pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

Tag: Just for fun

I’LL BE HERE (sing along! :) )

The_Jackson_5
Right before we got attacked
TP stood in towering stacks,
And I was there. (I was there.)

Can’t reach out my hand to you.
Watching a “washing hands how to.”
Once I was there. (But now I’m here.)

And oooooh …

Orders say I must stay home.
This coronavirus genome
Needs my cells to help it roam.

I’ll be here, right where I belong.
Can’t tag along,
‘cause I am holin’ up (Holin’ up)
Yes I am. Yes I am.

Two O’clock each day DeWine and Acton
Presenting us with some fun and fact’in.
Ohio, we need them. I’m glad they’re here. (Glad they’re here.)

They are here to protect us, (yeah baby)
With leadership that inspires us.
We are tuned in, and they are here. (Glad they’re here.)

Michael Jackson would be there,
but this cockamamie virus
holds me here, in my armchair.

I’ll be here, right where I belong.
Can’t tag along,
‘cause I am holin’ up (Holin’ up)
Yes I am. Yes I am.

If you should ever find more TP,
I hope that you’ll be nice, and share with me.
‘Cause if you don’t,
I can’t pee. (I won’t pee.)

Don’t say no baby!
Spare a square!
Don’t you care?

Just call my phone, I’ll be here. (I’ll be here.)
Don’t look over your shoulders honey, ooh –
Won’t be there. Can’t go there.
Whenever you need me, I’ll be here.

Don’t you know baby,
I’ll be here. I’ll be here
Just call my phone. I’ll be here. (Staying here.)
Ooh ooh ooh ooh Staying here. Staying here.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

FOREVER SIX

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This little beauty is no longer six, wouldn’t want to be six, and would probably want me to let you know this is not based on a true story.  But I paired my poem with this pic because, well, I love her death and the ‘tude totally works. 😉   Not sure who snapped this shot.  Maybe her daddy? 

“I think I’ll be six now forever and ever,”
she said, and I told her she’d need to be clever
to pull off this whimsical, wondrous endeavor.
Now, did I believe her?  I didn’t.  However,
she smirked as she pulled out her six-ever lever.
‘K. Whatever.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

(This is a sequel to Now We are Six, by the extraordinary A. A. Milne.  My poem begins with his final line.)

SNOW WHITE (acrostic)

snow-white-and-the-seven-dwarfs

She
Nibbled
On
Wicked
Witch’s
Harvest,
Ill-advisedly.
The
End.

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

MIDDLE

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Photo credit:  Deanna Marie Metts

Supposed to write a “middle” poem,
but got too much to do.
You caught me in the middle of
a critical breakthrough!

I’m finally centered, finally calm,
and finally bridged a gap,
and now I’m in the middle of
a well-earned little nap.

So, see, I cannot possibly
be writing as I sleep.
But maybe there’s an old poem
in the middle of my heap.

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

Open Apology to a Word I Have Abused, in 5/7/5 Form (a persona poem)

road-924572_640

Image by Gerd Altmann via Pixabay

I have to admit
I’ve been syllabically
abusive to you.

I may call you poem
or po-em, depending on
my need at the time,

not even giving
thought to how this makes you feel.
Please forgive me, poem.

And please understand
this earnest apology
stated at this time

will remain sincere
whether at any time I
choose po-em, or poem.

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

ADDRESSED BY THE WICKED WITCH OF THE WEST

broom-2027093_640

Image credit: Pixabay

What?
You think you’re somehow
special?
You think yours is the first house
to ever be dropped here?

Well hear this, my pretty –
This city has swallowed dynasties
whole
and the only dear thing about you
is the pair of shoes you stole.
Return them now,

or refuse. You choose,

but at your own peril.
I’m feral, and there’ll be
no mistaking I’m taking what’s mine.

Oh, see?  My vultures are circling!
All in due time, my dears.  All in due time.

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

coffee-cup-2317201_1280

Don’t like my string cheese stringy.
Don’t care for fishy fish.
Don’t want this squash-y thingy
that’s squishing in my dish.
I’ll take my eggplant scrambled, please,
with not-too-toasty toast.
I feel so sad for black-eyed peas,
and for the poor shanked roast.
My coffee grounds me just enough
to move on with my day,
but navigating it’s still tough.
Will curds show me the whey?
You’re nuts about my pecan pie,
but beef about my stew.
And I just chuckle, and here’s why:
It’s so fun ribbing you.  😉

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

SUMMER FAIR

“Let’s rhyme,” he says, and so I do
of summer fairs and barbeque,
with marching-band parades uptown,
and small-town smiles all around.
The carny folk that drew you in
with big stuffed prizes you could win,
but off you’d go with some cheap toy
you’d carry home, but not enjoy.
Yet nonetheless, you’ll reminisce,
and I will guarantee you this:
That you will wish you were still there:
that child at the summer fair.

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

I DON’T MEAN TO BE MEAN, BUT …

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HA!!!  Photo by Keith R. Good

The times I feel breath near my face
Makes me nervous of who’s in my space.
Are you foe?  Are you friend?
I don’t want to offend,
But deceased, just desist! Don’t touch base!

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

SATURDAY NIGHTS

perry-mason

Found photo at blog of James Wallace Harris 

When I was just a little girl,
I’d whimper in my room.
I’d plug my ears, hold back the tears,
And fight the dread of doom.

With covers pulled up to my eyes,
I’d suffocate my scream.
What once-a-week would make me freak?
The Perry Mason theme!

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

I WAS SUCH A WIMP!  Still am. 😉