Found photo at blog of James Wallace Harris
When I was just a little girl,
I’d whimper in my room.
I’d plug my ears, hold back the tears,
And fight the dread of doom.
With covers pulled up to my eyes,
I’d suffocate my scream.
What once-a-week would make me freak?
The Perry Mason theme!
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
I WAS SUCH A WIMP! Still am. 😉
“BEAR IN THERE” POEM AND ILLUSTRATION BY SHEL SILVERSTEIN
For Poetic Blooming’s prompt to write a poem reflecting the poet I wish I was.
I adore everything Silverstein! He inspires me to write for children, but oh to write like he does! My poem entitled “Cubs in My Tub” was inspired by Mr. Silverstein’s “Bear in There.”
CUBS IN MY TUB (by Marie Elena Good)
There are cubs in my tub
So I gave them my scrubby
To sponge off the grunge
That was left by my hubby.
But now, misbehaving,
They’re splashing, and shaving
(With hubby’s new blade!)
And now clearly a maid and a plumber
Would be laborsaving.
I opened the fridge to find Poppa bear there,
And I asked him to come get his cubs.
I was nervous (a smidge),
But then out from the fridge came
-Their poppa
-Their momma
-My hubs!
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
Laughter with cousins, next generation! Keep it coming, fam!
Frazier, Moonstruck, Princess Bride,
Cousins on my father’s side,
Husband’s laugh that fills the house,
(“What’s that roar?!” “That’s just my spouse.”),
White folks dancing (should be crimes!),
Silverstein’s and Nesbitt’s rhymes,
English Bulldogs, a good pun,
Babies’ giggles … guess I’m done.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
There once was a gal named Marie
Whose good friends and fam would agree
If she’s uninvited,
She’s just as delighted
To stay home and drink her hot tea.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
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
Root of the matter:
Life is no small potato,
so keep your eyes peeled.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
By no means do I like to travel
On water, air, pavement, or gravel.
So by all means, go.
I’ll stay put. (You know,
Ain’t pretty to see me unravel).
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
My Christmas hippo wants a hippo missus.
Only a hippopotamiss will do.
Don’t want a dog. No kitty, nor Marie.
He wants a hippo Mrs. placed beneath the Christmas tree.
My Christmas hippo wants a hippo missus.
Only a hippopotamiss will do.
I didn’t think this through, when asking Santa Claus
to give a hippopotamus to me for ‘just because.’
I can see him now on Christmas morning,
creeping down the stairs.
Of course, he doesn’t creep, and the stairs are way too steep
To hold a hippo wobbling in his sleep.
My Christmas hippo wants a hippo missus.
Only a hippopotamiss will do.
I love my hippo friend, I love him through and through
I have a hippopotamus, I don’t think I need two.
But I don’t want my hippo to be blue!
I tell my hippo
we don’t have room for more.
He tells me he’s not asking for a 12-foot dinosaur.
I should have known that he
would need more than just me
And should have seen that he would need a hippopota-she!
I can see him now on Christmas morning,
creeping down the stairs.
Of course, he doesn’t creep, and the stairs are way too steep
To hold a hippo wobbling in his sleep.
Then Santa brought a missus for my hippo.
Only a hippopotamiss would do.
His hippopota missus gives hippo-lotta-kisses,
And now they’re both in hippopota-bliss!
My hippo loves his hippopotamiss!
© Marie Elena Good, 2010 (and revised in 2018)
He was handsome.
Warmhearted.
Excellent mind,
when it mattered.
Nobody more well-
mannered.
Clearly he had the world
at his fingertips.
Then came the diagnoses:
and they were many,
and they were hard to stomach.
This unmasking of
high impact issues
caused setbacks.
He felt he was
plunging into limbo.
No more spearheading projects.
No more chairing committees.
No more researching solutions
at breakneck speed.
But then good news was delivered!
He’d been misdiagnosed all along!
The moral of the story?
Though I try bloody hard to be humerus
It’s all in vein.
And you know what else?
For as long as you have breath,
you’ll never not see noses
in diagnoses.
© Marie Elena Good, 2018
I do not like Ae freslighe, Ma’am.
I do not like her sans iamb.
She messes with my rhythmic ear.
I wish that she would disappear.
I do not like Ae freslighe, Ma’am.
I’d rather eat green eggs and spam.
© copyright 2013, Marie Elena Good
“The Ae freslighe (ay fresh lee) is a fascinating, but fairly challenging Celtic poetic form.” ~ R.J. Clarken
Per Terry Clitheroe of The Poets Garret (http://www.thepoetsgarret.com/celtic1.html):
Ae freslighe: (ay fresh lee):
Each stanza is a quatrain of seven syllables. Lines one and three rhyme with a triple (three syllable) rhyme and two and four use a double (two syllable) rhyme. The poem should end with the first syllable, word, or the complete line that it began with.
| x x x x (x x a) x x x x x (x b) x x x x (x x a) x x x x x (x b) |
