Photo by Eric Mavis
Stretching on tiptoe
to apply makeup. Dad’s love,
a good foundation.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
#seventeeninnineteen
pictured words
a simple pairing of pictures and poetry
June 10, 2019
June 10, 2019
MY INTERVIEW WITH DARLENE FRANKLIN
COME MEET WELL-PUBLISHED AUTHOR OF CHRISTIAN LITERATURE, DARLENE FRANKLIN!
Interview may be found HERE.
June 9, 2019
WISTFULLY CONVINCED
Helps the medicine go down.
“Imagination is the true magic carpet.” ~Norman Vincent Peale
I. JASMINE AND MARY
One flies on carpet.
The other, her umbrella.
Both take me with them.
II. UNCLE ALBERT
Sometimes I believe
if I laugh hard enough, I’ll
float to the ceiling.
III. DOROTHY
Don’t be surprised to
witness me clicking my heels
when I get homesick.
IV. BASTIAN
See, books are more real
than our realest lives, and “nothing”
can take that away.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
June 2, 2019
THE DEARLY DEPARTIED
There once was a gal named Marie
Whose good friends and fam would agree
If she’s uninvited,
She’s just as delighted
To stay home and drink her hot tea.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
May 26, 2019
WHEN THE PURPOSE OF KNEES WAS TO BE SKINNED
Splinters were the worst.
Tweezers first;
Needles if needed
While I screamed and squirmed
And wormed my way
Back out to play.
Skipping, flipping
Chipping my tooth
(Now it’th loothe)
Palms muddied
Bloodied nose drips
Split lips
Both knees shredded
Splinter still embedded.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
Inspired by the line “when the purpose of knees was to be skinned,” from John Tobias’ Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle Received from a Friend Called Felicity
(Thanks to my friend Lydia, who gifted me the book that contains John’s poem!)
May 23, 2019
Silverstein
Photo by Alice Ochs/Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images
Oh, Mister Silverstein, we need more of you.
Childlike rhymes (not child-like) and
Oddities you drew.
Oh, Mister Silverstein, how we need your views!
Giggling at our differences,
Poopooing the news.
Oh, Mister Silverstein, help us all to see,
Anything can happen, sir.
Anything can be.
Oh, Sister Milverstein, I am just slo bue.
Runny Babbit yisses mou
And I yiss mou, too.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
May 19, 2019
MY SOPHIA ROSE
At the age of seven, Sophie built a hand bouquet for me, a few items at a time. When it was complete, I told her how beautiful it was. The short conversation that ensued may not exactly be a poem, but it is sheer poetry to me, and will reside in my heart forever:
It’s complete? It’s beautiful, Sophie. Thank you!
It’s your personality, Nonna.
This bouquet is my personality? What do you mean? What would you say is my personality?Eternal happiness and love for everyone.
Oh, Sophie … that is so sweet. Thank you! And what would you say is YOUR personality?
I’m love, too. And care for everyone, everywhere.
Light emanating
from an unsullied child’s heart
sparks a better us.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
May 16, 2019
ALL I KNOW IS THIS
When my kids were in school, I prayed for them.
Shooting up requests to God
for them to learn
respect their teachers
make friends.
Now, my granddaughters are in school, and I pray for them.
Pleading with God
for no bomb threats
sex trafficking
shooting up.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
May 16, 2019
POSITIVELY NOT
You’re cute as a button, you mouse,
Discovered today by my spouse.
You’re pudgy and furry,
But you better scurry –
You do not belong in my house!
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
😀
May 12, 2019
Sentimental Longing
nos·tal·gia /näˈstaljə,nəˈstaljə/ – noun.
A sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations.
I’d say that everyone looks back on their childhood fondly.
But the unfortunate truth is that is unfortunately untrue,
and that unfortunate truth means I was truly fortunate.
In spite of that wording being almost comically convoluted,
it is written through tears of genuine gratitude.
My parents were simple and loving.
They infused me with a love for simple things.
Perhaps it was the times. Just the way life was.
But I don’t think so.
I think if they were to start over,
this time would be no different.
Family would still be priority.
There would still be no such thing as coming home
to an empty house.
Music would still fill the soul.
All my love, and love me always would still grace every note
in every house we call home.
I love you. You know that.
Yes Mom. I do know that. You lived it every day,
even when Alzheimer’s threatened to erase us
like chalk on a board,
leaving only ghostly swipes.
Longing to return to childhood
for one more day. One more hug.
One more chance to watch Mighty Mouse
T-boned on the floor with Dad,
my head using his tummy as a pillow.
One more turn to curl up in Mom’s lap,
rocked in the very chair that now sits across from me
as I write this poem, longing to hear her voice.
“I love you. You know that.”
© Marie Elena, 2019
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I miss your beautiful face and gentle love.
pictured words 