pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

Tag: Inspiration

FROM HIM, THROUGH HIM, TO HIM (Sonnet to my God)

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Photo by Daniel Reche, courtesy of Pixabay

Oh, stillness deep within me, never wane
when chaos saturates the world without.
I know the very God who sees and reigns –
whose still, small voice speaks peace, and quiets doubt.

He gave mankind a gnawing in our soul
that won’t be satisfied without His will.
And only He can quench that thirsty hole;
and only through His food, we get our fill.

At times, my praise rings sonorous and strong,
and springs from nourished soul that feeds on Him.
At times my praise, just weak and weary song,
seeps sluggishly from apathy within.

Oh, Father, fill me up when I am drained,
and may my praise be endless; unrestrained.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

MY SPIRIT’S SONG (a poem with wrapped refrains)

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Image by Colin Behrens, courtesy of Pixabay 

I’ve often said it is no toss
‘tween loss of sight or hearing loss.
for music is to me as bread.
It feeds my soul, I’ve often said.

My heart beats to a melody –
a bond abiding breathlessly
as harmonies are coursing through,
in tune with what my heart beats to.

And I believe when angels sing,
our parched earth sips from worship’s spring
to praise a God we can’t conceive.
They catch my ear, and I believe.

It need not be a “worship song”
to lift my eyes and make me long
to sit upon my Father’s knee,
and see my worries need not be.

Should I not hear jazz beat of drum,
or soothing sound from cello’s strum –
Good Father, hearer of my prayer,
please sing to me, should I not hear.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

 

 

 

 

 

Finding my poetic voice

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A poet and his princess 

In April of 2009,
I shyly met poets online.
But there was one who
would help me break through.
I call him my partner in rhyme.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

I’m thankful for this man I’ve known for 10 years, but have yet to meet.  Without his encouragement, I would never have referred to myself as a “poet.”  I’m not the best poet, and never will be, but I am a poet nonetheless.  Thank you, Walt.  Thank you.

P.S.  This little gal looks like she could brighten the darkest of days!  ❤

 

DEANNA (BRIGHT AS DAY)

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Freehand original art by Deanna Marie Metts

Her light was dimmed years ago. Everything she enjoyed was taken from her.  Books.  Music.  Art.  NY Times crosswords. Energy. Drive. Laughter. All of it, gone.  All of it.  But in God’s timing and in His way, the expression of herself through her art has been returned.  Not in the same way, but brand new, as God renewed her spirit and drew her to Himself.  Rekindling her light with His own, she is never truly alone.   New Spirit. New Light never fails her, despite that which ails her.

At her drawing board,
what was lost is now restored.
New way. Bright as Day.

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

Voice from 1972

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Had I the chance to sit silently alone in this no-longer new auditorium, might I have heard the echo of your voice?  The music you conducted? My younger hands applauding?

It seemed so.

**************

Being back in the PSHS auditorium this week for the first time since the mid-1970’s seemed a bit surreal.  Pride welled in me as they honored Dad, and a very large part of me would have given anything to return to that time in my life.  Not permanently, but for another round.  Or two.

YOUNG MOM

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Photo credit:  STUX at Pixabay

Some days seem the longest long longer than a run-on sentence that fills her space with no breaks to grab a breath or bite or blink of rest and yes she’s blessed but stressed and pressed where tiny pupils move left to right left to right no end in sight no time to quench her appetite for slumber in what’s left of night just left to right left to right left to write what’s left to write …

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

(I do believe too many young moms in our midst feel just like this. 😦  )

authenticity

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Image courtesy of fda54 at Pixabay

authenticity

I witnessed unwitting wisdom today
when my five-year-old granddaughter said,
“I’ve never seen a lighthouse
in the desert.”

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

PARTNER IN RHYME

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It is no small thing
to call yourself a poet.
Thanks to you, I do.

MOM (a tribute)

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I.
You told me of the love in my eyes for you
when you first held me in your arms
the day I was born.
Is it any wonder.
I knew you, and had already experienced
the gentle warmth that was you.

II.
All my friends thought me the luckiest girl
to be able to call you mom,
even though you didn’t tolerate misbehavior
or disrespect. They saw the love right through
the discipline.  I tried to emulate you,
but it seems that isn’t the same as
it being a part of who you are.

III.
I saw how the mention of you
brought warm smiles.
Your gentle demeanor,
laughter, and love
were contagious.

IV.
I understand being an introvert,
and I ponder with amazement
how you dealt with that part of you.
You could have written a “how to,”
I believe. I understand more and more
the sacrifices you made.
The way you encouraged others,
and always had a kind word to offer.
The way you treated everyone
with the same level of respect.
Fiercely loyal to those you were closest to,
in ways that had to have been draining.
But we didn’t see that you were drained.
You would simply go “rest [your] back
for a few minutes,” or “rest [your] eyes.”

V.
You were my moral compass,
and still are.  I feel your nudges.
I hear your gentle voice. I pray
I inherited more of you
than I see in myself.
From womb to death,
and now beyond,
I thank God for the blessing
of you.

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

All About the Love

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Dad was a teacher, a band director, and a professional musician.  In all of these professions, he was my father.  I was always learning in his presence.  He gave everything one hundred percent.  I hear, in his voice: “Nothing great was ever accomplished without enthusiasm.”  “Take it with you.  If you need it, you’ll have it.”  “Do your best.” “Practice right.”  “Never look back.  Just move forward.”  “No regrets.” “Love is the most important thing.”

All of it, important.  All of it, useful.  All of it, wise.

There were times I was privileged to witness him at his core.  Times that planted pride and love in my heart that I can hardly express. One of the things that made my knees weak came very late in life.  I was sitting with a now extremely fragile man who was watching the love of his life slip slowly away, due to Alzheimer’s.  “I’m not sure how to handle the coming day when I go to her room to kiss her goodnight, and she doesn’t know who I am.”  My heart.  The conversation was one of the hardest of my life.  But also one that showed me he was still, in his elderly and fragile state, my father.  As we talked about dark days ahead that could begin any moment, he gave me advice that encompassed all he was:  “No matter what happens, remember her love.”

Love enthusiastically.
Love takes practice.  Practice daily.
Take love with you.  If you need it, you’ll have it.
(You’ll need it.)

Thank you, Dad.  Thank you.

© Marie Elena Good, 2019