Humanity | pictured words

WD November Chapbook Challenge. Day 1. Write a beginning poem, or an ending poem

“Asking for a friend”

Dear fellow persons,
When did handwritten letters
become an art form?

Birthday greetings change
from carefully picked cards, to
instant facebook posts?

Did spelling our words
become an imposition
on us? idk.

When did we mutate
from people people, to mere
convenience junkies?

Have we managed to
make effortlessness a god
of our own doing?

A god that will bring
us to our knees when we see
it filched our intents

made us its robots
robbed us of our humanness
made us drop our

love.

© Marie Elena Good, 2022

4 Comments

June 14, 2020

UNTITLED

OIP

“They call me Mr. Tibbs.” ~ Virgil Tibbs, In the Heat of the Night

It’s 1967. I’m 9 years old. My dad is explaining the gist of a movie I am not allowed to see. I don’t want to see the movie. More than that, I don’t want to see the nightly news.

It’s 2020. My granddaughter is 9 years old. As in ’67, I don’t want to see the news. Yet, there is a difference in the images this time: Many protesters and police officers are wearing masks, attempting to protect those they see, from a virus they can’t.

The Long Hot Summer
of Nineteen Sixty Seven
begs us take a knee.

1 Comment

June 7, 2020

2020 VISION

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

In my imagination,
I see the eyes of a nation
opening
focusing
noticing
seeing each human being,
and agreeing their wellbeing
gives meaning to our own
as we bemoan our past
and hold steadfast
to our bloodstream’s dreams
of fairness for all
that made landfall
in 2020 –
not for the goal of the many,
but the whole of humanity.

May 31, 2020

voice

Image courtesy of Pixabay

in need to be heard,
he sings. flies. calls. cries. songbird –
winged and otherwise.

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April 19, 2020

STAY-AT-HOME SUNDAY MORNING CONFESSIONS

Photo by Anemone 123 at Pixabay

She’s become a permanent fixture
in her own home. Comfortable and cozy.
Not lonely, and
determined that nobody else will be either.
But there is a bump in her road, and
a chink in her resolve.
A chasm, built of laziness
she has come to embrace.
Isn’t idleness inherent
in permanent fixtures?
Deep inside her is a plea she turns a deaf ear to:
the low howl of the lonely.
And she wonders why she writes her poem
in third person.

4 Comments

April 7, 2020

PLACED IN A TIME SUCH AS THIS

Ohio Department of Health Director, Dr. Amy Acton (thankful for her)

I don’t believe in fluke of fate.
No, we were slated for this time.
But as we climb this curve
we work to flatten as ordered
to slacken this attack,
I am looking forward
to looking back.

8 Comments

March 15, 2020

RELATIONSHIP

This is an age of unbroken connection.
Our fingertips tap into instant links.
We’ve little tolerance for imperfection,
And as our ego grows, our goodwill shrinks.

And in this age of unbroken connection,
Our face-to-face relationships have waned.
Resulting loss of physical affection
May render us emotionally maimed.

Now suddenly a time of social distance
Is thrust upon us necessarily.
Most look for ways to be of some assistance,
And find these ways, extraordinarily.

I’m thankful in this time of social distance
For God, who binds my drifting heart to His.
Our Father God pursues us with persistence.
Be still, and let Him show you who He is.

Quick note: My last three lines include words and truths from scripture, and from a long-loved hymn, as follows:

“Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing” by Robert Robinson includes the phrase of prayer, “Bind my wandering heart to thee.”

The Bible overflows with God’s pursuit of us, including Psalm 139.

Psalm 46:10 tells us, “Be still, and know that I am God.”

January 14, 2020

ARMED TO THE TEETH

Image courtesy of Pixabay’s ThePixelman

My stomach is tied up in knots.
I wonder who’s calling the shots.
And will they admit
when the bullet gets bit
even they had their own second thoughts?

June 30, 2019

TRUER THINGS

Image by Brian Merrill from Pixabay

What makes you feel loved?
I silently asked no one in particular,
Expecting their response
To match mine.
But it didn’t.
So I had to learn them –
Their language,
Their movements,
Their culture,
Their needs,
Their history –
Them.
Then I silently said again,
To all who were there and not there –
What makes you feel loved?
This time, their answer matched mine.
It always did.