pictured words

Remember When

you were a child, afraid
of trying something new
balking at the color
texture
odor

untrusting of where it came from
afraid it might hurt you
even though some you know
and even trust
happily partook regularly
and encouraged you
just try it.

Remember when
you thought about a sample
just a tiny one
and thought perhaps it might not be
as risky as you feared
and in fact maybe
it might be tolerable.

Remember when
you matured enough
to actually test those waters
and found them to be okay
and maybe even appealing
and maybe even begged
another try
and then you discovered
you loved it
and that you even felt better
when you had it as a regular
maybe even daily
part of your sustenance
and did everything you could
to make sure it was right here
where it could fill you up.

And maybe I’m not talking about food.

© Marie Elena Good 2025

#welcomethestranger

4 Comments

March 23, 2025

I am

“I am”

It is a small book –
just seventy-five pages
cover to cover.

As the pages turn,
the voices of brave women
speak in harmony

using a language
they did not grow up speaking;
now trying to learn.

Here, they’ve been given
the opportunity to
escape grave danger.

Their stories speak of
the safety afforded them
here in the U.S.

They came here via
invitation. Legally.
and “through the front door.”

And though they miss home,
they “know” they are safe. Some for
the very first time

in their entire life.
They enrich our lives with their
smiles and love.

They pay their taxes.
They obey our laws. They are
happy to be here.

But there is a “but.”
The safety they felt sure of
when they wrote, “I am”

swiftly disappeared.
From one semester of school
to the next, it’s gone.

The front door has slammed.
Families are being shoved
out through the back door.

Insecurity
is gripping them once again.
We’ve become lawless.

They’ve become victims
of we who invited them,
then pointed fingers

shouted “criminal!”
and decided they are a
danger to our lives.

We have no reason.
They have no recourse.

March 18, 2025

Beauty

Beauty

It isn’t my thing,
the glaring sun against sand
‘neath cloudless blue sky.

Sand beneath my feet
and waves washing shells ashore
hold little appeal.

Give me falling snow;
leaves crunching beneath bike tires;
charitable eyes.

There is no beauty
in the pearly white smile that
gleams self-interest.

Now this is beauty:
Jesus, gentle and lowly,
showing us His way.

Let me see Jesus
in your face; hear Him in the
song your kindness sings.

May He teach me how
to sing tender notes, and may
you hear Him in me.

© Marie Elena Good 2025

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4 Comments

March 16, 2025

Eye of the Beholder

Eye of the Beholder

Some of the most
physically gorgeous
sincere
generous
intelligent
strongest
kindest women I know —
women I have the privilege of loving
and being loved by —

scream.

Not with their voices

but with their color
covering
accent
mother tongue.

They scream,
Foreigner!
Criminal!
Unsafe!
Unwelcome!

The beautiful truths in their hearts
are misperceived.
They are viewed as ugly lies
in the eyes of the listeners
who hear only what they are told
to hear.

If only you knew them.
If only you were willing
to spend time
communicating
communing
sharing food
exchanging smiles
searching their eyes
tracing their hearts
experiencing their generosity,

your hate and fear would
shut up
shut down.

Your heart and home would
open
expand
make way.

You would hear not screams, but
intelligent ideas
endearing emotions
liberal benevolence
soothing sentiments

and you would do anything in your power
to protect their lives and their hearts,
and protect your relationship with them.

Anything.

© Marie Elena Good 2025

4 Comments

March 9, 2025

Maternal Strength (Mother of Exiles)

Maternal Strength (Mother of Exiles)

Her light, once shining full and bright,
now dim from weeks-long dark of night.
Her eyes glimpse loss of prized allies.
Tear-flooded eyes say their goodbyes
to those once-welcomed, now in throes
of deportation, unopposed.

“Rise up!” She pleads, “to stop this man
who’s changed our core in six-weeks’ span.”
Maternal strength with nurturing spirit,
sing your welcome! Let us hear it!
Shine bright your lamp and wail your plea,
“Send poor and tempest-tossed to me!”

