pictured words

THE DIME

Izzy

I know impish Izzy who swallowed a dime
But I don’t know why she swallowed the dime.
Perhaps I’ll rhyme.

I know impish Izzy who swallowed banana
that tasted so sweet and that came from Cabana.
She swallowed banana to push down the dime.
But I don’t know why she swallowed the dime.
Perhaps I’ll rhyme.

I know impish Izzy is waiting to poop.
And each time she does, Momma’s needing to “snoop.”
She swallowed banana that came from Cabana.
She swallowed banana to push down the dime
But I don’t know why she swallowed the dime.
Perhaps I’ll rhyme.

I know a sweet Momma who thinks this all stinks.
Whose sweet little Izzy is full of high jinx
And while she’s high jinxing, she’s waiting to poop
And each time she does, Momma’s needing to snoop.
She swallowed banana that came from Cabana.
She swallowed banana to push down the dime
But I don’t know why she swallowed the dime.
Perhaps I’ll rhyme.

I know impish Izzy, who gives us a run
For proverbial money. She’s playful, that one.
Her sweet little Momma just thinks this all stinks,
While Izzy is impish and full of high jinx
And while she’s high jinxing, she’s waiting to poop
And each time she does, Momma’s needing to snoop.
She swallowed banana that came from Cabana.
She swallowed banana to push down the dime
But I don’t know why she swallowed the dime.
Perhaps I’ll rhyme.

Our Izzy is loaded with life and fun sass.
And as for the dime? Well, this too shall pass.

(And you ALL knew THAT was coming! )

Inspired also, of course by:
I KNOW AN OLD LADY
by Rose Bonne and Alan Mills

2 Comments

April 30, 2017

THE GOD I KNOW (a sonnet to my Savior)

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Bleeding Heart Photo by Deanna Marie Metts

I used to think I knew the God I know.
But over time, I’ve come to know Him more.
More intimately close than long ago,
I’ve learned more of this Heart I can’t ignore.

In part, I’ve come to recognize my sin
As more egregious than I had before.
This veil of righteousness is wispy thin,
For I am but a sinner at my core.

The realization of the heart of God,
Whose love spilled blood for even such as I
(A seemingly good woman, deeply flawed),
Just makes me long to praise and glorify

The One who drew me to Him as a child,
In whom I’ve grown remarkably beguiled.

8 Comments

April 27, 2017

words crack open

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Photo by Keith R. Good

words crack open

some willingly
spilling

some win-
some
some wince-
some

some pester
and fester

some swoon
in moonlit sky

and wonder
why
she’s deaf

to their cry

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

4 Comments

April 22, 2017

HOW IT ENDED (fable)

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.

2 Comments

April 16, 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.

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

4 Comments

April 13, 2017

ANDREA

12381964

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.

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

12 Comments

April 11, 2017

A SOMBER SONNET, THIS

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.

*Izzy’s first haircut! 😀

5 Comments

April 10, 2017

UNITED

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

#seventeensyllablesfortwentyseventeen
#aprilpad

April 6, 2017

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.

8 Comments

April 6, 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.

2 Comments