pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

Tag: Savior

Untitled 17-syllable “waiting” poem

Image by Robert Allmann from Pixabay

“Father, forgive them. They know not what they do.” ~ Jesus Christ of Nazareth (Luke 23:34)

Tortured at their hands,
my Messiah didn’t wait
for apologies.

© Marie Elena Good, 2021


In response to Robert Lee Brewer’s 2021 April PAD Challenge: Day 17 – Writer’s Digest (Day 17: Write a Waiting poem.)

HE IS RISEN!

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

Pondering the blood-drenched tree
There but for His mercy, me
Tear-stained face, I bow the knee
Hallelujah! He is risen!

Low, for me His blood was drained
Love entombed, yet not contained
Absolution, as ordained
Hallelujah! He is risen!

(c) Marie Elena Good, 2013

AND I (ode to John the Beloved)

Image by Bronisław Dróżka from Pixabay

The last twenty four hours –
bearer of agonizing anguish
and hideous horror.
Had I known what was to come,
I would have stayed away –
far away
from you. 


And I
would have safeguarded myself
from this enslaving loss.
I would have listened
to your compelling lessons –
your world-altering truths.
But I would have kept my distance

… and I,
I would have sat not at your feet,
but the foot of the hill.
I’d have sought your perfect rest,
but not at your breast.

And I can’t think of Judas
and how you knew.  You knew.
And how Peter did just as you said –
denied you. 
Three times denied you,
and I …
I wouldn’t have believed it.

The others you called,
scattered.
Frightened.
Confused.
Afraid for their lives, perhaps.
And I, myself, afraid.

But the women … oh,
the women …
how they were there for you today
along Golgotha’s way!
They wiped your wounded face
listened to your howls of pain
watched your mother’s horror
wailed
until your life left
and your silence spilled.

But the women remained
(chained to image and sound
that will never be loosed)
 – produced a ceaseless cry.

The women,


and I. 



© 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).

PALM SUNDAY

Image by CKSherrod from Pixabay

She carried her King –
Prince of Peace, and Lord of all,
while suckling her foal.

© Marie Elena Good, 2021

“Now when they drew near to Jerusalem and came to Bethphage, to the Mount of Olives, then Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go into the village in front of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her. Untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, you shall say, ‘The Lord needs them,’ and he will send them at once.” This took place to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet, saying, “Say to the daughter of Zion, ‘Behold, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a beast of burden.” ~ Matthew 21:1-5

GIFT

Photo: Marie Elena Good

The best gift of all
Doesn’t come from a sleigh.
No, the best gift of all?
Sacred love, in scant hay.


(c) Marie Elena Good, 2020

CHRISTMAS CARD

Photo credit: Keith R. Good

‘Twas the morning of Christmas,
And Santa was spent,
Having just returned home
From his yearly event.

After taking his shower
And downing his Joe,
He awoke Mrs. Claus
With a sweet kiss hello.

On their loveseat they sat
With the best Book on earth
To read St. Luke’s account
Of the Christ Child’s birth.

“By miraculous means
A young woman conceived,
And the baby she bore
Would save all the deceived,”

“Which includes you and me,”
Santa said, his voice low;
His eyes brimming with tears
From his heart’s overflow.

“And the best gift of all
Doesn’t come from my sleigh.
No, the best gift of all?
Sacred love, in scant hay.”

© Marie Elena Good, 2020







CHRISTMAS’S ONLY PERFECT GIFT

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If one knew not what Christmas was about,
it seems that they’d find little evidence
of Jesus Christ.  Not much to make them doubt
the countless signs of our greed’s eminence.

The season focuses on “perfect” gifts,
beginning in our early childhood.
Our storefronts mostly offer toys and glitz,
all tempting us to spend more than we should.

It’s not that I’m a “humbug.” Truly, not.
But when I’m home from shopping, my heart warms.
My focus shifts from things that I have bought,
to what I wish were more the season’s norms.

A Christmas flag portrays Christ’s holy birth.
A swaddled Baby rests in bed of straw:
This One Who Saves, through whom we have our worth,
Whose sinless life fulfilled for us God’s law.

The manger scene glows warm beneath my tree,
while Santa makes his presence known nearby –
his hat removed, head bowed, on bended knee,
in humble awe.  Let God be glorified!

Let’s celebrate the birth of God’s own Son.
In Him, our full redemption has been won!

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

 

ELOQUENT TEARS (No Words for My Savior)

Infinite grace, unhindered and free
Limitless mercy, darkness eclipsed
Undeserved pardon, lavished on me
Gratitude lies unexpressed on my lips

Silence of tongue, and hands I can’t raise
Words strung together fall short in their worth
Only my tears are fluent in praise
Here in my tears, my worship gives birth

Eloquent tears spill praise to The King
Dampening cheeks He crafted in love
Moistening lips that yearn to sing
Genuine worship to God above

© Marie Elena Good, 2014

SATURDAY

tomb2

Entombed in darkness –
and yet never extinguished.
The Light of the World.

 

(c) Marie Elena Good, 2019
#seventeeninnineteen

Image Credit:  Spun By Me

(Marie E of Spun By Me:  If you happen on this post of mine, I hope you don’t mind that I used your image.  I had a very difficult time finding one with the stone still rolled in front of the tomb, to represent Holy Saturday.  I also could not find a way to comment or contact you on your site to get permission to use the image.  On a side-note, I found it of interest that your name is Marie E., as mine is as well [Marie Elena].  May God bless you.)

Israelite’ish

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Photo by Deanna Marie Metts

Tell me again
how You parted
the waters
that threatened my soul
to sink.

Remind me
the healings
when reeling
from lie’s ink;
death’s brink.

Retell the hell
from which
you snatched my feet.
Unseat untruth
I tell my past.

I ask, let’s talk
of solid rock
that drenched the earth
and quenched
my thirst.

Recall for me
the blood-soaked tree –
the guarantee
you set me free

from me.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2017