pictured words
a simple pairing of pictures and poetry
March 24, 2019
CONVERSATIONAL ENGLISH CLASS (a Naani)
Countless countries,
make-ups, cultures, and creeds
learning the language
through laughter and love.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
March 16, 2019
THIS IS WHAT VALOR LOOKS LIKE
What do I know of my mother falling
dead at my teenage feet.
What do I know of being
blown apart in body
and spirit
at the hands of an enemy I didn’t choose.
What do I know of channeling
raging pain
into charity for my fellow man.
What do I know of love
born of anguish.
This, benevolent and boundless.
What do I know of smiling
eyes, lips, heart
for every being in my path.
What do I know of heroism
but for you?
© Marie Elena Good, edited 2019
(original penned 2013)
March 13, 2019
BY NO MEANS
By no means do I like to travel
On water, air, pavement, or gravel.
So by all means, go.
I’ll stay put. (You know,
Ain’t pretty to see me unravel).
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
March 3, 2019
TRI-ANGLES
Photo by Deanna Marie Metts
I.
They say we shouldn’t talk politics or religion
so, religiously,
we blind our eyes,
plug our ears,
close our minds,
and open our mouths.
II.
They say we shouldn’t talk politics or religion
so, religiously,
we shun politics
while we de-bate what hooked us
and dragged us to our knees.
III.
They say we shouldn’t talk politics or religion
so, religiously,
we set our jaws, and type
with furious fingers –
too often the same fingers that have
never cast a ballot,
raised themselves to seek answers to questions,
nor folded themselves to silently seek the
One
we religiously shun.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
February 24, 2019
ENDOWED, ALL
When I consider He who made all things,
In awe, I bow before this King of kings –
This One whose creativity’s arrayed,
And in whose image, we have all been made.
Creator, He, and so creators, we.
He gifted us with this ability.
So all creative ways point to our God.
Let us then recognize, give thanks, and laud.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
February 18, 2019
ALL IN THE SAME BOAT (Or, “Idyllic,” a Sonnet for Political Sanity)
Photo by Keith R. Good
When I consider all, from left to right,
I find myself smack dab in center’s eye.
But I am now okay with that, despite
The pressures of a partisan outcry.
Those right of me say I should think as they,
And fault me for the way I lean more left.
While to my left are those who stand dismayed
That I am not (in their minds) more “progressed.”
Yet are we not one vessel, stern to bow?
We need to row as one, or we will sink!
And so let’s work together to learn how
Our center, left, and right can interlink.
Let’s turn off the contemptuous hate speech,
And focus on the positives of each.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
February 13, 2019
UNSPOKEN
PHOTO BY KEITH R. GOOD
She fights to connect.
Even her thoughts are wordless,
she says. And I nod
as if I can grasp
telepathically , and
put music to it –
noting nuances
in tune with fluent fretting –
non-verbal vetting
of elusive words
she only needs for we who
don’t speak her spirit.
© Marie Elena Good
February 10, 2019
THE VALUE OF FAMILY AND THIRTY FIVE DAYS
One year ago, today,
we unexpectedly secured
a one-bedroom apartment for Dad,
and moved him into it.
It was just down the hall from Mom and Dad’s place,
where Mom had passed in the wee hours prior.
A back-and-forth blur
of family
furniture
clothes
drums
wood carvings and wood-carving tools
kitchen supplies
medications
wheelchairs
walkers
jazz,
and love,
until one space was empty,
and the other, full
of sunlight and life
that dared each other
shine.
Food followed.
A feast, really,
provided by cousins.
All of us squeezed
‘round a long table
with Dad at one end,
and Mom’s brother and her identical twin
at the other,
between which
more conversation and laughter managed to flow
than tears.
Who could have known
a mere thirty five days later,
the one-bedroom’s sunlight would be called to shine
alone.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
February 10, 2019
BRIGHT AS DAY
It’s the meaning of her name,
and I claim there is something to it,
as in days of old testament.
But multiple impediments seized her
mind
energy
sight
voice.
Her very soul.
The whole of her,
splintered.
The light of her,
wintered.
But her God is not flawed,
nor silenced.
As her spirit returns
and yearns to be,
I see her flame ignite,
and hope shines
Bright as Day.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
pictured words 