pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

MASK MAKER, MASK MAKER

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Photo courtesy of Pixabay’s  Pasja1000

Mask Maker, Mask Maker,
Make me a mask.
Ward off my cough.
That’s all I ask.

Mask Maker, Mask Maker,
Nothing too posh.
Just make me a modest mask.

Mask Maker, Mask Maker,
Put folks at ease
as they pass by,
and I must sneeze.
Your mission, see,
is to render for me
a smidgeon of PPE.

Then drop it
off over yonder.
Leave quickly,
and leave nothing else, please,
for me. Well, I wouldn’t holler
if TP’s included (I’m ill at ease).

Mask Maker, Mask Maker,
Thanks for the mask!
My husband’s at peace,
no longer repeats
day after day, “Sharing isn’t condoned,”
now that I have one
of my own.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

 

Untitled senryu (isolation prompt)

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Image from Pixabay by Gordon Johnson

Until they are brought
together to speak, they’re just
twenty six letters.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

STAY-AT-HOME SUNDAY MORNING CONFESSIONS

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Photo by Anemone 123 at Pixabay

She’s become a permanent fixture
in her own home. Comfortable and cozy.
Not lonely, and
determined that nobody else will be either.
But there is a bump in her road, and
a chink in her resolve.
A chasm, built of laziness
she has come to embrace.
Isn’t idleness inherent
in permanent fixtures?
Deep inside her is a plea she turns a deaf ear to:
the low howl of the lonely.
And she wonders why she writes her poem
in third person.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

UNTITLED LIMERICK

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WHOA! THE PROMPT FOR TODAY IS “EROTIC”????!!!
HAS OUR PROMPTER BECOME IDIOTIC???!!!
I’M UPSET AND UPTIGHT!!!!!!!
WHAT’S BECOME OF THIS SITE???!!!
WHY, I’LL GIVE HIM A PIECE … Oh. “Exotic.”

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

Untitled response to 2020 April PAD Prompt: the last blank

 

We wouldn’t suspect
the last time we visited
could be our last time.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

#covidnineteen
#seventeenintwenty

I had kind of promised myself I would not get morbid during this PAD challenge. But here I am. I’ll try to write another poem that sparks a smile or a smirk. 😉

 

GROWING DREAMS

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Photo credit:  Keith R. Good

Wake up beautiful
Cute high heels, good for my feet
Feel pretty daily

No-pain fun workouts
Tasty food without weight gain
Flattering clothes, all

Snow with no slipping
Nightly beach stroll with no bugs
Flowers with no weeds

Warmth with no sweating
Nice chill with no shivering
Charcoal clouds with sun

Endless connections
Continuous potential
World with no borders

Love without judgement
Hard truths spread with soft edges
Loved. No exceptions.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

ANTI-SESTINA

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I will not write Sestinas, sir.
It’s not the form that I prefer.
See, when I try, my brain won’t purr.
It spits and chokes. My mind’s a blur.
I will not write for him, or her.
I will not write Sestinas, sir.

And you’d be right if you infer
I will not write Sestinas, sir.
To navigate me through, for sure
I’d have to have a good chauffer.
Or wine or beer or hard liquor.
But I don’t drink, so then I’d slur.

I will not write Sestinas, sir.
To your insistence, I demur.
My mind is striking, as it were.
I’m not a poetry poseur.
To Walt Wojtanik, I’ll defer –
Our chief Sestina Whisperer.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

REQUESTED (Izzy’s sonnet)

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On the occasion of Izzy’s 6th birthday, I just wanted to again share the poem I wrote when she was born.  Happy Birthday, Izzy!  As soon as this Covid-19 stay-at-home is safely lifted, Poppa and I will have you for a sleepover and proper hugs.  In the meantime, enjoy your birthday, pretty little sweetie! ❤

REQUESTED (Izzy’s Sonnet)

God graciously gives gifts that prove His love,
And this time used a cherished little one
Whose precious face is reminiscent of
The one who caused my heart to come undone.

Another set of prints upon my soul
Has made her presence known, and it’s sublime –
Just like a piece that makes a puzzle whole,
Or syllable that finishes a rhyme.

Upon three years of practice on my part,
You’d think by now it might have gotten old.
But every day brings wonder to my heart,
And now my joy has multiplied twofold.

Delivered straight to us through Heaven’s door –
The one her sister earnestly asked for.

© Marie Elena Good, 2014

OUR PRESENT DAY TWISTER

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“If I ever go looking for my heart’s desire again, I won’t look any further than my own back yard. Because if it isn’t there, I never really lost it to begin with.” ~ Dorothy Gal

The tempest we face today blows me away. It has twisted our world and what we chase.

As we shelter in place, the view from space shows a cleansing of the air we share. Sweet messages and charming drawings in chalk fill each walk, drive, and trail. Mailed letters are back “in” as they’ve not been in decades. Roller blades, bikes, and hikes, and sharing while distancing …

We are witnessing a change, as we rearrange the life we’d learned to expect. Soon we’ll reflect on the effect staying at home had on us. On our planet. And just as we began it, we’ll be back to activities with the liberties that define us.

I pray when we are no longer confined, we’ll continue to align with the gentler pace the shelter-in-place afforded. For we’ve been rewarded with renewed love of home and neighbor, and the favor of unexpected gifts in the midst of forced simplicity.

With misty eyes, I reflect on these affecting words from Oz. Let’s never return from what was.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

The above quote that comes near the end of the Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy has returned home, has been a favorite of mine since I was a child.  I cannot voice it without choking up; cannot think of it without misty eyes.  The sentiment is heartwarming wisdom, and the wording is exceptional.  I wish I had written it.

THE WOMEN WHO WAILED

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I wish I knew who to attribute this to.

Who were these women,
walking the path with Jesus,
this innocent man?

This One who showed them
they were not to be trampled –
thought as second class.

This One who showed them
they could learn and understand
scripture, and His words.

Who were these women
who did not turn away as
He was crucified?

Exhibiting strength
in their engulfing anguish –
strength I cannot know.

Facing the horror,
these women were not silent.
They howled in their grief,

but also in their
denunciation of this
slaughter of virtue.

Inconsolable,
but not without perception,
and not without hope.

As they witnessed His
final words, were they surprised?
This man that they loved

wasn’t just a man.
Even the centurion
who observed His death

exclaimed, “Certainly
this man was the Son of God.”
My Lord, and My God.

Through their mourning eyes,
did they sense that this dear man
was their Messiah?

Forgive me, my Lord.
I would not have had the strength
to attend to You.

Lamentably, I’d
have worried, crying to You
from my peaceful home,

averse to falling
apart with the sufferer.
(Forgive me, my friends).

© Marie Elena Good, 2020