pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

Tag: Photo courtesy of Pixabay.com

Song (Senryu)

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Photo by Paul Bates (Pixabay)

You sang creation
into being.  You “sang” me.
Lord, teach me my song.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

 

A Memorial Day untitled senryu


His Navy Dress Blues

displayed on the bed, look like
he was ten years old.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

SIGNIFIC’ANT

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Image courtesy of Prawny at Pixabay

At the top of the slide, she screams.
(As in chillingly nightmarish dreams.)
And it’s all justified:
There’s an ant on the slide,
So she’s coming apart at the seams.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

FROM HIM, THROUGH HIM, TO HIM (Sonnet to my God)

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Photo by Daniel Reche, courtesy of Pixabay

Oh, stillness deep within me, never wane
when chaos saturates the world without.
I know the very God who sees and reigns –
whose still, small voice speaks peace, and quiets doubt.

He gave mankind a gnawing in our soul
that won’t be satisfied without His will.
And only He can quench that thirsty hole;
and only through His food, we get our fill.

At times, my praise rings sonorous and strong,
and springs from nourished soul that feeds on Him.
At times my praise, just weak and weary song,
seeps sluggishly from apathy within.

Oh, Father, fill me up when I am drained,
and may my praise be endless; unrestrained.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

STAY-AT-HOME SUNDAY MORNING CONFESSIONS

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Photo by Anemone 123 at Pixabay

She’s become a permanent fixture
in her own home. Comfortable and cozy.
Not lonely, and
determined that nobody else will be either.
But there is a bump in her road, and
a chink in her resolve.
A chasm, built of laziness
she has come to embrace.
Isn’t idleness inherent
in permanent fixtures?
Deep inside her is a plea she turns a deaf ear to:
the low howl of the lonely.
And she wonders why she writes her poem
in third person.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

CRUTCHES

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Photo by Daniel Nebreda, at Pixabay

Call faith what you will –
a crutch, if it helps me stand
on my principles.

(c) Marie Elena Good, 2020

MARIGOLD

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I bring to the garden my birth-month flower,
And admit to being drawn to her modest, unassuming style. 
She seems unconcerned that she is common.
She simply embraces her meaning: 
Winning grace.

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

BY NO MEANS

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By no means do I like to travel
On water, air, pavement, or gravel.
So by all means, go.
I’ll stay put. (You know,
Ain’t pretty to see me unravel).

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

CURRENT

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Her toes, tanned,
saunter in sand
as sun wanes.

She remains,
steeped in still
-nes’tled blush of dusk.
Settled.  Hushed.

Moon taunts her,
fetching her heart –
sketching shore shadows –
stretching  fern and frond
beyond her vision.

And far beyond
her once-upon-a-sand
box.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

HOLY BOOK (Sonnet to the Word of God)

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A book of books; a letter to mankind
God-breathed to men of many walks of life –
And yet this faultless work is undermined.
Some say its very Author causes strife.

Translated into fourteen hundred tongues,
No other book approaches such renown
As this, which is as breath to failing lungs.
Throughout, God’s living hallowed voice resounds.

Amazing in enduring relevance
Astonishing consistency of thought
Unparalleled in unbound eminence –
Deny its holiness? No, I cannot.

Though there are those who disregard His word,
My God will not be silenced, nor unheard.

© 2013, Marie Elena Good