pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

Tag: Faith

ROCKS, STREAMS, AND STORYTELLERS

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Photo by Keith R. Good

End-of-life
for those with whom we are particularly close,
seems to bring out who we are at our core.

Some of us are rocks.
Unbreakable.
Pillars.
Feeling the need to hold up all around us.
Or,
perhaps,
we just can’t let our surface crack,
lest we fall to pieces.

Some of us are streams.
We go with the flow,
while staying our course.
Occasionally we pick up others in need,
and carry them along.
But sometimes a stream’s flow
is fashioned from tears
that even a dam can’t contain.

Then some of us are storytellers.
We talk.
We laugh.
We reminisce.
We play familiarity like a piano concerto –
every part by heart.
We connect to those who are listening,
and telling stories of their own.
But can it be that we need to get lost in a story,
because the reality at hand
is too painful to fully embrace?

Let the rocks be strong.
But if they crack,
help them pick up the pieces.

Let the streams flow.
And if the tears run,
let them –
even as God collects
and records each one.

Let the storytellers recount,
and their experiences, count.
And if the present moment breaks them,
hold their pain
as a book in your embrace,
and help them tenderly
turn another page.

© Marie Elena Good, 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

MY WANDERING HEART

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“Bind my wandering heart to Thee.”
 (From Robert Robertson’s hymn Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing)

MY WANDERING HEART

Lord, I need Thee every instant;
Need to feel my hand in Yours.
When I feel my heart grow distant,
Call me back to heaven’s shores.

Lord, I long for angel voices
Harmonizing all day through,
Triggering my soul’s rejoicing!
Set my heart to praising You!

Lord, that I won’t wander far,
Faint in faith, and unfulfilled,
Lift my eyes to Christ Child’s Star
Where my heart is awed, and stilled.

Lord, I need Thee every hour.
Give ear to my earnest plea:
Hug me in Your staying power.
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

LINDSAY ROSE

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It was early fall.  She was young and animated.  The baby girl who had cheated death had become a young woman full of soul, and bright as her favorite color.  Her palette was in hand. Her imagination as open and vibrant as changes soon to grace the trees.  Camaraderie, harmony, and laughter were yearnings, with promise of fulfillment.  Until, on her way to a weekend of music with friends, her song was silenced.

she laughs with Jesus
as they paint the sunset with
orange Crayolas

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

(I wrote the 17-syllable ending in September of 2011, on the anniversary of Lindsay’s car accident, and her passing from this life to the next.)

FOR POETIC BLOOMINGS AUTUMNAL POEM-A-DAY CHAPBOOK CHALLENGE, 2018,  DAY 6:  ORANGE

LOCKED

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“Pandora’s Box”  prompt and photo, provided by  Walter Wojtanik of Poetic Bloomings

 Out of fear
(or worse  —  indifference)
she waited too long
to unlock the trunk she daily
(habitually)
avoided. Tripped over. Pretended wasn’t there.

Summoning the courage, she unlocked it.
Discovered a long-lost page.
Dulled.  Faded. Not easily read.
Less easily understood.

For times had changed,
and, therefore,
the truths that had shaped them.

Right?

As she tried to examine
and understand,
she began to question

everything.

Perhaps wrong paths had been taken.
Destructive habits had formed.

Perhaps what was true, then,
was no less true, now.

Perhaps times change,
but truths remain.

Perhaps it was up to her
to unlock

release

embrace.

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

A CORD OF THREE STRANDS

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They began, young.

Lovely and in love
Healthy and hopeful
Playful and promising
To have and to hold
From this day

Forward, fast
Furiously fading
As Alzheimer’s attempts
To dilute and damage
Life and love
Strongly seduced.

Still,
Promise prevailed.
“All my love, and love me always”
In illness and health,
Held by God’s hands
And the cord of three strands,
Stands

Against all
Ashes to ashes
Forever co-mingled
In the perpetual presence
Of the One who,
Singly, and synchronously,
Breathed life
And an always love.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

“And if someone overpowers one person, two can resist him. A cord of three strands is not easily broken.”  ~ Ecclesiastes 4:12

Forever my love to Mom and Dad, now eternally at rest, in the presence of the One. 

St. Thomas Island’s Caret Bay (“Someday” Comes – a Roundelay)

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Exploring life on new frontiers,
Today my luvs move far away.
Our seasons come in waves and tiers
As drizzle falls from sky of gray
I hug them tight, yet curb my tears.
I have to hold my heart at Bay.

Our seasons come in waves and tiers.
As drizzle falls from sky of gray.
Attentive to the fleeting years,
I want for them sun’s ray. Son’s ray.
I hug them tight, yet curb my tears.
I have to hold my heart at Bay.

Acquainted with life’s fleeting years,
I want for them sun’s ray. Son’s ray.
May God’s vast grasp be crystal clear,
And richly sensed on Caret Bay.
I hug them tight, yet curb my tears.
I have to hold my heart at Bay.

May God’s vast grasp be crystal clear,
And richly sensed on Caret Bay.
Goodbyes are said, and it appears
The time is now, and not “someday.”
I hug them tight, yet curb my tears.
I have to hold my heart at Bay.

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

 

PUNK

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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

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.