Woodland
A forest of hardwood and pine
whispers calm to my soul
as we stroll its quiet path of leaves
and fine needles
with the occasional call
of small birds,
conversation of crows,
or tune composed of
breeze strumming the trees
to the rhythm of woodpecker’s tap,
even as our own whispers overlap
woodland’s song —
one I wish to carry lifelong.
© Marie Elena Good 2025
Photo by David Corliss
Wind gusts at fifty
wreaked havoc on her for hours.
So she said, “Enough,”
and she up and left,
carrying all she calls hers
to Buffalo’s banks.
Her now-vacated
western shore gets foot traffic,
sans ruby slippers.
© Marie Elena Good, 2025
“Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy.
O, Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love; For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; it is in dying that we are born again to eternal life.” ~ Anonymous(attributed to St. Francis of Assisi)
Sonnet for Lord, Make Me an Instrument of Your Peace
Of many writings I wish were my own,
this certainly resides among the best.
And while this poet’s name remains unknown,
their heart’s benevolence is manifest.
And oh to be an instrument of peace
And oh to harmonize with God’s great grace
No dissonance released from my mouthpiece
No notes omitted, wrestled, or misplaced
God likens clanging cymbals and loud gongs
to those who harbor hate within their soul.
I want to spill His love where there are wrongs –
the love that brings us peace and makes us whole.
Don’t want to be a cymbal or a gong –
Just long to harmonize with Him in song.
© Marie Elena Good 2025
RED (sonnet for a cabin in the woods)
We’re back in Red, a cabin we once knew.
She was the first to which we came for rest.
But then we switched to one we know as Blue.
Both feel like home, and neither one is “best.”
Nostalgia here in Red, intense and deep,
returns us to our long-forgotten years
of risky hikes (both treacherous and steep).
Our younger selves don’t hear our future fears.
Inherent wisdom fills her ancient beams.
They’ve centuries of stories, as has she.
Her cozy manner begs us (so it seems):
Speak quiet love, relax, and be carefree.
Surrounded by strong hardwood and soft fir,
Red’s presence stirs up thoughts of who we were.
© Marie Elena Good 2025
LET’S BE OPEN
Well, while our government remains shut down
and citizens debate who is at fault
and billionaires don’t lose one grain of ground,
*SNAP benefits are coming to a halt.
Our churches, mosques, and temples work to fill
the need our government’s left in its wake.
We’ll all step up to compensate — but still,
where will we find resources it will take?
We’ll find it in abundance we consume.
We’ll find the here and there that we can spare.
We’ll set our table, and we’ll make more room.
And even those themselves in need will share.
While left and right debate who is at fault,
the poor among us feel the full assault.
© Marie Elena Good 2025
*Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program
“For I was hungry, and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me into your home.” ~ Jesus of Nazareth
THE POET
In the beginning,
The Poet spoke creation
into being. He,
along with His Son,
effortlessly began all
with only Their voice.
All that is, was, or
ever will be, was simply,
easily, declared.
All creation sings.
It even began with song.
Now THAT’s poetic!
© Marie Elena Good 2025
As for me, this is the desire of my heart: “And I’ll be the poet who sings your glory – and live what I sing every day.” ~ Psalm 61:8
“The morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy.” ~ Job 38:4
Job, Psalms, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Lamentations, and the Song of Solomon are poetry books in the Bible. If you believe, as I do, that the Bible is the inspired word of God, God is a poet! I LOVE that!
The Sound of English as a Second Language
They come from situations we’ve only read about, and chosen to distance ourselves from. They’ve faced profound persecution, violence, starvation, and unfathomable humanitarian crises. They seek the simple: Clean water, food, education, a roof, a measure of safety, a measure of acceptance, a measure of stability. They listen. They strain. They try to understand us. They study to learn our language, so they might be able to communicate their needs. Desires. Gratitude. Humor. Life.
Some hear broken English.
I hear the flawless sound
of resilience.
© Marie Elena Good 2025
They come
from distant lands,
escaping war,
famine, natural disaster,
unlivable conditions, persecution,
economic instability, etc.
They arrive
carrying whatever they can.
Perhaps a photo or two.
A key to a house
that may no longer exist.
Only the clothes on their backs.
One very dear Syrian friend had to leave
suddenly. Flee.
Her family,
in the middle of a meal,
left pots and plates of food
years ago.
Ukrainian friends we now consider family
arrived with one school-type backpack
for their family of four.
Yes, you read that correctly.
Some aren’t even that lucky.
Dowla chose one item to bring:
A wooden pole, balanced on her shoulders,
with which to carry
her six children
when they tired of the 10-day walk from Sudan
to a refugee camp in South Sudan.
Aboubacar fled Mali on a donkey cart
with his wife and two children.
The one item he chose to bring?
His goat.
“The goat brings me hope, joy, and a sense
that things can change for the better.”
After dealing with several months of air raids,
Magboola and her three children finally left Sudan
the night soldiers came and opened fire.
The most important item she chose to carry:
a small cooking pot.
It could be easily carried,
and used to feed her children.
102-year-old Omar is blind.
His item of choice was his lati
(his walking stick).
“If I hadn’t had my lati,
I would have crawled to Bangladesh.”
The situation in the village he loved,
yet had to flee,
was dire.
The journey,
unimaginably hard.
A quote I relish from him is this:
“If you laugh, others will laugh with you.
And if you stop laughing, you will die.”
Elizabeth fled war in Angola.
52 years later, she still struggles
with the feeling of not having a real home.
The one item she still has with her
is her Bible.
“In this world, bad things happen,
but in the Bible you can find words which help you.”
The stories
are endless
unimaginable
heartbreaking
staggering
awe-inspiring.
The people
are strong
courageous
thankful
giving
hopeful,
in spite of it all.
It is my honor and great blessing
to look into the eyes of those
I am privileged to personally know.
To hear their stories.
See their smiling eyes.
Feel their arms around me.
Their kisses on my cheeks.
To taste their food.
Receive their time
and their love.
THEY
are life-enriching.
© Marie Elena Good 2025
(Stories of those I don’t personally know are from UNHRC. The photo I chose is from Pexels.com.)
Of Stars and Little Ones
O sweet little one,
you’ve reached as high as you can,
but can’t touch the stars.
But don’t you worry.
All this talk of reaching for them
is just that: talk.
You don’t have to strive.
Just “be,” little one. The same
God who made the stars
and gave them their names
and placed more than we can see
more than we can count
in a universe
He made, in a space and time
only He can know …
This very same God
made and intimately knows
you too, little one.
He knows you by name.
He knows the exact number
of hairs on your head.
You’re more precious than
all the stars he knows and named —
billions and billions.
Listen, little one,
you don’t have to reach the stars.
God made you higher.
© Marie Elena Good 2025
Hundreds of billions
of stars in the universe
pale when compared to
the tens of trillions
of nonexistent dollars.
American debt.
© Marie Elena Good 2025
one trillion = 1,000 billion
pictured words 