LIFE
Sometimes we don’t see
past the beauty in focus.
Sometimes life holds life.
#seventeenintwentytwo
pictured words
a simple pairing of pictures and poetry
Tag: Life
June 26, 2022
February 20, 2022
LIFE, COMPOSED IN THREE PARTS
Part 1. LEGATO Since love and laughter sang the notes to her childhood, she tuned in to life. She felt melodic, harmonious, and ready to embrace her song. Part 2. ARPEGGIO A child bride’s ballad, meant to mirror her childhood, ends in broken chords. A sharp turn taken, her imposed solo becomes a balanced duet as her new partner discards the shards, and the two play in consonance. Her children (her heart), born improvisers, still long to dance their own dance. Part 3. CODA Moons rose and set. Her parents grew sickly; her song became elegy. Still, her partner hums his strength, and her Composer breathes psalms in her lungs. © Marie Elena Good, 2022
August 29, 2021
NONNA REE’S PRIORITIES
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
May 17, 2021
#lifeistooshortfor
Life is too short for
grudges, shame, ill-fitting shoes,
yesterday’s coffee.
#fivesevenfive
#lifeistooshort
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
April 24, 2021
WHAT IF?
We humans tend to look back,
often
having trouble reconciling the life
we live
with the life we naively dreamed of
in the
midst of youth, mulling the likelihood that the
land of
our reality borders our kingdom of
what ifs.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
#waltmarie form
The poem within reads:
often
we live
in the
land of
what ifs
The #waltmarie, created by Candace Kubinec, is a 10-line form of any subject. The even-numbered lines are 2 syllables, and must form their own poem when read separately. The odd-numbered lines are longer, with no syllable count restrictions.
In response to Robert Lee Brewer’s 2021 April PAD Challenge: Day 24 – Writer’s Digest (writersdigest.com) (Day 24: Write a Question poem.)
April 2, 2021
WITH HIGH LEVEL OF ACCURACY, I PREDICT:
WITH HIGH LEVEL OF ACCURACY, I PREDICT:
As soon as hands are wash-me wet,
my phone will start to ring.
When I am snoozing, you can bet
my phone will start to ring.
The moment we sit down to eat,
my phone will start to ring.
Before my urgent task’s complete,
my phone will start to ring.
The final seconds of the game,
my phone will start to ring.
Car warranty’s good, but all the same,
my phone will start to ring.
About to step in to the bath,
my phone will start to ring.
When I have moved from rile to wrath,
my phone will start to ring.
When I’m with someone, it is known
my phone will start to ring.
The second I put down my phone?
My phone will start to ring.
While pulling up my drive at home,
my phone will start to ring.
When nearly finished with my poem,
my … Sorry. I need to get this …
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
In response to Robert Lee Brewer’s 2021 April Poem-a-Day Challenge at Poetic Asides (Day 2: Write a What does the future hold poem).
March 3, 2021
NAVIGATING LIFE
Some stare straight ahead.
Some can’t help but gaze behind.
Others, eyes closed, dream.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
#seventeensyllables
February 28, 2021
MY WRITING SPACE, IN THIS MOMENT
scattered furniture
what used to be here, now there
drop cloths and paint fumes
jazz notes billowing
rollers, brushes, straight edges –
that man God gave me
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
September 6, 2020
I Remember John-John’s Third Birthday
My five-year-old eyes
watched a three year old salute
his daddy’s coffin.
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
Written in response to Walt Wojtanik’s “I remember …” prompt at Poetic Bloomings.
June 14, 2020
UNTITLED
“They call me Mr. Tibbs.” ~ Virgil Tibbs, In the Heat of the Night
It’s 1967. I’m 9 years old. My dad is explaining the gist of a movie I am not allowed to see. I don’t want to see the movie. More than that, I don’t want to see the nightly news.
It’s 2020. My granddaughter is 9 years old. As in ’67, I don’t want to see the news. Yet, there is a difference in the images this time: Many protesters and police officers are wearing masks, attempting to protect those they see, from a virus they can’t.
The Long Hot Summer
of Nineteen Sixty Seven
begs us take a knee.
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
pictured words 