pictured words

A (P)LANNET WITH NO END RHYME :(

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Does Lannet rhyme with planet, or away?
Okay, please chime in any time now … hear?
‘Cause dear, my word buffet is spilling crud,
And bloody well could ruin my Lan-NEIGH.

(See, LAN-net would not work as well up there,
For its wrong stress would smirk at me for life,
And I’d be rife with strife forevermore!)
Oh LAN-net, don’t you see what you have done?

You’ve ruined all my Sonnet end-rhyme f … joy!
(Hooboy, I almost blew it on that line,
benign though that faux pas would surely be.)
A Sonnet-wannabe, is this Lan-NEIGH!

Its WAY confusing diction drives me nuts.
To write with these restrictions took some g … nerve!

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STILL LIFE

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Life may be art, but
it’s still life. Don’t brush it off,
and don’t hang it up.

8 Comments

November 30, 2018

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Before the dawn, a
mourning song fell hard and long –
one we loved, now gone.

Marguerite Powers
March 16, 1931 – November 30, 2018

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ROCKS, STREAMS, AND STORYTELLERS

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Photo by Keith R. Good

End-of-life
for those with whom we are particularly close,
seems to bring out who we are at our core.

Some of us are rocks.
Unbreakable.
Pillars.
Feeling the need to hold up all around us.
Or,
perhaps,
we just can’t let our surface crack,
lest we fall to pieces.

Some of us are streams.
We go with the flow,
while staying our course.
Occasionally we pick up others in need,
and carry them along.
But sometimes a stream’s flow
is fashioned from tears
that even a dam can’t contain.

Then some of us are storytellers.
We talk.
We laugh.
We reminisce.
We play familiarity like a piano concerto –
every part by heart.
We connect to those who are listening,
and telling stories of their own.
But can it be that we need to get lost in a story,
because the reality at hand
is too painful to fully embrace?

Let the rocks be strong.
But if they crack,
help them pick up the pieces.

Let the streams flow.
And if the tears run,
let them –
even as God collects
and records each one.

Let the storytellers recount,
and their experiences, count.
And if the present moment breaks them,
hold their pain
as a book in your embrace,
and help them tenderly
turn another page.

10 Comments

November 25, 2018

SONLIGHT

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In darkness of cave
Defeater of Grave was born –
a King, unadorned.

In stillness of night,
as prophets did write, a birth –
the Light Of The Earth.

In grayness of sky
and depth of blue sigh, dear one,
delight in The Son.

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November 23, 2018

Dream the Love, and Love the Dream (A Wrapped Refrain)

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Photo by Keith R. Good

When poets sigh, they sigh for love –
In awe of fragrant fruit thereof.
To spill the heart from breast to page
Release it from its living cage –
Free fragrant ache to fill the soul, and reach the sky,
And my-oh-my, breathe in love’s scent, when poets sigh.

And how I dream our words would fill
Our world with peace. With love. Goodwill.
And I believe that words can heal
And so I’ll write, and speak. Appeal
To peacemakers whose soothing words are as a stream
In moonlit gleam. It’s how I pray, and how I dream.

When poets write, they seek within
To find the space where dreams begin
Where love writes sighs, and peace prevails
Where words can heal, and goodwill sails
To span the breadth of all that’s true, and there alight.
We’ll dream the love, and love the dream, when poets write.

November 19, 2018

CROSSROADS (written eight years ago, with love)

James E. Powers, Jr.

September 23, 1952 – November 19, 2010

He stands between the living and the dead,
as ailing lungs no longer understand
the expectations of a heart in dread,
not willing to let go of all it planned.

Though comatose, his mind exerts its will,
Not giving up, nor knowing how to cope;
As loved ones, keeping vigilant, instill
An ember of illuminating hope.

Sad we cannot return to days of old,
Of playing ‘til the streetlights called us home;
Now, heart-in-throat, we watch events unfold;
Our desperate pens add chapters to his tome.

Yet, God imparts His own life-giving breath,
to give eternal life that transcends death.

(c) Marie Elena Good, 2010

Psalm 139:16. … all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.

“… just around the corner from the light of day” ~ The Boss
See you on the other side, Punk. ❤

November 18, 2018

HOLIDAY BLESSINGS ON PARADE

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Oh the feasts that we would eat –
Grandma’s stuffing can’t be beat!
Turkey carved and on display,
Guesses on “what does it weigh?”

Yams and hams and pumpkin pies,
And (to figures’ great demise}
Aunt Peg’s “Goop,” and Mom’s cheesecake.
Hopeful leftovers to take!

TV playing football games,
Watched by mostly men named James.
Conversations, hugs, and laughs.
Later-treasured photographs.

P.S. Once-upon-a-time, there were so many men/boys named James in our family, it became a running joke. Grandpa, 2 uncles, Dad, and two cousins (one nicknamed Punk)! 😀

6 Comments

November 11, 2018

MY WANDERING HEART

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“Bind my wandering heart to Thee.”
(From Robert Robertson’s hymn Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing)

MY WANDERING HEART

Lord, I need Thee every instant;
Need to feel my hand in Yours.
When I feel my heart grow distant,
Call me back to heaven’s shores.

Lord, I long for angel voices
Harmonizing all day through,
Triggering my soul’s rejoicing!
Set my heart to praising You!

Lord, that I won’t wander far,
Faint in faith, and unfulfilled,
Lift my eyes to Christ Child’s Star
Where my heart is awed, and stilled.

Lord, I need Thee every hour.
Give ear to my earnest plea:
Hug me in Your staying power.
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.

3 Comments