Title and final line of course inspired by The New Colossus, by American poet Emma Lazarus

2 Comments

March 2, 2025

In Like a Lion. Out Like a Lamb. (2 poems)

AI generated image

In Like a Lion

An apex predator vying for position,
he dons an illegitimate crown
and struts it
around the world stage.

He marks his territory
leaving a stench —
his pride
sniffing rank.

He joins forces with males
who also relish the roar —
none of whom have reached
maturity.

Out Like a Lamb (Found in God’s word)

And he said, “Behold
the Lamb of God – He who takes
away the world’s sins.” ~ John, the baptist

“… for I am gentle
and lowly in heart, and you’ll
find rest for your souls.” ~ Jesus, the Christ

“Like a lamb that is
led to the slaughter – so He
opened not His mouth —

Though He had done no
violence, and there was no
deceit in His mouth.” ~ Isaiah, the prophet

2 Comments

February 18, 2025

UNTIED STATE OF AMERICA

Untied State of America

Too many are in a state in which to appease this would-be king is a thing. Too many in power cower to the flurry of EOs. And I worry: are we in the throes of war? The doors of our neighbors slam and lock as they balk at what we have become … in one month’s time. A crime. America, loosed from friends who have deduced we are behind this unraveling, is disjointed. We’ve appointed a king, know it or not. Formerly brothers, we are now others in the sight of those who once had our back. They see what we don’t. Or won’t. Their eyes are open to the dulling of the shining city on the hill, while our king is culling our allies at his will.

Your falling isn’t
from the attacks of others,
my country, ‘tis of thee.

© Marie Elena Good, 2025

February 16, 2025

New Neighbors

New Neighbors

It’s dark. I see the lit porchlight across the street. A glow shines from inside the home. For several years, there were no lights. It seemed no one lived there, but I knew better. The house used to be graced with a family. Then, only the man remained. He seldom came and went. When darkness fell, the house disappeared.

There’s something about
how the light warms the snow, and
how love warms the house.

1 Comment

February 10, 2025

NO PARTY FOR ME

No Party for Me

I cannot vote for
killing babies in the womb
or outside the womb

killing grown babies
we send off to fight a war
to never come home

or come home missing —
pieces of themselves murdered —
never to come back.

I cannot vote for
babies who grew up to think
it is okay to

endanger those of
different cultures – cultures
they were taught don’t love

and that they are not
welcome to safety, if their
safety is near you

if their safety costs
dollars from a rich nation,
or even if not.

If their safety might
make you even just a bit
uncomfortable

then it isn’t worth
your time or your energy,
even if you find

it costs none of that.

I cannot vote for
babies who never grew up
never grew out of

thinking more highly
of themselves than others, and
showing it daily.

I cannot vote for
those unwilling to see that
some people need help

not because they are
unwilling to work, and not
because they’re lazy.

I cannot vote for
those who want to take away
American rights —

even those rights that
perhaps I disagree with,
or don’t understand.

I have no party.
I have no candidate, but
I love my country

and I will fight to
hold fast the America
that’s slipping away.

© Marie Elena Good, 2025

February 9, 2025

TWENTY TWENTY FIVE

Twenty Twenty Five

My year’s focus word
is listen. I chose it, not
knowing what’s to come.

The last twenty days,
I see myself shouting on
social media.

The need to be heard
in daunting times is real, but
shouting gets tuned out,

so is left unheard.
And yet, the need is still there.
I can’t help but shout.

The last twenty days,
my listening turned to an
Intense need to scream.

I don’t scream outdoors
out of respect and care for
all of my neighbors.

I don’t scream indoors
for fear of terrifying
my loving husband.

I scream inside me,
silently, lest I drown out
my God’s still, small voice.

© Marie Elena Good, 2025

5 Comments