pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

Tag: Jesus

LINDSAY ROSE

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It was early fall.  She was young and animated.  The baby girl who had cheated death had become a young woman full of soul, and bright as her favorite color.  Her palette was in hand. Her imagination as open and vibrant as changes soon to grace the trees.  Camaraderie, harmony, and laughter were yearnings, with promise of fulfillment.  Until, on her way to a weekend of music with friends, her song was silenced.

she laughs with Jesus
as they paint the sunset with
orange Crayolas

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

(I wrote the 17-syllable ending in September of 2011, on the anniversary of Lindsay’s car accident, and her passing from this life to the next.)

FOR POETIC BLOOMINGS AUTUMNAL POEM-A-DAY CHAPBOOK CHALLENGE, 2018,  DAY 6:  ORANGE

FAVORITES OF THE HEART (for Uncle Ray)

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Years ago, Dad called me.  “Did you get the news from Niles?”  Those seven words made my breath quicken. No, I hadn’t. “You didn’t hear from Judy?”  I gasped.  I heard my choking voice say, “Oh no!  Not Uncle Ray! Not Uncle Ray!”

No.  Not Uncle Ray.  Someone completely unexpected. Someone else I cared about.

God, forgive me.  What was I feeling, in the wake of an unexpected family death?  Relief?  To my embarrassment and dismay, yes.  Relief.  I actually sighed long and hard with that relief, and immediately confessed to Dad what I was feeling.  I don’t remember his response.  I remember not feeling judged for my human heart.  I remember believing this would remain between Dad and me and my God.  But it didn’t.  I’ve confessed it to a few others I love and trust.  To this day, I still feel the guilt well up on remembrance.  But, God …

Oh, the human heart
Which beat in Jesus, himself
For John, whom He loved.

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

UPDATE:  This event I wrote about last year took place 5 years ago.  Today, Uncle Ray actually passed from this life to the next.  09/10/19.

IS JESUS’ DADDY MEAN?

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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

ADDICT (sonnet for a friend in distress)

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She doesn’t fit the image in your head –
The one my title planted in your brain.
She’s quilted patchwork, fondly stitched bedspread.
She’s warmly welcomed gently falling rain.

She’s selfless soul and kindness above all.
Her prayers are like symphonic rays of sun.
When help is needed, she’s the one to call –
She’ll set distress aside for anyone.

Her nights are filled with terrorizing dreams;
Her days besieged with raging drug demands.
While patchwork stitches strain along the seams,
Her trembling heart is placed in Jesus’ hands.

If you are without sin, then cast your stone.
But He?  He will not let her stand alone.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

I THIRST

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Photo by Keith R. Good

For this I’ve learned – we’re not immune
To dampened dreams beneath the moon
Where love lies fallow, barren, spent;
Where thirsting hearts are spurned and rent.

My Jesus, quench my burning need
And to your living water, lead
Where charred remains of love are nursed;
Where hearts will thrive and never thirst.

John 4:14 “… but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst.”

© Marie Elena Good – 2012

And What of Joy?

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This world may have some issues I can’t solve –
Some great enough to trigger pain or fear;
Some threatening to make my life revolve
‘round stresses, whether certain or unclear.

This fallen world may never right its wrongs,
May never be at peace, nor ever learn
The value of a love that seeks and longs
To emanate affection and concern.

Though incidents endeavor to destroy,
To pierce our heart’s contentment as a knife,
My Jesus, how I thank You that my joy
Does not depend on happiness in life!

Unending joy of sinner-been-set-free,
Your grace and mercy are enough for me.

© Marie Elena Good, 2015