pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

Tag: Love of Christ

CROSS OF CHRIST

My place atop the Christmas tree
may seem a lofty place for me,
but humbly, I point down below
through greenery and lights aglow
to manger scene that holds the Christ
who paid the price in sacrifice
for every woman, man, and child –
this perfect Lamb – this undefiled
Rescuer, Redeemer, God
I represent, and richly laud.

© Marie Elena Good, 2021

Written in response to Walt Wojtanik’s prompt at Poetic Bloomings to write about Christmas from the point of view of an inanimate object. If you look closely, you can see the cross that tops my Christmas tree.

A COMMON THIRST

They come to my city from distant lands –
Homelands. 
Their reasons, many and varied –
most, too heartrending to ponder. 

They arrive parched –
a desiccation born of dearth and death.
Thirst knows no race, class,
religion, or language.
It knows only burning need for
a well of hope from which to dip.

The ache of a woman,
isolated in a strange new residence
and unable to connect to life-giving resources,
drowns in unanswered questions.
She holds no words to pose them,
and no near ear to hear
her broken attempts. She thirsts
at the well of understanding.

The profound pain of parents
daily delivering their children into
the hands of strangers
who struggle to teach and to reach
these children who hear only indistinct sound,
and see the blank stare of confusion.
Parents, unable to engage, thirst
at the well of advocacy.

The fatigued fret of the soul weak with illness
who has no visible path to wellness.
The one whose world is silent,
limited, and invisible.  This soul thirsts
at the well of wellbeing.

The yearning of a man
to make known his skills,
let alone make use of them to provide
as he once did. To make known his intent
to be self-sufficient.  To be quickly found to be
hardworking and capable.  He thirsts
at the well of opportunity. 

The deep craving of the foreigner
to make known their honorable intentions.
To prove they are grateful and giving;
loving and fun-loving; brave and tender.  They thirst
at the well of accurate perception.

They arrive parched from a common thirst –
a thirst ready to be quenched
in a city flowing with Water for Ishmael.

© Marie Elena Good, 2021

In Genesis 21:14-20, we read of Hagar and her son Ishmael, who were sent to the desert to die.  God heard the boy crying from thirst, and He provided a well from which to drink.  Water for Ishmael is named for this scripture passage.  WFI’s intent is to quench the thirst of the “strangers in the desert,” by following the instructions of Leviticus 19:34: “You shall treat the stranger who sojourns with you as the native among you, and you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God.”

If you would like to give to our mission: https://waterforishmael.kindful.com/

WOMAN, WHY DO YOU WEEP?


How do I respond
to such an oblivious
question of this man?

Why, sir, do I weep??
I have been weeping nonstop
for the last two days.

What I lived Friday
I can never un-live, nor
ever put to rights.

And then, yesterday,
the loss began to sink in.
I could not face it.

Now, today, even
His buried body is gone,
and my life, with it.

You ask why I weep?
What kind of question is that?
How can I not weep?

But I don’t say that.
All I can muster is, “Where,
sir, have you laid Him?”

Compassionately,
almost playfully, this Man
says only my name.

I nearly collapse.
Only one Man has kept my
name safe on His lips.

The tears continue,
but they are no longer the
tears of yesterday.

© Marie Elena Good, 2021

“Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?” Supposing Him to be the gardener, she said to Him, “Sir, if you have carried Him away, tell me where you have laid Him, and I will take Him away.”  ~ John 20:15

Untitled 17-syllable “waiting” poem

Image by Robert Allmann from Pixabay

“Father, forgive them. They know not what they do.” ~ Jesus Christ of Nazareth (Luke 23:34)

Tortured at their hands,
my Messiah didn’t wait
for apologies.

© Marie Elena Good, 2021


In response to Robert Lee Brewer’s 2021 April PAD Challenge: Day 17 – Writer’s Digest (Day 17: Write a Waiting poem.)

“RACE CARD”

Photo by fotografierende on Pexels.com

We need new mantras –
new voices of conviction.
We are not playing.

© Marie Elena Good, 2021

In response to Robert Lee Brewer’s 2021 April PAD Challenge: Day 12 – Writer’s Digest  (Day 12: 6-word poem [were given 6 words from which to choose at least 3 to include in the poem])

HE IS RISEN!

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

Pondering the blood-drenched tree
There but for His mercy, me
Tear-stained face, I bow the knee
Hallelujah! He is risen!

Low, for me His blood was drained
Love entombed, yet not contained
Absolution, as ordained
Hallelujah! He is risen!

(c) Marie Elena Good, 2013

Untitled communication poem, II

Image by TC Perch from Pixabay

uncompromised love
articulated by a
silent, empty tomb

© Marie Elena Good, 2021

In response to Robert Lee Brewer’s 2021 April Poem-a-Day Challenge at Poetic Asides (Day 3: Write a Communication poem).

NO STRANGER, THIS

Image by Jan Steiner from Pixabay

He asked for water.
We’d never seen each other,
and we were alone:

He (a Jewish man)
and Samaritan-woman-
me, knowing my place.

Finding it a bit
amusing, I asked Him why
He asked this of me. 

He spoke in riddle,
“If you knew who was asking,
you’d have asked of Him,

and He’d have given
the gift of living water.”
Then He spoke again

and everything
there is to know about me,
He already knew.

I wasn’t disturbed.
There was nothing unsettling
in His countenance.

There was not a doubt
the gift He offered me was
His for the giving.

I drew His water.
But He? He quenched a thirst I
never knew I had.

© Marie Elena Good, 2021

In response to Robert Lee Brewer’s 2021 April Poem-a-Day Challenge at Poetic Asides (Day 1: Write an introduction poem).

UNTITLED 5/7/5

Then, after four years,
the child they’d nurtured as theirs
returned to birth mom.


© Marie Elena Good, 2020


It was actually shy of four years, but no matter.

Some people think I am a kind and caring woman. The fact is that I have not chosen the hard roads … the selfless roads … that some I greatly admire, have. It takes someone very special to foster children. It takes someone willing to brace themselves to get their heart ripped out of their chest. Even the possibility of that happening right before Christmas. I’m thankful for those willing to do that. God forgive me, I have never been one of them.

Sam and Ian, just … just, so much admiration. You bring me to tears.

CHRISTMAS CARD

Photo credit: Keith R. Good

‘Twas the morning of Christmas,
And Santa was spent,
Having just returned home
From his yearly event.

After taking his shower
And downing his Joe,
He awoke Mrs. Claus
With a sweet kiss hello.

On their loveseat they sat
With the best Book on earth
To read St. Luke’s account
Of the Christ Child’s birth.

“By miraculous means
A young woman conceived,
And the baby she bore
Would save all the deceived,”

“Which includes you and me,”
Santa said, his voice low;
His eyes brimming with tears
From his heart’s overflow.

“And the best gift of all
Doesn’t come from my sleigh.
No, the best gift of all?
Sacred love, in scant hay.”

© Marie Elena Good, 2020