When I consider He who made all things,
In awe, I bow before this King of kings –
This One whose creativity’s arrayed,
And in whose image, we have all been made.
Creator, He, and so creators, we.
He gifted us with this ability.
So all creative ways point to our God.
Let us then recognize, give thanks, and laud.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
Photo by Marie Elena Good
Spirit bestows it –
Worship swells from the Wellspring.
Oh my soul, take part!
Would that this poet
rise up and sing like the king
after God’s own heart!
© Marie Elena Good
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
I sat at the left end of a long
cafeteria-like table.
No food before me,
no scent of food.
My eyes focused on something
in my hands, which
I cannot now recall.
Forward and to my right,
old fashioned, quilt-look, diner-style
double swinging doors
open.
I glance up
smile
glance back down,
before my heart quickens in my chest
and I look back up.
“Punk!” barely escapes my lips –
more air than voice
as our eyes engage –
His,
smiling, crinkling at the sides.
Mine,
misting as my lips quiver.
He comes to me,
his cadence the same as my heart
remembers.
“Punk!” barely escapes again
as we hug.
His scent and chuckle,
unchanged.
His breath moves my hair.
His familiar voice in my ear speaks only a few words:
“What do you want to know?”
An unexpected question.
My heart quickens again.
What do I need to know?
“Punk, I just want one more hug.”
He backs up
just enough for me to feel his warm hands
on my cheeks.
I can see only his smiling eyes.
I look into them, and see
everything.
It can’t be explained any other way.
Everything.
In less than a moment.
Everything that ever was
seen
felt
heard
known
unknown,
is now
ever will be.
The beauty of it all filled me full.
Left me no words.
He gave me one last hug,
walked to the double doors,
glanced back with those smiling eyes,
and walked back through.
And the living live the here and now,
but those who have passed
and are alive in Christ,
know.
© Marie Elena Good, 2018
Photo credit: Eduardo Munoz/Reuters
#seventeensyllablesfortwentyseventeen
The Monument of Liberty State is photographed while the solar eclipse is seen over Liberty State Island in New York, Aug. 21, 2017. Photo credit: Eduardo Munoz/Reuters
Photo by Keith R. Good
My Lord is great, and greatly to be praised.
In Him, I live and breathe, and take delight.
Yet, even though I’m awed and stand amazed,
My hollow words do not reflect His might.
How regal is Your name in all the earth!
Lord, who am I, that You would care for me?
Creator of my heart before my birth,
I long for it to be a light for Thee.
Now, “may the meditation of my mind,
And words upon my lips,” as David urged,
“Be pleasing in Your sight,” and may You find
Offensive ways concealed in me, now purged.
Imperfect poet, bound in mercy’s frame,
I seek to daily lift Your sacred name.
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.
