pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

HOW IT ENDED (fable)

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Photo by Keith R. Good

 

“We’re all doomed!” wailed baboon.
“Now, says who?” asked the shrew.
“It’s a lie!” declared fly.
“You buffoon!” slurred raccoon.

“Please, please, please!” pleaded bees,
“What baboon says is true!
We are dying in droves!
If we die, you will too!”

“But that’s not what MAN says,
and he’d KNOW,” shrieked the crow.
And the rest felt affirmed
While baboon’s head hung low.

“We rely on each bee,” whispered unnoticed flea.

With the flea’s voice unheard,
And the baboon, insulted
No common sense stirred,
And the poet’s voice halted.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

No Longer Under the System of Law

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Amazing grace
complete, profound.
Enslaved in sin, set free.
How great the cost
that shook the ground.
Defining love for me.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

(Inspired, of course, by John Newton’s “Amazing Grace”)

ANDREA

 

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A people-person and poet,
she learned to write
in a language not her own.

Alone, and on a small Danish island,
she yearned to connect.
To greet poetic kin.

In time, she braved the barriers
of language and space,
embraced globe and all therein.

Within her lay a yearning.
A burning desire to know You.
To believe in Your existence.

But the distance seemed too far,
and far-flung stars, more personal
than the God who hung them.

How often did she ask to unmask
the key to faith in a God who hears.
Loves. Draws. Speaks.

Yet I believe. I believe You
who knew her heart from the start
ran to greet her.

Mit barn! My child!
I believe she recognized You at once,
whispered tenderly, “Min far. My Father.

Never again will language be labored,
and never again faith
a far-flung star.

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

Sadly, our Poetic Asides family lost our Danish friend, Andrea Heiberg. She died of cancer Monday. Andrea never let language get in the way of relationship, clear across the globe. Her presence will be missed by so very many.

Next Stop:  Sejer Island.
   By Andrea Heiberg

http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/12381964-next-stop

 

A SOMBER SONNET, THIS

somber sonnet pic of izzy

*

Ain’t got no time for silliness, I say.
No room for fun.  No need for loud guffaws.
Can’t cope with pranks.  Can’t stand the phrase, “Let’s play.”
I’d rather deal with early menopause.

Ain’t got no time for silliness, for sure.
Won’t take the time to write a silly poem.
I’m too articulate, and too mature.
I’d rather chew on tin or Styrofoam.

Ain’t got no time for silliness, ya hear?
I’ve got no use for gigglers all aglow.
Don’t whisper no sweet nothings in my ear.
I’d rather use teaspoons to shovel snow.

Were I to pen some fun, I’d be remiss.
I’m glad that it’s a somber sonnet, this.

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

*Izzy’s first haircut!  😀

UNITED

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I wish all had disembarked.
Teach United
the meaning of its name.

 

#seventeensyllablesfortwentyseventeen
#aprilpad

HEARING IS NOT THE SAME AS LISTENING

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Photo by Keith R. Good

“Hearing is Not the Same as Listening” ~ Sarah Elizabeth (my young, wise, single-mom cousin)

Grunts, yelps, shrieks,
laughs, and cries
are Kenzie’s only tools of communication.
But this morning was different.
This morning, as Sarah readied the children for school,
the pattern of Kenzies “noise” sounded suddenly familiar.
All preparations halted, as Sarah began to sing
lines from a Veggie Tales movie.

Kenzie made eye contact.

EYE CONTACT.

Then Sarah and Kenzie began alternating lines.

No one has heard Kenzie utter a word in years.
Yet all this time she has been singing, unnoticed.

And now Sarah will sing with Kenzie
a hundred times in an hour
if that’s what she wants.

In the cacophony of life,
listen
and hear
cadence,
harmony,
and even dissonance.
For sometimes a solo
hungers for harmony.

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

Last Sunday

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Photo by Deanna Marie Metts

The sermon was on forgiveness.  My mind was as blank as the 3 x 5 card, on which we were encouraged to write the name of someone we need to forgive.  Surely there is someone in my life in need of my forgiveness.  I can think of no one.  Not one.  I contemplated and prayed in intervals, while listening to the sermon.

“Marie, I don’t need your forgiveness.”

Though inaudible, the sudden voice was clear, adamant, and authoritative … and just as full of love and understanding as anything I could imagine.  At first, I argued.

“Of COURSE there is nothing to forgive! You are my GOD!”

How tender a God
who loves me as I hold Him
accountable.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

SYRIA (Sonnet for the Severed Souls)

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The images.  The videos. The news.
The view from here is simply that – a view.
For I can just ignore it if I choose –
Not take in what I’ll wish I never knew.

But you?  You watch your babies breathe their last
while hospitals are bombed before your eyes,
and lifeless neighbors’ bodies are amassed.
You plead for help to long-obscure allies.

I want to send for you, and beg you come –
To sing soft lullabies to sooth your sleep.
But see, you are a fearsome threat to some.
That takes me to my knees to heave and weep.

While dead and dying lie within your reach,
Your wails are hushed by those whom you beseech.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

PLAQUES

 

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“After the Rain” (Made with Love by Leeroy. Life-of-Pix free stock}

 

She writes her life in third person
Once removed.
In ink or lead or crayon.
Or spoon.
It’s strewn about while she

Remains unmoved.

Someone loved her once, she knows.
No. She knows.
She wrings her wrists
And twists her ring.
Can’t tell you what she ate
Or when.

Or who would ask such a thing.

She also knows this:
Each day is a season
Fused with strife,
Escaping her grasp,
Leaving her gasping

For life.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME …

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Irish roses bud and bloom
 Side-by-side in mother’s womb.
Beautifully, they grew in grace;
Elegant as Irish lace.

Happy Birthday to Mom and Aunt Peg, with love and great respect.