pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

Tag: Respect

SONNET FOR MY DAD

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My father earned a living teaching youth.
He shared with them the music of his core.
He showed them how to honor life and truth,
And gave his time to all who graced his door.

My father is a man to emulate –
A man who holds to ethical ideals.
And even now, though years have slowed his gait,
They haven’t marred the crux of what he feels.

My father’s love is deep; allegiance strong.
His charity continues to abound.
He taught me well to judge what’s right and wrong,
To gather stars, while keeping feet aground.

And so it is I pen this gift through tears –
I thank my God for granting us these years.

© Marie Elena Good, 2012

MOTHER’S DAY

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Photo by Deanna Marie Metts

All I wanted was to give you a gift –
A pretty something you could wear
On your wrist,
Or around your neck.
Something having nothing to do
With construction paper,
scissors,
or crayons.
Something purchased with paper money
From a department store.
Something wrapped in ribbon.

Now all I want is to give you a gift –
Something having nothing to do
With purchases
With paper money.
I want to give you

Sunny smiles,
Smooth sailing,
Sweet solace.

Crayola and Me, 1958

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Photo credit:  Today I Found Out

I began as Flesh,
But only because it was 1958,
And they didn’t yet understand
A white baby may have a tint
Of Raw Sienna.

No understanding that changing Indian Red
To Chestnut is not only untrue,
But negates a child’s ability to learn
That Indian Red describes a pigment native
To India,
And not the skin of a Native American,

Or for that matter, the ability to learn what it meant to be
Prussian.
Was it easier to change Prussian to Midnight,
Than to teach us the blues of history?

And sixteen new colors were added that year, and
When I turned four I was no longer Flesh,
But Peach.
Peach with still no tint,
And no understanding that Peach is not white,
And I am not white, and I am not Peach.

But colors are sharp,
And when the summer sun shines
On sixty four colors left on Grandma’s porch,
They can run together
and
Permanently
Mingle.

© Marie Elena Good

LOOKING BACK / FORWARD MARCH

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We line the street
Despite the heat;
Await the beat
Of drums.

The cadence stirs
My heart, and spurs
Excitement! Here
It comes!

The Stars and Stripes
And countless types
Of instruments
Pass by.

The pride I feel
Is deep and real
Beneath mid-
Summer’s sky.

My father’s band,
Baton in hand
Directing more
Than tunes.

His students find
He’s guided minds
And morals
Many moons.

Time marched along
So fast. So long,
Oh fleeting song
Of summer.

Now winter’s come
And slowed the drum –
But oh, I love
The drummer.

(With love and great respect for Dad … drummer, conductor, teacher, mentor,  father)

© Marie Elena Good, 2016

AND IT’S NEVER OKAY

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Bomb or gun
Mass or one

Gay or straight
Hate is hate

Foreign-run
Or homespun

Vain debate
Hate is hate

Deeply flawed
“Under God”

Won’t negate
Hate is hate

 

(c) Marie Elena Good, 2016

Photo from http://www.gmpcc.org.uk/news/stand-together-against-hate-crime/ .

Haiku Month 2016, Day 3

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Photo by Keith R. Good

It’s best when
It’s not the hard places
That stand out.

Beneath a Common Moon

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Could we respect our elderly,
Our mentally
Unwell and worn;
Our foreign-born?

Opinions that oppose our views?
Please let’s not choose
To denigrate.
Let’s celebrate

Divergences.  Let’s love despite;
And so ignite
A shared esteem –
A common dream.

BECAUSE (Happy Father’s Day, Dad.)

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Dad and Mom

Because you love and respect,

I love and respect.

Because you are content with modest means,

I am content with modest means.

Because you cherish simple pleasures,

I cherish simple pleasures.

Because you value my mother,

I married a man who values me.

Because you are loving and just,

I easily see my Heavenly Father as loving and just.

And so, Dad, I love you

just because.

© Marie Elena Good, 2010

Just yesterday you received a visit from a yesteryear student. He is not the first to take time from his busy life to travel out of his way to spend time with his once-upon-a teacher. In my opinion, your students were blessed to have been born in a time and location that placed them under your musical direction and life tutelage.  They learned what hard work, dedication, honesty, and enthusiasm would do for them.

… and if they were blessed, how much more so am I?  And how can I adequately express how deep my thankfulness, respect, and love are rooted?  I can’t.  But I can write a little poem, and put it out here for you to see and return to if ever you doubt that I see you as a gift from my heavenly Father Himself.  Always.

LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

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I was drawn to their son.

The kind blue eyes
That softened, and crinkled in the corners
When they dared make contact with mine.
The broad shoulders,
That beckoned me to lay my head
Against the chest they framed.
The unassuming demeanor
That spoke volumes to me
Of how he was raised.

But my heart had been wounded.
My trust had been broken.
My spirit was guarded.
Until I met them.

And I saw

The kind blue eyes
That softened, and crinkled in the corners
When they made contact with hers.
The kiss placed tenderly on her head.
The hand that gently stroked her cheek.
The whispered prayer that honored her.
The heart that took in
Every word she spoke,
Every breath she drew.

And I knew

Their son,
Who was stealing my heart,
Could be trusted.

© Marie Elena Good, 2010

Happy Father’s Day to my father-in-law and my husband, You are both dearly loved.