The older I get, the older I feel
It’s hard to run. It’s hard to kneel.
Can’t cartwheel as in childhood.
(But, truth-be-told, I never could. 😉 )
Consistently can’t find my words –
Can access just perhaps two thirds.
Can’t run too fast. Can’t hear when asked.
My skates and skis were long-since trashed.
But I’ll still race you on my bike,
and take a walk or even hike
and talk and laugh and draw (kind of 😉 )
and listen well
and deeply love.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
On the occasion of Izzy’s 6th birthday, I just wanted to again share the poem I wrote when she was born. Happy Birthday, Izzy! As soon as this Covid-19 stay-at-home is safely lifted, Poppa and I will have you for a sleepover and proper hugs. In the meantime, enjoy your birthday, pretty little sweetie! ❤
REQUESTED (Izzy’s Sonnet)
God graciously gives gifts that prove His love,
And this time used a cherished little one
Whose precious face is reminiscent of
The one who caused my heart to come undone.
Another set of prints upon my soul
Has made her presence known, and it’s sublime –
Just like a piece that makes a puzzle whole,
Or syllable that finishes a rhyme.
Upon three years of practice on my part,
You’d think by now it might have gotten old.
But every day brings wonder to my heart,
And now my joy has multiplied twofold.
Delivered straight to us through Heaven’s door –
The one her sister earnestly asked for.
© Marie Elena Good, 2014
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
Photo credit: Eric Mavis
It was said that Rabbit is made
of important things.
Piglet said, “Rabbit has brain,”
and, “Yes, Rabbit is clever.”
And that may be.
Yes, that may be.
But our smidgen-y Piglet is made
of weighty things –
nearly all of him being empathy
and oh-such-friendness
and how-can-I-helpness.
As Eeyore said
on that blustery day,
“Mind you don’t get blown away,
little Piglet. You’d be missed.”
And when you are missed,
you are weighty, indeed.
Christopher Robin’s friends
show us how to be ourselves
among others.
Being ourselves among others is
an important thing.
A weighty thing.
A Piglet-and-Pooh-and-Rabbit-and-Roo,
and Kanga-and-Eeyore-and-Tigger-and-Owl,
and love-me-for-me-and-I’ll-love-you-for-you,
significant, super-salubrious thing.
And so, little girl with your Piglet in tow,
be yourself as you grow,
and let others be so.
And when you’ve outgrown
your sweet childhood ways,
please hold Piglet at heart
for the rest of your days.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
Four little loved feet lived a few feet away
‘Til they moved to St. Thomas’s lush Caret Bay.
Abruptly, an ocean and 2,000 miles
Created a chasm, and dampened our smiles.
But then they moved closer (no ocean to cross)
And the far-fewer miles seemed less of a loss.
“It’s all relative,” as the old saying goes,
But oh how we still miss our Bean and our Rose.
Now all of a sudden, life’s changing again!
We’re all looking forward to Saturday, when
Four little loved feet can stay put and not roam:
Our Sophie and Izzy are coming back home!
It’s hard to believe it’s been only one year
Since we said our goodbyes, and we choked back our tears.
Here’s move number three in a rather short time –
Returning our smiles, and ending this rhyme. 😉
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
Photo by Eric Mavis
Stretching on tiptoe
to apply makeup. Dad’s love,
a good foundation.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
#seventeeninnineteen
1. SOPHIA ROSE
This eight-year-old is crushing on a boy.
Her baby days just sadly up and went.
He says he loves her eighty one percent.
This eight-year-old is crushing on a boy.
Her baby days just sadly up and went.
Her daddy says he’s losing all his hair.
There’s no way for a daddy to prepare.
Her baby days just sadly up and went.
Her daddy says he’s losing all his hair.
This eighty-one-percent kid’s just too cute.
The two of them together are a hoot.
Her daddy says he’s losing all his hair.
This eighty-one-percent kid’s just too cute.
He’s also sweet, so Sophie’s got good taste,
But baby years have too soon been erased.
This eighty-one-percent kid’s just too cute.
He’s also sweet, so Sophie’s got good taste.
This eight-year-old is crushing on a boy.
There’re others, too, but he’s the real McCoy.
He’s also sweet, so Sophie’s got good taste.
This eight-year-old is crushing on a boy.
Her baby days just sadly up and went.
He says he loves her eighty one percent.
This eight-year-old is crushing on a boy.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
2. ISADORA KATHLEEN
And now there’s little Izzy, just turned five.
