pictured words

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

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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

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March 2, 2025

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

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

February 2, 2025

Call Me Home

Call Me Home

She’s lived with me twenty-four years now.
She loves me.
She appreciates how cheerful I am,
no matter what is happening in her life.
Even those who visit us feel my sunny spirit.
No matter her day,
I know how to make her relax.

Her gait has slowed
more than she likely realizes.
I hear and feel her shuffle
across my hardwood floors.
Sometimes she seems to catch herself, and
picks up her feet a while.
The shuffle returns.
It always returns.

More and more, I hear

pauses

as she searchers for a lost word.
She often discovers the first letter,
but can’t retrieve the remainder.
Then sometimes I’ll hear, “All gone.”
Just like her mother used to say.

My post stands at the bottom
of the steps leading to the basement.
It bears my weight,
and the weight of her worry.
Might she or someone she loves
fall and hit their head on my post?
What are the chances of survival?

I hear her and her husband
as they contemplate their future with me.
Perhaps make my guest bedroom
a half-bath and laundry —
eliminate the need for stairs.
But it’s a part of me she admires
just as I am.

She’s lived with me twenty-four years now,
and hopes for twenty-four more.
Maybe her husband and I can make that happen.
I know he’d be on board with it.
She and I are a good team,
making him more cheerful and relaxed, too.

© Marie Elena Good, 2025

1 Comment

January 26, 2025

I PACE, AS I FACE MY GOD

I PACE, AS I FACE MY GOD

Lamenting. Praying for His intervention. Seeking Him through tears that feel like they could flood my floor. I contemplate how my Jesus, co-Creator and sovereign over all of it, describes Himself as “gentle and lowly of heart.” It’s not part of who He is, it is who He is. Gentle and lowly is His driving force. It is the force behind His strength. It is His very being. I pray this for my country. I beg this for my country. May our heartbeat become gentle. Lowly. May this be our strength, who we are, and how we are known.

One man. One moment.
Hearts ruptured. Lives imperiled.
One swipe of a pen.

2 Comments

January 19, 2025

COMFORT FOOD

Aunt Dora (these were the good ole days)

COMFORT FOOD

Mom’s homemade pizza
and cinnamon rolls that she
made with extra dough

and her homemade pies
and cinnamon rolls made with
extra pie crust dough

chicken paprikash
rich with a sour cream gravy,
served with dinner rolls

stuffed green peppers, or
Italian sausage sandwich
with onion, pepper,

and mayo on a
bun, served with potato chips,
onion dip, and pop

oil-popped popcorn, made
on the stove in Dad’s old pot,
buttered and salted

Aunt Shirley’s cheese ball
Aunt Peg’s roast beef with gravy
and all the fixin’s

and her to-die-for
apple dumplings covered with
hard vanilla sauce

Grandpa Dunn’s bacon
Grandma’s pancakes swimming in
real maple syrup

Toast, and tea served in
my teapot from Grandma Dunn
when I was unwell

All that came out of
Aunt Dora’s basement kitchen
that begged us, “sit down.”

Aunt Judy’s version
of Aunt Dora’s sauce, which she
claimed was never right 😉

homegrown tomato-
spaghetti sauce with meatballs
that simmered all day

and was poured over
capellini (angel hair)
served with garlic bread

Grandma Marchionte’s mush
piled on a breadboard from which
we kids all chowed down

believe it or not
fried bologna sandwiches
blackened, with mustard …

But it’s what’s in the
air that most brings me comfort:
scents of memories.

pictured words

March 16, 2025

Eye of the Beholder

March 9, 2025

Maternal Strength (Mother of Exiles)

March 2, 2025

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

February 18, 2025

UNTIED STATE OF AMERICA

February 16, 2025

New Neighbors

February 10, 2025

NO PARTY FOR ME

February 9, 2025

TWENTY TWENTY FIVE

February 2, 2025

Call Me Home

January 26, 2025

I PACE, AS I FACE MY GOD

January 19, 2025

COMFORT FOOD