pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

Tag: Christmas

THANKSGIVING FOR CHRISTMAS

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As he flies through the sky at the blink of an eye (with that jolly guy wink), I can’t help but think – while our hearts are aglow, our thanks ranks too low.  So I’ve wrapped up my best – blessed, and addressed to “That Jolly Olde Soul at The North Pole,” including some kisses for Kris AND his missus (it’s apropos)  – sans mistletoe. 😉

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

SACRED NIGHT

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In Bethlehem, did silent snow
fall soft upon a crèche,
that holy night when star aglow
announced God in the Flesh?

Although the chances may be slim
snow graced the Christ child’s birth,
it oft adorns Yule’s art and hymn,
as we fête Peace on Earth.

Perhaps it speaks of Spotless Lamb,
on silent, holy night —
Redeeming Gift of Great I Am,
reflecting Love’s Pure Light.

And though I may project snow dreams
on this most sacred eve,
I honor Babe whose love-light beams –
this One whom I believe.

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

Hippopota Missus. (My sequel to, “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas”)

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My Christmas hippo wants a hippo missus.
Only a hippopotamiss will do.
Don’t want a dog. No kitty, nor Marie.
He wants a hippo Mrs. placed beneath the Christmas tree.

My Christmas hippo wants a hippo missus.
Only a hippopotamiss will do.
I didn’t think this through, when asking Santa Claus
to give a hippopotamus to me for ‘just because.’

I can see him now on Christmas morning,
creeping down the stairs.
Of course, he doesn’t creep, and the stairs are way too steep
To hold a hippo wobbling in his sleep.

My Christmas hippo wants a hippo missus.
Only a hippopotamiss will do.
I love my hippo friend, I love him through and through
I have a hippopotamus, I don’t think I need two.

 But I don’t want my hippo to be blue!

 I tell my hippo
we don’t have room for more.
He tells me he’s not asking for a 12-foot dinosaur.

I should have known that he
would need more than just me
And should have seen that he would need a hippopota-she!

I can see him now on Christmas morning,
creeping down the stairs.
Of course, he doesn’t creep, and the stairs are way too steep
To hold a hippo wobbling in his sleep.

Then Santa brought a missus for my hippo.
Only a hippopotamiss would do.
His hippopota missus gives hippo-lotta-kisses,
And now they’re both in hippopota-bliss!

 My hippo loves his hippopotamiss!

© Marie Elena Good, 2010 (and revised in 2018)

SONLIGHT

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In darkness of cave
Defeater of Grave was born –
a King, unadorned.

In stillness of night,
as prophets did write, a birth –
the Light Of The Earth.

In grayness of sky
and depth of blue sigh,  dear one,
delight in The Son.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

A WOMAN, CALLED (Second Sonnet to Mary, Mother of God)

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And who would take my word, this pregnant teen,
Who claimed an angel visited my room,
To tell me God Himself had set the scene
To place His Very Son inside my womb?

And how could I say anything but “Yes,
Be done to me according to Your word.”
And how could I be anything but blessed,
When first The Living Word within me stirred.

And how was I to know that God’s own Son
Would start His life inside a feeding trough,
And end on crucifix  (would anyone?),
Exploited, battered, bartered, “crowned,” and scoffed.

And when I think my womb shared blood with God,
Who gave me life? I’m humbled, blessed, and awed.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

OF HUMBLE MEANS (Sonnet to the Newborn King)

 

 

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Public domain photo

Expectant couple travels far and fierce.|
She, full with child, atop a gentle ass.
He, worried as her sighs begin to pierce,
And finding there’s no room in inns they pass.

He, with no proper room to birth her child,
Secures a proffered stable to take rest.
The Babe comes quickly, there amidst the wild.
He frees her Son, and lays Him at her breast.

The Newborn listens to the bleating sheep.
The feeding trough He lies in smells of hay.
His weary mother tries to get some sleep,
Through rolling sounds of cry and bleat and bray.

Great throngs of angels revel in this day –
In lowly trough, there lies The Truth.  The Way.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

Extravagance of the season

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Photo by Deanna Marie Metts

The extravagance 
of the season, embodied:
God, wrapped in infant.

 

 

My Favorite Christmas Things (to the tune of My Favorite Things)

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Banister greenery, tied with red ribbon.
Moonlit iced tree branches sparkle and glisten.
Carolers harmonize laughter with song.
Uplifting lyrics ring all season long.

Silver-belled streetlamps are charmingly pretty,
Casting their glow on the streets of the city.
Life-sized nativity graces a lawn.
Warmth from a hay bale entices a fawn.

Crystal-like snowflakes that shimmer and twinkle.
Enchanted children, with noses that crinkle.
Scents of warm sugar that waft through the air.
Sense of the kindness of folks everywhere.

Children’s wonder
Peaceful slumber
‘neath a silent snow

The best of the season
all point to the reason –
the birth of a Babe I know.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

HOW SILENT?

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Photo: Marie Elena Good

As cattle low and donkeys bray,
A worried man begins to pray.
“She’s weary, Lord, and birth pains loom,
We need an Inn, but none have room.”
A stable with a bed of hay
Affords them with a place to stay.
 
She lies amongst the bleating sheep –
Where there she finds no peace for sleep.
The hour of our Savior’s birth
Sweet angel voices sing His worth,
While Satan howls – himself, enraged
In knowing that a war’s been waged
A war the Babe Himself will win –
To free us from our senseless sin.
 
Beneath the sacred star-lit night,
How silent was that holy night?
 
 
(C) Marie Elena Good, 2010
 

Attention Deficit Christmas (to the tune of Jingle Bells)

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Photo by Deanna Marie Metts

Dashing through the thoughts

Of an A.D.D.-fraught head.

Presents to be bought;

Writing this instead.

Pretty snow outside

Calling me to play

“Ought to/want to” soon collide

Now, which will win today?

Hey!

Cards to write! Sweets to bake!

Stockings to be hung!

Presents to be bought and wrapped, and carols to be sung!

Hey!

Cards to write! Sweets to bake!

Stockings to be hung!

Presents to be bought and wrapped, and carols to be sung!

Dashing through the mall

In a state of frenzied fear.

Busy! Aren’t we all?

It’s that time of year!

Who did I forget?

Did I check my list out twice?

Then I break into a sweat

For paying retail price!

Oh!

Cards to write! Sweets to bake!

Stockings to be hung!

Presents to be bought and wrapped, and carols to be sung!

Hey!

Cards to write! Sweets to bake!

Stockings to be hung!

Presents to be bought and wrapped, and carols to be sung!

As I sit and write

And I work to make this rhyme,

Joy creeps in despite

I’m running out of time

To do the things I must

Like write my Christmas cards.

Instead I sit and look nonplussed –

Give judgment my regards.

Oh!

Things to do! Things to do!

Running out of time!

Cannot pull myself away from working on this rhyme.

Hey!

Things to do! Things to do!

But I’m not uptight.

Oh what fun it was to write a Christmas poem tonight!

Hey!

(c) Marie Elena Good, 2010