#fivesevenfive | pictured words

Twenty Twenty Five

My year’s focus word
is listen. I chose it, not
knowing what’s to come.

The last twenty days,
I see myself shouting on
social media.

The need to be heard
in daunting times is real, but
shouting gets tuned out,

so is left unheard.
And yet, the need is still there.
I can’t help but shout.

The last twenty days,
my listening turned to an
Intense need to scream.

I don’t scream outdoors
out of respect and care for
all of my neighbors.

I don’t scream indoors
for fear of terrifying
my loving husband.

I scream inside me,
silently, lest I drown out
my God’s still, small voice.

© Marie Elena Good, 2025

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January 19, 2025

COMFORT FOOD

Aunt Dora (these were the good ole days)

COMFORT FOOD

Mom’s homemade pizza
and cinnamon rolls that she
made with extra dough

and her homemade pies
and cinnamon rolls made with
extra pie crust dough

chicken paprikash
rich with a sour cream gravy,
served with dinner rolls

stuffed green peppers, or
Italian sausage sandwich
with onion, pepper,

and mayo on a
bun, served with potato chips,
onion dip, and pop

oil-popped popcorn, made
on the stove in Dad’s old pot,
buttered and salted

Aunt Shirley’s cheese ball
Aunt Peg’s roast beef with gravy
and all the fixin’s

and her to-die-for
apple dumplings covered with
hard vanilla sauce

Grandpa Dunn’s bacon
Grandma’s pancakes swimming in
real maple syrup

Toast, and tea served in
my teapot from Grandma Dunn
when I was unwell

All that came out of
Aunt Dora’s basement kitchen
that begged us, “sit down.”

Aunt Judy’s version
of Aunt Dora’s sauce, which she
claimed was never right 😉

homegrown tomato-
spaghetti sauce with meatballs
that simmered all day

and was poured over
capellini (angel hair)
served with garlic bread

Grandma Marchionte’s mush
piled on a breadboard from which
we kids all chowed down

believe it or not
fried bologna sandwiches
blackened, with mustard …

But it’s what’s in the
air that most brings me comfort:
scents of memories.

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January 12, 2025

SPLENDOR

SPLENDOR

An evening snow
of tiny glitter seems of
no real consequence.

Yet it’s all it takes
to blanket lawn, coat tree, and
hush and light the night –

its quiet splendor
reflecting the still, small voice
that sang its being.

© Marie Elena Good, 2025

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November 10, 2024

AFFECT

She entered my class
in purple, with her purple
phone, and purple coat.

Obviously, this
is her favorite color,
and it becomes her.

She is tall, and has
an elegance about her,
along with a wit.

But the shimmering
gold of her heart was revealed
when she used her phone’s

translator app to
say, “Teacher, if I could, I’d
give you my own eyes.”

I’m not sure what the
color of humbleness is,
nor of gratitude,

but I imagine
the shades of them reflected
in my complexion.

© Marie Elena Good 2024

This is true. Last Thursday, this lovely refugee soul entered my class, an absolute vision in purple. Due to recent surgery from a retina tear and detachment, as well as detached macula, I cannot see from my right eye. She hugged me, and then used her translator app to speak this most sincere, generous sentiment. I couldn’t hold back tears. Amazing heart.

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September 29, 2024

BEGINNING TO END

Photo by Tirachard Kumtanom on Pexels.com

The start of a war
isn’t the start of a war
nor the end, the end.

© Marie Elena Good 2024

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September 1, 2024

Untitled (lost and found prompt)

Photo by Elu012bna Aru0101ja on Pexels.com

Disoriented.
Unable to find herself
until a loved one

sat in her stillness,
not looking her in the eye
until requested

by a subtle sigh
that was released to set free
her burning to be.

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July 21, 2024

PREFERENCES

Spring Blooms photo credit Keith R. Good

Preferences

I prefer water
falling, or babbling in brooks,
to crashing on shore.

I prefer my sun
filtered through dense forest pines.
The air I breathe, chilled.

I prefer trees dressed
in fall leaf, winter white, and
spring pastel blossom.

I prefer my sweets
whisper, never scream. Infer.
Teach my buds to taste.

I prefer poems
short. Simple. Unpretentious.
Teeming with meaning.

I prefer poem
to novel. Rain song to rap.
Bird song for play list.

I prefer my eyes
open to seeing the good.
Closed to finding fault.

I prefer voices
softly smoothing sharp judgements
and callous replies.

I prefer humble
to haughty. Natural to
embellished. Modest.

I prefer cozy
to large. Simple to stately.
Relaxed, and restful.

I prefer colors
sparsely vibrant, interspersed
in tranquil setting.

I prefer dancing
leaf shadows on my walls to
swanky wallpaper.

I prefer shadows
(sometimes) to that which casts them.
(Art of creation)

I prefer my love’s
letters on small sticky notes
to grand sky writing.

I prefer my home
and my husband to any
-where, and anyone.

I prefer bridges
to walls. Pathways to highways.
Left ajar to locked.

I prefer the truth
even when you think I won’t.
Even when it hurts.

I prefer Jesus,
gentle and lowly. King. Christ.
Forgiver of sins.

I prefer my God’s
still small voice that compels me
to be still, myself.

(c) Marie Elena Good, 2024

I wrote three of these seventeens previously