I loved gardening
beneath sun and deep blue sky
in sensible shoes.
I loved Keith as he
painted old cheap plastic pots
‘seventies Corvettes.
I loved filling them
with flamboyant petunias,
modest marigolds.
I loved settling in,
sipping black coffee, watching
red robins rummage.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
Scarlet graces black
bough and ground below. Silent
snow spills scant and slow.
Once butter-winged finch
faded, flutters. Winter cinched.
Wonder underway.
© Marie Elena Good, 2018
Reflections of autumn’s trees on Rose Lake in Ohio’s Hocking Hills region. Photo credit: Keith R. Good
Describing “yellow” leaves in fall, for me,
Does not at all depict their cheerful gleam
As sunlight spills as liquid through the trees,
And they themselves could light the day, it seems.
So also “orange” can’t describe the bliss
That autumn’s gorgeous vista just compels.
And though I can’t rename it, I know this:
Fall’s celebrated color casts its spells.
My favored autumn shades though are the reds:
From rosy blush to crimson, fire-and-iced.
They fairly flaunt and flame as they turn heads.
There’s no way common “red” would have sufficed.
How can we label paints and pens of God
That leave us reverential, praise-filled, awed ?
© Marie Elena Good, 2018
FOR POETIC BLOOMINGS AUTUMNAL POEM-A-DAY CHAPBOOK CHALLENGE, 2018, DAY 11: CRIMSON
Its very shadows fall uniquely fall
And that begins the season, in my eyes.
Trees flame with reds, or yellow fireballs
As autumn’s colors blaze against blue skies.
It sets my heart alight, and makes me smile.
Its cool air feels delightful to breathe in.
Its mood ignites a passion in my soul.
It is my chosen season – long has been.
Trees captivate me as their colors spill,
Like kindling for reflections long-since gone –
The merriment my child-heart treasures, still.
So much to love … excuse my rambling on …
But passion for Ohio’s autumn days
Will burn in me forever and always.
© Marie Elena Good, 2018
FOR POETIC BLOOMINGS AUTUMNAL POEM-A-DAY CHAPBOOK CHALLENGE, 2018, DAY 3: FIRE
Photo credit: Keith R. Good
Way back, when I was just a little girl
My heart fell hard and fast for autumn’s charms.
As summer ends, the joys of fall unfurl,
With football, marching bands, and pumpkin farms.
Drum cadence seems to beat within my chest
As scarlet, gold, and ginger grace our trees.
The scents of burning leaves, and apples pressed,
Or baked ‘tween flaky crusts, give me weak knees.
When sun shines full in autumn’s deep blue sky,
Or harvest moon looms larger than my home,
It simply leaves me breathless. My-oh-my,
I cannot paint my fondness in a poem.
I have this wish – believe me, it’s sincere –
I wish fall lingered ten more months per year.
© Marie Elena Good, 2018
Photo credit: Today I Found Out
I began as Flesh,
But only because it was 1958,
And they didn’t yet understand
A white baby may have a tint
Of Raw Sienna.
No understanding that changing Indian Red
To Chestnut is not only untrue,
But negates a child’s ability to learn
That Indian Red describes a pigment native
To India,
And not the skin of a Native American,
Or for that matter, the ability to learn what it meant to be
Prussian.
Was it easier to change Prussian to Midnight,
Than to teach us the blues of history?
And sixteen new colors were added that year, and
When I turned four I was no longer Flesh,
But Peach.
Peach with still no tint,
And no understanding that Peach is not white,
And I am not white, and I am not Peach.
But colors are sharp,
And when the summer sun shines
On sixty four colors left on Grandma’s porch,
They can run together
and
Permanently
Mingle.
© Marie Elena Good
Photo by Keith R. Good
Hushed splendor
echoes through rich autumn forests,
softly laden
with a palette of Eden’s origin.
As I absorb the beauty of the earth –
The vast array of color, feel, and taste
My senses quicken as I deem its worth
I pause to grasp this gift with which we’re graced.
What love has our Creator, that He chose
To lavish us with splendor, needlessly?
This symphony of love that He composed
Delights and serenades unceasingly.
Magnificence displayed in all there is.
The palette, infinite – the pleasure, His.
pictured words 