might “know,”
he created all things in opposite,
and extremes.
He created joy.
The unbounded joy in everything that is good and beautiful.
And sorrow.
The unending sorrow of man’s inhumanity to man.
He created heat
So searing, it turns all it touches into itself.
And cold
So penetrating, it can suspend the very essence of life.
He created the winds
With power enough to destroy anything man erects.
And calm
So still, even the spider’s web is unmoved.
He created love
So full and without reservation, that he gave us his son.
And hate
So destructive, it renders us incapable of love and joy.
And he created you.
You are joy.
The joy that brought balance to the sorrows of life.
You are love.
The love that reproduced itself in two beautiful children.
You are warmth.
The warmth in a world that often seems cold and uncaring.
You have been like a cool breeze,
blowing gently through my life.
And like God,
Who created all things,
I, too, will love you
Forever.
© James F. Fagnano
(Dad wrote this for Mom, for her 60th birthday.)
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!
Seated in my comfortable chair
across from my adorned and
glowing Christmas tree,
there is a sweet hush to my home.
Most of my shopping is done.
I’m planning a small Christmas Eve
gathering with family I was born into,
and new-found loves who may
not speak English well,
but speak love fluently.
Yesterday morning,
sweet, colorful cookies were
trayed and displayed. Many came
to make purchases for this season’s
celebrations. The money,
not enough to cover the costs
of war. The sweet aromas,
not enough to cover the stench
of death in the nostrils of those
who were able to escape, let alone
waft to where unwarranted revulsion
continues to slaughter and steal.
I relax, plan, shop, decorate,
and enjoy these sweet friends
I never would have known,
if not for their unfathomable plight.
And I beg forgiveness
for too easily shoving aside
the tempest that wells within –
for my inability to calm the one they live with
every waking moment.
© Marie Elena Good, 2023
#glorytoUkraine
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
This may be sung to America the Beautiful.
O Father, mold my country’s heart
to seek love’s endless length.
Let all our public servants speak
with honor, truth, and strength.
And gift us with Your favor, Lord,
which we can never earn.
God grant my country
health and peace,
and for You, let her yearn.
O Father, hold my country’s feet
fast to a path of grace.
Let all within her borders seek
to welcome and embrace
our neighbors from around the world,
and see them as Your own
that none should hold
a hungry child,
and none should walk alone.
© 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
