I’m itchin’ to upgrade, and pitchin’ a fit. For now, I’m afraid, I have zilch to submit. While someone is flippin’ through pages of verse, I want my name there before I’m in a hearse. It’s paltry and petty, this dream I’ve unfurled. But? Improvin’ at versin’ can’t worsen the world. © Marie Elena Good, 2022
The older I get, the older I feel
It’s hard to run. It’s hard to kneel.
Can’t cartwheel as in childhood.
(But, truth-be-told, I never could. 😉 )
Consistently can’t find my words –
Can access just perhaps two thirds.
Can’t run too fast. Can’t hear when asked.
My skates and skis were long-since trashed.
But I’ll still race you on my bike,
and take a walk or even hike
and talk and laugh and draw (kind of 😉 )
and listen well
and deeply love.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
We know much of a fairytale
Of Tortoise and the Hare,
But I can tell you details that
Got lost somewhere out there.
See, Aesop had a barbershop
Where he would share folklore
While snippets of each patron’s hair
Would float from head to floor.
While gleaning nest material
From under Aesop’s chair,
A little bird learned more about
the Tortoise and the Hare.
Not only did Hare take a nap
While racing such a slowpoke,
He also caught a matinee,
And shot the breeze with townsfolk.
He stopped in to the barbershop
To get the latest chinwag.
He wrote it all into his pad,
And stuck it in his bookbag.
That steadfast Tortoise won the race,
Which Hare did not foresee.
How do I know these new-found facts?
A little bird told me.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
This used to be yelled
in a sing-song way
in every household
every day
when we would all clamor
to answer the call
of the one lone phone
that hung on the wall.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
In response to Robert Lee Brewer’s 2021 April PAD Challenge: Day 10 – Writer’s Digest (Day 10: Write a Get Blank poem)
WITH HIGH LEVEL OF ACCURACY, I PREDICT:
As soon as hands are wash-me wet,
my phone will start to ring.
When I am snoozing, you can bet
my phone will start to ring.
The moment we sit down to eat,
my phone will start to ring.
Before my urgent task’s complete,
my phone will start to ring.
The final seconds of the game,
my phone will start to ring.
Car warranty’s good, but all the same,
my phone will start to ring.
About to step in to the bath,
my phone will start to ring.
When I have moved from rile to wrath,
my phone will start to ring.
When I’m with someone, it is known
my phone will start to ring.
The second I put down my phone?
My phone will start to ring.
While pulling up my drive at home,
my phone will start to ring.
When nearly finished with my poem,
my … Sorry. I need to get this …
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
In response to Robert Lee Brewer’s 2021 April Poem-a-Day Challenge at Poetic Asides (Day 2: Write a What does the future hold poem).
I put my feet up
and sip down hot tea,
then fall fast asleep.
(That doggone T.V!)
I climb up the stairs
and head down the hall,
then into my bed
I sluggishly crawl.
Too soon I wake up,
‘cause I have to pee.
*sigh* Back down the hall …
(That doggone hot tea!)
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
Few know of Sue, the Santa Shrew,
and that’s a curious thing in view
of all the schmoozing she would do
once scooting down each chimney flue.
She’d shoot the breeze with skillful ease
in English, Welsh, or Taiwanese,
while feasting on her hostess’ cheese.
Then right back up the flue she’d squeeze.
‘Round every tree, she’d socialize –
she’d dramatize and improvise,
and aggrandize, and summarize.
Shrew ebullience, epitomized.
As starlit skies turned pinks and golds,
Sue’d slip ‘tween Santa’s soft cloak folds
and there, she’d dream of each household
and all her stories, still untold.
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
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 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
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
pictured words 