PHOTO COURTESY OF LOVABLE IMAGES (lovableimages.blogspot.com)
My lover asks me:
“What is the difference between me and the sky?”
The difference, my love,
is that when you laugh,
I forget about the sky.”*
I sigh.
Forever I’ll yearn to compose,
In verse or prose, for you my love, and affirmation thereof.
‘til then, let’s kiss
And pretend I penned this.
© Marie Elena Good
Photo credit: shutterstock.com
What right have I to claim a poet’s heart?
What write have I inside this heart I feign?
What depth of wisdom have I to impart,
Or story that’s not dreary, nor inane?
Perfectionism is invention’s foe:
Methodically it stalls, then stops me cold.
I want to breathe and let the words just flow –
Exhale a poem exquisite to behold.
My only hope to fight perfection’s sway?
Curl up in something soft at end of day.
© Marie Elena Good, 2016
If only hate could be
S e v e r e d
By earnestly penned poems.
Photo by Keith R. Good
Words strung
Flung prettily
Wittily, woefully
Notably touching
Clutching passion
Fashioning splendor
Rendering reader
Bleeder
© Marie Elena Good, 2016
pictured words 