pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

A WOMAN, CALLED (Second Sonnet to Mary, Mother of God)

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And who would take my word, this pregnant teen,
Who claimed an angel visited my room,
To tell me God Himself had set the scene
To place His Very Son inside my womb?

And how could I say anything but “Yes,
Be done to me according to Your word.”
And how could I be anything but blessed,
When first The Living Word within me stirred.

And how was I to know that God’s own Son
Would start His life inside a feeding trough,
And end on crucifix  (would anyone?),
Exploited, battered, bartered, “crowned,” and scoffed.

And when I think my womb shared blood with God,
Who gave me life? I’m humbled, blessed, and awed.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

OF HUMBLE MEANS (Sonnet to the Newborn King)

 

 

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Public domain photo

Expectant couple travels far and fierce.|
She, full with child, atop a gentle ass.
He, worried as her sighs begin to pierce,
And finding there’s no room in inns they pass.

He, with no proper room to birth her child,
Secures a proffered stable to take rest.
The Babe comes quickly, there amidst the wild.
He frees her Son, and lays Him at her breast.

The Newborn listens to the bleating sheep.
The feeding trough He lies in smells of hay.
His weary mother tries to get some sleep,
Through rolling sounds of cry and bleat and bray.

Great throngs of angels revel in this day –
In lowly trough, there lies The Truth.  The Way.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

Untitled response to Poetic Asides Prompt 418: THAW

seriously-snow

I thought I thaw a thnowball
Up on a thnowy wall.
How fun to throw,
but I’m too thlow,
and what I thaw had thawed.

BE THE CONDUIT (Response to Twiglet #54: Water, Water)

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Photo from Pexels.com

We thirst for even a sprinkling of peace,
as we reach the boiling point.

 
#seventeensyllablesfortwentyseventeen
https://thetwiglets.wordpress.com/2017/12/12/twiglet-54/

Extravagance of the season

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Photo by Deanna Marie Metts

The extravagance 
of the season, embodied:
God, wrapped in infant.

 

 

My Favorite Christmas Things (to the tune of My Favorite Things)

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Banister greenery, tied with red ribbon.
Moonlit iced tree branches sparkle and glisten.
Carolers harmonize laughter with song.
Uplifting lyrics ring all season long.

Silver-belled streetlamps are charmingly pretty,
Casting their glow on the streets of the city.
Life-sized nativity graces a lawn.
Warmth from a hay bale entices a fawn.

Crystal-like snowflakes that shimmer and twinkle.
Enchanted children, with noses that crinkle.
Scents of warm sugar that waft through the air.
Sense of the kindness of folks everywhere.

Children’s wonder
Peaceful slumber
‘neath a silent snow

The best of the season
all point to the reason –
the birth of a Babe I know.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

RECEIVING SONNET

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Photo by Keith R. Good

The very word is musical, to me.
Her soft iambic pentameter, calm.
Her rise and fall, a wave of soothing sea.
A therapy. A troubled spirit’s balm.

The sonnet seems to whisper, not to shriek.
No heart has she for bias or outrage.
Her soul is surely humble, yielding, meek.
A lady, moving gracefully through age.

When strolling wood, I hear her hollowed call.
While contemplating God, she sometimes sighs.
Perceptible in mid-west farmland’s sprawl.
She’s many means to draw and mesmerize.

Each time she calls, I gladly sit with her.
I stroke each word, and listen for her purr.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

Untitled

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He who directs my steps,
smooths my path.
He moistens my parched lips
with song.

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

JESUS, I BELIEVE YOU (Sonnet for The Son of Man)

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Image credit:  “Nail Pierced Hands of the Ultimate Superhero”

Conceived of virgin, launching life of strife.
In unpretentious setting, You were born.
You claimed to be The Way. The Truth. The Life.
Judged blasphemous, then kinged with crown of thorns.

They say a prophet goes unrecognized
In his or her own town … and this was You.
For there you were, distrusted and despised –
Not warranting the hatred that You drew.

Could they not see Your Father in Your face?
Were they not there to witness healing hands?
Were they not awed by one so full of grace?
Yet all was in accordance with Your plans.

My Jesus, I believe Your every word,
Which, only by Your grace, my ears have heard.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

 

 

 

 

 

Epiphanies (inspired by My Favorite Things)

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Photo by Deanna Marie Metts

Toddlers that “get it,”
That first sense of humor!
Ultrasound showing
There’s two in her womb, or

Suddenly noticing
His shy, sweet stare.
These are some things
That are special and rare.

Seeing my mother
In my own reflection.
More often noting
Decreased recollection.

Pleasant occasions
In which I take part.
Still finding plenty
To capture my heart.

Years fly quickly,
Oh, so quickly!
Decades swiftly pass.
So value your loved ones,
Your home, and your life.
Acknowledge your brim-
full glass!

© Marie Elena Good, 2017