Teaching ESL (English as a Second Language) to Possible U.S. (United States) Citizens
We are too different to unite.
I will never be convinced
Integration is possible.
I see
Insurmountable hurdles.
Listen: Don’t be fooled into thinking these are
U.S. citizens in the making
© Marie Elena Good 2025
A reverse poem. Now read from the bottom line to the top.
She entered my class
in purple, with her purple
phone, and purple coat.
Obviously, this
is her favorite color,
and it becomes her.
She is tall, and has
an elegance about her,
along with a wit.
But the shimmering
gold of her heart was revealed
when she used her phone’s
translator app to
say, “Teacher, if I could, I’d
give you my own eyes.”
I’m not sure what the
color of humbleness is,
nor of gratitude,
but I imagine
the shades of them reflected
in my complexion.
© Marie Elena Good 2024
This is true. Last Thursday, this lovely refugee soul entered my class, an absolute vision in purple. Due to recent surgery from a retina tear and detachment, as well as detached macula, I cannot see from my right eye. She hugged me, and then used her translator app to speak this most sincere, generous sentiment. I couldn’t hold back tears. Amazing heart.
On My Calendar
Mondays
On Mondays we enjoy a meal
with family, and it’s ideal –
even when the food ain’t great
that sits there smirking on our plate.
The love we share is the appeal.
Tuesdays
Tuesday mornings I’m content
immersed in weekly blessed event
of breakfast with each granddaughter.
Our one-on-one constructs a cotter,
bonding hearts in time well spent.
Thursdays
My school-year Thursdays are the chance
to teach my heart the steps to dance
with women I would not have known,
and through whose cultures I have grown.
Their love is huge. My life, enhanced.
Fridays
Each final Friday, there’s a date
for cousin’s lunch, and I can’t wait.
We’ll keep it up year after year,
won’t let whatever interfere.
It keeps us bonded, and that’s great!
Saturdays
Any college football day
tends to chase my blues away.
(Except for a specific blue:
that one with maize that passes through.)
Love my scarlet and my gray!
Sundays
Sunday mornings spent in church
singing, praising, heartfelt search
through all the evidence of God
who we can know, and see, and laud.
(Sometimes Keith’s out catching perch. 😉)
Days unnamed, not unembraced,
leave ample time to just be graced
with quiet time
to read or rhyme,
or stuff that’s hard, but must be faced.
© Marie Elena Good 2024
I spent more time on these little pieces than it looks like. They need polishing, but at least the gist is there. 😉
May we learn by heart
that live is three quarters love
and one quarter “I.”
(c) Marie Elena Good 2017
Our hearts were lit the moment you were born.
This blue-eyed chubby cherub, ours to hold.
It seemed you brought with you a love well worn;
If you could speak, the stories you’d have told.
Your toddler legs gave movement toward your dreams.
But no, not near enough for your designs.
You needed flight to capture those moonbeams,
And wishes aren’t contained by boundary lines!
In thirteen years, you’ve hardly changed a bit:
You’re soft of heart, while strong of mind and drive.
You’re beautiful. You can’t contain your wit.
It’s our delight to watch you grow and thrive.
We see inside those laughing eyes of blue,
Intelligence and warmth reside in you.
© Marie Elena Good, 2024
Happy Birthday, Soph! We love you!
Nonna and Poppa
He created all that we are,
and are not aware of.
And so that we might “know,”
he created all things in opposite,
and extremes.
He created joy.
The unbounded joy in everything that is good and beautiful.
And sorrow.
The unending sorrow of man’s inhumanity to man.
He created heat
So searing, it turns all it touches into itself.
And cold
So penetrating, it can suspend the very essence of life.
He created the winds
With power enough to destroy anything man erects.
And calm
So still, even the spider’s web is unmoved.
He created love
So full and without reservation, that he gave us his son.
And hate
So destructive, it renders us incapable of love and joy.
And he created you.
You are joy.
The joy that brought balance to the sorrows of life.
You are love.
The love that reproduced itself in two beautiful children.
You are warmth.
The warmth in a world that often seems cold and uncaring.
You have been like a cool breeze,
blowing gently through my life.
And like God,
Who created all things,
I, too, will love you
Forever.
© James F. Fagnano
(Dad wrote this for Mom, for her 60th birthday.)
Visit with Grandpa
Walking up my street,
I see a man walking toward me.
Aww. Looks like Grandpa, I think,
knowing it couldn’t be.
As we get closer, there is no mistaking.
Yes, it is Grandpa.
I don’t want to wake up, and miss out.
He approaches me.
“Grandpa!”
He gives me a hug.
As is nearly always the case when I dream
of the dead, all senses are engaged.
“Grandpa, what are you doing here?”
He says he came to tell me not to worry about
circumstances that were consuming me.
Everything would be just fine.
Then he says, “You know I can’t stay.”
Yes, of course.
I just don’t want to lose him again
so quickly.
“But I will come back,” he assures.
He hugs me again, and,
just that quick,
he’s gone.
My long, detailed dream continues.
It seems to last a good portion of the night.
Suddenly, there he is again.
This time, he doesn’t speak.
His silence stills me,
while it declares a grand reassurance.
I wake from the dream,
recognizing it hadn’t been merely a dream.
And I smile.
When he said he would return,
I hadn’t realized he meant
that quickly.
That night.
That dream.
© Marie Elena Good 2023
blustery out there
but warm in here with my love
welcoming blizzards
(c) Marie Elena Good, 2022
WD November Chapbook Challenge. Day 1. Write a beginning poem, or an ending poem
“Asking for a friend”
Dear fellow persons,
When did handwritten letters
become an art form?
Birthday greetings change
from carefully picked cards, to
instant facebook posts?
Did spelling our words
become an imposition
on us? idk.
When did we mutate
from people people, to mere
convenience junkies?
Have we managed to
make effortlessness a god
of our own doing?
A god that will bring
us to our knees when we see
it filched our intents
made us its robots
robbed us of our humanness
made us drop our
love.
© Marie Elena Good, 2022
She sits in silence, listening for God to speak. But she hears no one. She sits in darkness, watching for God’s appearance. But she sees nothing. She grasps at the air, trying to feel God’s presence. But she feels nothing. She raises her voice. “Abba! Father! Where are You?” He, soundlessly, speaks. She closes her eyes, absorbing His attention, knowing who He is. Her heart hears His voice in both silence and sound. He gives her ears to hear. She opens her eyes sees Him everywhere, in all He created. The air wraps her up, blankets her in His shelter, fills her lungs with Him. She knows she is His. She sees and hears and feels Him. She knows what she knows. © Marie Elena Good, 2022
pictured words 