She picked her future husband years ago.
He’s dutiful, and she’s a dynamo.
And now there’s little Izzy, just turned five.
She picked her future husband years ago,
When binks and naptimes were a part of life.
And (dutifully), he chose her for his wife.
She picked her future husband years ago.
When binks and naptimes were a part of life,
Those pint-sized wheels were spinning in her head.
Who knew the ploys and schemes that lay ahead,
When binks and naptimes were a part of life.
Those pint-sized wheels were spinning in her head.
And now there’s little Izzy, just turned five.
I wonder how her daddy will survive
Those pint-sized wheels still spinning in her head.
And now there’s little Izzy, just turned five.
She picked her future husband years ago.
He’s dutiful, and she’s a dynamo.
And n there’s little Izzy, just turned five.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
God help us, lol!
all_are_precious_in_his_sight_by_nessie905-d7ywhw1-640×522
At three years old,
She loves.
She loves her family.
She loves the children who come to her home
To be cared for.
She loves dolls,
And coloring
And tea parties
And chocolate kisses.
She loves Jesus …
But the nativity drawing
On a card from Cameroon
Gave her pause.
“Is Jesus’ daddy mean?”
‘No, honey. Does he look mean?”
“Kinda” slips out from under her wrinkled nose.
“He has a black face.”
At three years old,
She loves.
She loves her white family.
She loves the little white children, who come
To her home to be cared for.
She loves her white dolls,
And sister’s brown doll.
She loves her little brown neighbor.
She sees few black people in her world.
“Honey, Jesus had very dark skin.
So did his mommy and step daddy.
It’s just a color. It doesn’t make us mean,
Or nice.
It’s just a color.
Some people who are black are nice,
And some are not.
Some people who are white,
Like you,
Are nice,
Like you,
And some are not.”
With an incredulous look,
She declares,
“I am not white!”
She plays pretend a while,
Then comes to me.
“Nonna?”
“Yes?”
“I like black people.”
© Marie Elena Good, 2018
I know impish Izzy who swallowed a dime
But I don’t know why she swallowed the dime.
Perhaps I’ll rhyme.
I know impish Izzy who swallowed banana
that tasted so sweet and that came from Cabana.
She swallowed banana to push down the dime.
But I don’t know why she swallowed the dime.
Perhaps I’ll rhyme.
I know impish Izzy is waiting to poop.
And each time she does, Momma’s needing to “snoop.”
She swallowed banana that came from Cabana.
She swallowed banana to push down the dime
But I don’t know why she swallowed the dime.
Perhaps I’ll rhyme.
I know a sweet Momma who thinks this all stinks.
Whose sweet little Izzy is full of high jinx
And while she’s high jinxing, she’s waiting to poop
And each time she does, Momma’s needing to snoop.
She swallowed banana that came from Cabana.
She swallowed banana to push down the dime
But I don’t know why she swallowed the dime.
Perhaps I’ll rhyme.
I know impish Izzy, who gives us a run
For proverbial money. She’s playful, that one.
Her sweet little Momma just thinks this all stinks,
While Izzy is impish and full of high jinx
And while she’s high jinxing, she’s waiting to poop
And each time she does, Momma’s needing to snoop.
She swallowed banana that came from Cabana.
She swallowed banana to push down the dime
But I don’t know why she swallowed the dime.
Perhaps I’ll rhyme.
Our Izzy is loaded with life and fun sass.
And as for the dime? Well, this too shall pass.
(And you ALL knew THAT was coming! 
)
Inspired also, of course by:
I KNOW AN OLD LADY
by Rose Bonne and Alan Mills
*
Ain’t got no time for silliness, I say.
No room for fun. No need for loud guffaws.
Can’t cope with pranks. Can’t stand the phrase, “Let’s play.”
I’d rather deal with early menopause.
Ain’t got no time for silliness, for sure.
Won’t take the time to write a silly poem.
I’m too articulate, and too mature.
I’d rather chew on tin or Styrofoam.
Ain’t got no time for silliness, ya hear?
I’ve got no use for gigglers all aglow.
Don’t whisper no sweet nothings in my ear.
I’d rather use teaspoons to shovel snow.
Were I to pen some fun, I’d be remiss.
I’m glad that it’s a somber sonnet, this.
© Marie Elena Good, 2017
*Izzy’s first haircut! 😀
pictured words 