My interview with Earl Parsons at Poetic Bloomings
EARL PARSONS
pictured words
a simple pairing of pictures and poetry
September 26, 2018
THE MAGIC OF TRANSCENDENCE
Forgive me,
saintly populous,
for using the nonspiritual term
“magic”
to describe the heart at peace
in the midst of chaos.
To describe the allure
of the God who passes
all superhero wonders,
as He lifts us from our
reckless selves,
to lean against His heart
and absorb His peace.
But if that isn’t magic …
© Marie Elena Good
September 23, 2018
LOCKED
“Pandora’s Box” prompt and photo, provided by Walter Wojtanik of Poetic Bloomings
Out of fear
(or worse — indifference)
she waited too long
to unlock the trunk she daily
(habitually)
avoided. Tripped over. Pretended wasn’t there.
Summoning the courage, she unlocked it.
Discovered a long-lost page.
Dulled. Faded. Not easily read.
Less easily understood.
For times had changed,
and, therefore,
the truths that had shaped them.
Right?
As she tried to examine
and understand,
she began to question
everything.
Perhaps wrong paths had been taken.
Destructive habits had formed.
Perhaps what was true, then,
was no less true, now.
Perhaps times change,
but truths remain.
Perhaps it was up to her
to unlock
release
embrace.
© Marie Elena Good, 2018
September 21, 2018
NORTHWEST OHIO
I live among the oak, and pine.
The locust. The buckeye.
The sugar and silver maples.
Home is dappled sunlight.
In nearby fields, green corn and soy,
orange pumpkins, or golden wheat
contrast against intense-blue sky.
No wonder why the man I love
longs to return to farming the land,
missing the “big toys” he used to enjoy.
The open fields that call his name,
and leave space for breath and prayer.
© Marie Elena Good, 2018
September 19, 2018
I Get to Dance, but Don’t
I have two feet
one left, one right
and I could dance
and think I might
but somewhere deep
I know I won’t.
I don’t know how
and so I don’t.
© Marie Elena Good, 2018
September 16, 2018
CURIOSITUNITES
Castoff the conception that curiosity
killed the cat.
Inquisitiveness is
the origin of opportunity.
Actually, cultivated curiosity
converts to curiositunity,
and curiositunity
attracts astounding actuality.
© Marie Elena Good, 2018
September 10, 2018
A CORD OF THREE STRANDS
They began, young.
Lovely and in love
Healthy and hopeful
Playful and promising
To have and to hold
From this day
Forward, fast
Furiously fading
As Alzheimer’s attempts
To dilute and damage
Life and love
Strongly seduced.
Still,
Promise prevailed.
“All my love, and love me always”
In illness and health,
Held by God’s hands
And the cord of three strands,
Stands
Against all
Ashes to ashes
Forever co-mingled
In the perpetual presence
Of the One who,
Singly, and synchronously,
Breathed life
And an always love.
© Marie Elena Good, 2018
“And if someone overpowers one person, two can resist him. A cord of three strands is not easily broken.” ~ Ecclesiastes 4:12
Forever my love to Mom and Dad, now eternally at rest, in the presence of the One.
September 9, 2018
INTERMENT DAY
All day, the sky shed tears, and I,
at times.
I prayed no more tears, graveside,
but they fell
and fell
on faulty umbrellas
and baying bagpipe
and wailing sax
and tone of Taps
and stars
and stripes
and dated stones
and downcast cheeks
and woeful thoughts
and hard-fought fear
while lavish love
flowed fierce and full,
affecting a fragrance
of
unreserved grace.
© Marie Elena Good, 2018
Patricia A. Fagnano
March 16, 1931 – February 9, 2018
James F. Fagnano
January 7, 1932 – March 15, 2018
Mom and Dad, laid to rest.
In the presence of God
and the hearts of all,
the hardest day of my life,
and a thing of beauty
at once.
September 8, 2018
On the anniversary of their wedding.
September 7, 2018
THERE ARE TIMES (AND WE ARE IN THEM)
There are times (and we are in them)
when people communicate
without vision,
in every way in which that phrase
may be defined.
There are times (and we are in them)
when truth seems intangible,
and lies lie before us.
With us.
In us.
There are times (and we are in them)
when the enemy of our souls
thinks he has the best of us,
because we give him reason.
There are times (and we are in them)
when the God who created all
sees His creation through eyes
we cannot even glimpse,
much less grasp.
There are times (and we are in them)
when this same God
immeasurably loves His weak children
and holds our downcast, shamed faces
in His hands.
There are times (and we are in them)
when the need for one another
is greater than the sum total
of the sin we daily live.
There are times (and we are in them)
that crave recognition of
our Savior’s costly love for us –
to help us see ourselves and others
for what we are:
children
in need of love.
© Marie Elena Good, 2018
September 2, 2018
TIME IS OF THE ES-SCENTS
Too much time to toil
smells like coffee break.
Too much time to broil
stinks of ruined steak.
Too much time spent mowing
smells of outside, in.
Too much time spent crowing
reeks of haughty din.
Time spent giving speeches
hints of stage-fright sweat.
Time spent strolling beaches?
Stale outlook reset.
Wasted time on druthers
leaves stench day-to-day.
Time spent loving others
breathes in sweet bouquet.
© Marie Elena Good
