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
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
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
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
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! ❤
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
