pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

Tag: Inspiration

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

WHERE LIES MY INTEREST?

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Photo by Keith R. Good

When I was a child,
I loved to pretend.
The “what” mattered little,
As it was all in the imagining.

As a young adult,
I loved to garden,
Bicycle, and hike.
The “where” mattered little,
As it was all in the doing.

As a now-older adult,
My passions are to
Pray, write, and ponder.
The “why” matters much,
As it is all in the love.

©  Marie Elena Good, 2019

PRAYER OF MY PRAYERS

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Photo by Keith R. Good

May my prayers be ever sung

honestly, easily

off of my tongue

vividly earnest, and fertile with praise

ceaselessly proffered

for all of my days.

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

WISTFULLY CONVINCED

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Helps the medicine go down.

“Imagination is the true magic carpet.”  ~Norman Vincent Peale

I. JASMINE AND MARY

One flies on carpet.
The other, her umbrella.
Both take me with them.

II. UNCLE ALBERT

Sometimes I believe
if I laugh hard enough, I’ll
float to the ceiling.

III. DOROTHY

Don’t be surprised to
witness me clicking my heels
when I get homesick.

IV. BASTIAN

See, books are more real
than our realest lives, and “nothing”
can take that away.

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

 

 

Silverstein

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Photo by Alice Ochs/Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images

Oh, Mister Silverstein, we need more of you.
Childlike rhymes (not child-like) and
Oddities you drew.

Oh, Mister Silverstein, how we need your views!
Giggling at our differences,
Poopooing the news.

Oh, Mister Silverstein, help us all to see,
Anything can happen, sir.
Anything can be.

Oh, Sister Milverstein, I am just slo bue.
Runny Babbit yisses mou
And I yiss mou, too.

© Marie Elena Good, 2019