pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

Tag: haibun

April 22, 2024

AND THIS

Image credit: Pexels

My son and I sit together with his little cat family in his humble Cleveland apartment.  He grabs his book of Hubble Telescope photos.  He is fascinated with the universe and knows a great deal more about it than I do. He turns page after page, oohing and ahh’ing over the astounding beauty.  Immensity. Luminosity.  Each stunning photo compels him to share with me what he knows, and launches him to the next.  I am enjoying hearing the excitement in his swelling voice as we explore multiple moons and distant galaxies.

Then, the Milky Way.
His eyes grow tender.  Voice, soft.
“And this?  This is home.”

© Marie Elena Good, 2024

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June 6, 2023

STILL

Photo by Keith R. Good

During intensely busy seasons in life, sudden slight ailments can present a crucial stillness … moments to consider that which goes unnoticed in life’s rush.  My ears receive the sound of soft breeze outside my window. Birdsong becomes a symphony, which draws my eyes outdoors. My soul soars to blues in high places. Sparrows in the bird bath splash, relishing refreshing spray. Serenity ensues as my spirit sings praise to my God. Suddenly, I sense words slipping from my mind’s recesses, and I must shape and preserve them before they are lost. So satisfying, this necessitated pause that allows time to stop elusive words from slipping from tenuous grasp.

It isn’t illness
if the stillness that ensues
is life sustaining.

© Marie Elena Good, 2023

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January 29, 2023

HOW TO RECOGNIZE YOURSELF

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
How to Recognize Yourself

In somewhat of a hurry, she quickens her steps. Her eyes shift right as her side vision catches a glimpse of scurried movement in a store window.  In what seems like a nanosecond, her eyes are looking ahead of her again.  Just like that, her pace slows drastically, as her eyes again shift right in a nearly imperceivable attempt to pull themselves together.  “No,” they try to convince themselves, “that is not her.  That is not us.”  She allows herself to come to a full stop.  She turns to face the window, to stare into those eyes that betray her.  The woman staring back at her has sparse brows, and even sparser lips.  Her shoulders droop, negating the fact that she feels erect.  Her upper arms sag.  She wears sensible shoes.  She doesn’t know what the big hurry was.

Eyes search for signs of
former beauty.  Christ reminds  
us, we are His bride.

© Marie Elena Good, 2023
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December 18, 2022

GIFT

GIFT

What is the best gift but food for one who is hungry, and drink for one who thirsts? For those who feel most unlovable, love feels most crucial, yet most inaccessible. For those who’ve done wrong, the most meaningful gift is forgiveness in full.  For this, God set His power aside to be born of a virgin as a helpless newborn boy, reliant on a woman’s breast for nourishment, heart for love, and her tutelage and care for survival and growth.  For this, Christ Jesus came: to feed, to love, to quench, and to fully forgive.  

The extravagance
of the season, embodied:
God wrapped in infant.

© Marie Elena Good, 2022

(Full disclosure: I decided to write this haibun, using the final 17 syllables I’d written many years ago. May the Gift of this season settle into your own heart.)

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November 13, 2022

Bonnie

Photo by Jean Alves on Pexels.com

Bonnie

She showed up at the nursing home, waiting to be let in. Of course her chances for entry were near zero, as animals were not welcome. But this pretty golden retriever would not take no for an answer. I don’t know the story of how she actually gained entrance. I can only tell you that by the time my grandmother was in their care, she had already become part of the facility’s staff. We were told that, from her very first moment inside, it seemed like she had just always been there. She knew where everything was. She knew the routine. She knew this was a quiet place, and she abided. She knew when a patient was soon to die. She graciously stayed with them and comforted them until they passed … but not before seeking entry permission from a nurse. She knew her role. This was her life’s work.

I wonder … sometimes,
might we glimpse Eden’s garden
in full bloom, pre-fall

© Marie Elena Good, 2022

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August 15, 2021

MILK DELIVERY

Uncle Ray delivering milk for Warren Sanitary Dairy 1954

Back in the days of house-to-house milk delivery, Uncle Ray had the greatest technology:  a horse-driven, refrigerated milk cart. The horse knew what she was doing.  She would take Uncle Ray to the first home on the route.  He would grab enough ice-cold milk from the cart for the next several homes.  She would walk the cart to the spot where he would need to grab more milk, and wait there for him. Then along came even newer and greater technology:  refrigerated delivery trucks.  Unfortunately, Uncle Ray was not permitted to turn down the newer technology.  Not only did it make his job harder, but he lost a dear friend and coworker. 

Often new knowhow’s
know how is negligible
or nearly inept.

© Marie Elena Good, 2021

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May 2, 2021

Resumé of a Ten-Year-Old Who Wants to Volunteer at a School for Refugee Women and Children

Photo and hair by Nina Bass Blatnik

She spent the entire afternoon asking me relevant, insightful questions about the school’s students, staff, and mission. How do you teach babies and preschoolers a second language? What countries do they come from?  What languages are spoken? Which is the most common?  (She made note of Arabic, and couldn’t wait to ask her mom if she can begin studying it via Rosetta Stone or Duolingo).  Would I please contact the volunteer coordinator to see if it is acceptable for a ten-year-old to volunteer to help the adults care for the children? Are masks required? Is there a dress code?  Is there a form her parents could complete and sign, giving her permission to volunteer there?  Even if they can’t let her volunteer yet, can she take a tour of the school, and meet the staff?  Oh, and would I please tell them she is mature for her age?

Eager native sprout
seeks to share energy to
root and bloom transplants.

© Marie Elena Good, 2021

4 Comments
July 9, 2019

DEAR MOM AND DAD,

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Dear Mom and Dad,

Having devoted grandparents made my childhood something special.  Holidays were spectacular, with wall-to-wall cousins and outstanding meals — Irish on one side; Italian on the other.  Summertime meant choosing a cousin to spend a few nights at Grandma and Grandpa’s.  I suppose you probably knew, but we were kind of given free reign, and ice cream and nonpareils rained freely.  Those were fun years of my life.  I miss the years, and I miss my grandparents.

I don’t miss them like my kids miss you.  We didn’t have the special closeness my kids had with you … the kind where they weren’t sure they could ever live without you.  The kind where they spent their lives fearing the inevitable.  The kind that took special grace from God to go on in the wake of losing you both within 35 days of each other.  The kind that begs, “Just one more day.  Just one more conversation.  Just one more hug.”  The kind that made their lives richer for the living, a bit shattered in the leaving, and grateful for every shared moment.

A love worth the loss.
This is who I want to be
To my granddaughters.

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

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July 3, 2019

UNTITLED HAIBUN

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Incredible image courtesy of  Lars_Nissen_Photoart, on Pixabay

He asks what my hardest moments have been, pressing me to purposely reflect on a life that has been primarily appreciation-inducing.  I had parents who loved me well and modeled life; relatives who enveloped and affirmed me; friends who have laughed with me, and accepted my limitations; a sister with whom I can celebrate differences and honor common blood; children and grandchildren of limitless love; a husband who gives selflessly and fills my gaps; a Savior who has walked beside me since my earliest days.  These thoughts of great blessing bring easy breath and grateful tear.  Not that I have not experienced occasional pain.  Loss of loved ones.  Moves I did not want to make.  Divorce.  I have not been exempt from affliction.  But searing misery has come from a single source:  The suffering of those I love.

There is no torment
more incapacitating
than wanton worry.

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

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