“Let’s rhyme,” he says, and so I do
of summer fairs and barbeque,
with marching-band parades uptown,
and small-town smiles all around.
The carny folk that drew you in
with big stuffed prizes you could win,
but off you’d go with some cheap toy
you’d carry home, but not enjoy.
Yet nonetheless, you’ll reminisce,
and I will guarantee you this:
That you will wish you were still there:
that child at the summer fair.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
Incredible image courtesy of Lars_Nissen_Photoart, on Pixabay
He asks what my hardest moments have been, pressing me to purposely reflect on a life that has been primarily appreciation-inducing. I had parents who loved me well and modeled life; relatives who enveloped and affirmed me; friends who have laughed with me, and accepted my limitations; a sister with whom I can celebrate differences and honor common blood; children and grandchildren of limitless love; a husband who gives selflessly and fills my gaps; a Savior who has walked beside me since my earliest days. These thoughts of great blessing bring easy breath and grateful tear. Not that I have not experienced occasional pain. Loss of loved ones. Moves I did not want to make. Divorce. I have not been exempt from affliction. But searing misery has come from a single source: The suffering of those I love.
There is no torment
more incapacitating
than wanton worry.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
Image by Brian Merrill from Pixabay
What makes you feel loved?
I silently asked no one in particular,
Expecting their response
To match mine.
But it didn’t.
So I had to learn them –
Their language,
Their movements,
Their culture,
Their needs,
Their history –
Them.
Then I silently said again,
To all who were there and not there –
What makes you feel loved?
This time, their answer matched mine.
It always did.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
Helps the medicine go down.
“Imagination is the true magic carpet.” ~Norman Vincent Peale
I. JASMINE AND MARY
One flies on carpet.
The other, her umbrella.
Both take me with them.
II. UNCLE ALBERT
Sometimes I believe
if I laugh hard enough, I’ll
float to the ceiling.
III. DOROTHY
Don’t be surprised to
witness me clicking my heels
when I get homesick.
IV. BASTIAN
See, books are more real
than our realest lives, and “nothing”
can take that away.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
There once was a gal named Marie
Whose good friends and fam would agree
If she’s uninvited,
She’s just as delighted
To stay home and drink her hot tea.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
When my kids were in school, I prayed for them.
Shooting up requests to God
for them to learn
respect their teachers
make friends.
Now, my granddaughters are in school, and I pray for them.
Pleading with God
for no bomb threats
sex trafficking
shooting up.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
In last night’s sky
I saw hundreds of stars
above me,
and I remembered
Michigan’s night sky,
when you and I stood
beneath not hundreds
but billions
or trillions
and I wished
I could take them home.
In last night’s sky
I saw hundreds of stars
above me.
Today, not even one.
Not even the sun.
But now?
Now, I know they are here –
billions
and trillions
and even the sun,
and even when I see
not even one.
And I see no need
to take them home,
for now I see
they are my home.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
I suppose when cravings for poison
introduced in past moments of pain
threaten to pull you to ocean’s floor
and you remember the relief of
oxygen to your lungs,
you might find it irresistible, this temptation to
breathe –
even if it is one breath.
Even if it threatens
to fill your lungs with death.
But she –
she would rather not breathe
than return to the venom her body craves.
She would rather hold her breath,
while waiting for her Redeemer
to meet her in the depths.
To lift her face.
To breathe life to her very soul.
She calls herself an addict.
I call her a child of the God who Saves.
I call her brave.
I call her inspiring.
I call her friend.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
FIRE
Fireplace captivates –
holds my eyes in place; my heart
releasing its race.
WATER
Night sky’s silent moon
presides over a serene
song of sluggish waves
WIND
Perched in autumn’s tree,
color floating around me
as my book leaves turn.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
pictured words 