pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

Tag: Rhyme

THANKSGIVING, 2020

Photo by Markus Spiske on Pexels.com

I should first explain that I went 30-plus years with a severe reaction to butter and chocolate.  ONLY butter and chocolate.  I know, I know … it makes no sense.  For 30-plus years, I have had to be ridiculously careful, because even minute amounts wreaked havoc.  When my thyroid was fixed, this went away.

THANKSGIVING, 2020

Buttered potatoes,
and stuffing with butter.
Slather that nut bread
(my heart is aflutter!).

No need to ask
“is there butter in this?”
Now I can happily
fill up my dish.

But now that selecting
what goes on my plate
no longer concerns me,
we can’t congregate.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

THE BLOB

The Blob was unearthed
in the year of my birth.
It debuted the iconic McQueen.

Still, I’ve not seen a scene
on the cinema’s screen.
(I’ve an awkwardly fragile fright gene.)

But the theme song is neat –
it is hip and upbeat.
For a ‘horror’ble soundtrack, a feat!

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

In case you are interested, here is a link to the theme song. And yes, I feel old! 😀

https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=theme+song+from+the+blob&docid=608056112507847468&mid=E4288864AB1DBA1089BBE4288864AB1DBA1089BB&view=detail&FORM=VIRE

VP DEBATE, 2020

Photo by Skyler Ewing on Pexels.com

This debate was more civil than first.
But responses seemed vague and rehearsed.
Though some orderliness was restored,
Many questions were simply ignored.

Undecideds, I’d just like to ask:
Did you learn who is up to the task?
Or perhaps you just think it’s a crime
that the fly did not get equal time. 😉

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

(COUGH, COUGH)

Photo by Kam Pratt on Pexels.com

My first job, at The Niles Bank,
I worked between two men who smoked.
The office held a haze that stank.
I wanted to speak up, but choked.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

As Awkward as Two on an Elevator

He says hi there;
she says hello.
“Which floor?” he asks.
She doesn’t know.
His finger waits,
then starts to tap.
Her face turns red.
She thinks, “Oh crap.
Why can’t I think?
Just pick a floor!”
Her brain congeals.
He taps some more.
“Just. Pick. A. Floor.”
That thought now slips
from clotted brain
through tense, pursed lips.
With sideways glance
and impish smirk,
he presses 12.
(Joker?  Or Jerk?)
Long, silent ride
can’t end too soon.
It seems to take
all afternoon.
She ruminates
entire ride,
should parting words
be kind?  Or snide?
She isn’t sure
how this should end –

Just like my awkward
poem, my friend.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

RHYTHM AND RHYME, RHYTHM AND RHYME

hands music sound black and white

Photo by Stephen Niemeier on Pexels.com

Some folks enjoy rhyming:
embedded in scheme,
delighted in priming
delectable scene
exact in its timing –
tight; metrically clean.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

Finding my poetic voice

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A poet and his princess 

In April of 2009,
I shyly met poets online.
But there was one who
would help me break through.
I call him my partner in rhyme.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

I’m thankful for this man I’ve known for 10 years, but have yet to meet.  Without his encouragement, I would never have referred to myself as a “poet.”  I’m not the best poet, and never will be, but I am a poet nonetheless.  Thank you, Walt.  Thank you.

P.S.  This little gal looks like she could brighten the darkest of days!  ❤

 

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

coffee-cup-2317201_1280

Don’t like my string cheese stringy.
Don’t care for fishy fish.
Don’t want this squash-y thingy
that’s squishing in my dish.
I’ll take my eggplant scrambled, please,
with not-too-toasty toast.
I feel so sad for black-eyed peas,
and for the poor shanked roast.
My coffee grounds me just enough
to move on with my day,
but navigating it’s still tough.
Will curds show me the whey?
You’re nuts about my pecan pie,
but beef about my stew.
And I just chuckle, and here’s why:
It’s so fun ribbing you.  😉

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

Silverstein

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Photo by Alice Ochs/Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images

Oh, Mister Silverstein, we need more of you.
Childlike rhymes (not child-like) and
Oddities you drew.

Oh, Mister Silverstein, how we need your views!
Giggling at our differences,
Poopooing the news.

Oh, Mister Silverstein, help us all to see,
Anything can happen, sir.
Anything can be.

Oh, Sister Milverstein, I am just slo bue.
Runny Babbit yisses mou
And I yiss mou, too.

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

A (P)LANNET WITH NO END RHYME :(

planet-earth-1401465698wt7

Does Lannet rhyme with planet, or away?
Okay, please chime in any time now … hear?
‘Cause dear, my word buffet is spilling crud,
And bloody well could ruin my Lan-NEIGH.

(See, LAN-net would not work as well up there,
For its wrong stress would smirk at me for life,
And I’d be rife with strife forevermore!)
Oh LAN-net, don’t you see what you have done?

You’ve ruined all my Sonnet end-rhyme f … joy!
(Hooboy, I almost blew it on that line,
benign though that faux pas would surely be.)
A Sonnet-wannabe, is this Lan-NEIGH!

Its WAY confusing diction drives me nuts.
To write with these restrictions took some g … nerve!

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2018