Rose Lake Photo credit: Keith R. Good, 2014
Who came to decide
the precise color of sky –
which blue hue, and why?
For the ocean’s sky
on a sunny day, may be
pegged as Robin’s Egg,
while she that adorns
a brisk Erie autumn morn
is a deep, cold blue –
the loveliest hue.
And I’ve clamed her and named her
my October Sky.
© Marie Elena Good, 2022
Smacks of death, say some.
But I smell Mom’s pies. Hear Dad’s
marching band pre-games.
Feel crisp air against
my sometimes still-a-bit-tanned-
from-summertime skin.
Marvel at the sky’s
puffy white and charcoal clouds
in deep blue setting.
Relish the jewel-tones
gradually gracing trees,
begging wonderment.
Enjoy leaves crunching
beneath the tires of my bike,
or cute-boot-dressed feet.
Experience leaves
raked in a pile over my
head, then jumping in.
Savor the taste of
a hardy stew with biscuits,
or bowl of chili.
Memories bring smiles,
like the Robbins Avenue
Pizza (a rare treat),
enjoyed on our porch
after walking home from a
nighttime football game.
Smacks of death, say some.
But my senses are filled with
what I’ve fallen for.
© 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
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
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.
In the midst of war
(and there is always a war)
lies grim misjudging.
Fear of difference.
Insatiable greed for land.
Resolute loathing.
Dire false impressions.
Grave miscommunications.
And a common moon.
And beneath that moon,
in God’s perfect alignment,
is home to us all.
We’ve food and water
(if only we’d gladly share),
great plains and mountains,
celebrated seas
with unfathomably large
communal mammals.
With microscopic
yet astoundingly complex
sentient beings.
Sands God has numbered
stay in place as our home spins,
not spilling a drop
of the vast waters
that both adorn and provide,
beautify and quench.
And though we do not
tend to her needs (let alone
the needs of “others”),
God gave us this home
brilliantly placed beneath the
moon of His choosing,
populated with
children He chooses to love.
(There are no “others.”}
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
#5-7-5
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.)
We walk around the park’s pond,
eyeing mallards and geese,
clear blue skies.
Tree blossoms of white, pink, and purple
dapple sunlight on the greening grass
and manmade path at our feet.
Lilacs scent the breeze,
as does the pleasing sound of
improving English
from my brave and delightful friend.
She speaks of her sweet/smart girls,
(the youngest of which, with her large dark eyes and
dark golden curls, holds tight her momma’s hand,
and her little bag of chips),
Syrian war,
and lost and scattered family.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
In response to Robert Lee Brewer’s 2021 April PAD Challenge: Day 14 – Writer’s Digest (Day 14: Write a “from where you’re sitting” poem.)
She spewed out a detailed confession.
Her friend made a robust suggestion:
Don’t let your mouth gush –
You must learn to hush
when asked a rhetorical question.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
She hosts a host of
concerts of many genres
in her core, daily,
hourly, or even
moment-by-moment. And in
those moments, she’s moved
but she doesn’t move.
Not really. Oh, perhaps she
sways. Shifts her shoulders
imperceptibly.
She’s intimate with rhythm.
She knows which music
begs an offbeat tap.
She was likely introduced
long before her birth.
Drum cadence stirs her.
Jazz makes her long to sing. Swing.
Waltz softens her eyes,
behind which she glides
across an icy-smooth floor.
She, frozen in place.
Perhaps she will dance
with moonbeams on the wall, while
the house is asleep.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
The idea of dancing with moonbeams on the wall while the house is asleep is from “TOM’S BEACH, Scène Fourteen: A View Inside Out,” by brilliant poet Marilyn Braendeholm. More of her work may be found here: The Journal – Random. Thoughts. Notes. (wordpress.com) .
pictured words 