pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

Tag: Comfort

MILKY WAY

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In last night’s sky
I saw hundreds of stars
above me,
and I remembered
Michigan’s night sky,
when you and I stood
beneath not hundreds
but billions
or trillions
and I wished
I could take them home.

In last night’s sky
I saw hundreds of stars
above me.
Today, not even one.
Not even the sun.

But now?
Now, I know they are here –

billions
and trillions
and even the sun,
and even when I see
not even one.

And I see no need
to take them home,

for now I see
they are my home.

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

AUTUMN’S BIKE TRAILS

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When fall visits,
we crisscross the trail –
never tiring
of the crunch of crisp leaves
beneath us,
savoring childlike fun.

The brisk, fresh air
invigorates –
motivates us to
ride further,
sometimes pausing
to capture photos
of fall foliage, fields
dotted with orange pumpkin;
orchards with red apples.

Bushed and beaming,
we head home,
cautiously peering
around multi-colored leaf
piles raked to the curb –
some taller
than the cars avoiding them.

Home,
warm and cozy,
fire in the fireplace,
popcorn popping,
already reminiscing,

hoping tomorrow
is more of the same.

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

FOR POETIC BLOOMINGS AUTUMNAL POEM-A-DAY CHAPBOOK CHALLENGE, 2018, DAY 9:  SOUP

COMFORT FOOD

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My comfort foods are piping hot.
They never fail to hit the spot.
I’ll savor solace that they’ve brought,
And when I’m done, my coffee pot.

For where is comfort in cold foods,
That cannot warm cold attitudes
And never will they change foul moods.
There’s nothing cozy in cold foods.

But I could swear that buttered rolls
Can hinder malice in cold souls,
As can hot pies and big warm bowls
Of soups and stews and casseroles.

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

 

FOR POETIC BLOOMINGS AUTUMNAL POEM-A-DAY CHAPBOOK CHALLENGE, 2018, DAY 8:  COMFORT FOOD

SAVING SOUNDS

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They’ve not been gone long.
Just a few month’s time.
Sometimes I hear her laugh.
His voice, singing,
“I don’t buy sugar  —
Just touch my cup.”
Her coffeemaker’s sizzle.
His, “Go Bucks.”
Her, “I love you.  —
You know that.”
His drums.
Her sigh.

I clutch these sounds —
Secure them to my heart,
And listen to its beat.

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

BURY AN ANGEL

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Tell me, please, just how to speak
To pain that dwells within hell’s flames
And taunts a further depth to seek.

(Prayers, please, for a young teen mother who found her two-month-old baby dead in her crib this morning.  Prayers also, please, for the pastor of her church, who is in such pain for her that he does not know how to give her any comfort and answer her sobbing pleas of “why?”  Just heartbreaking …)