pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

Tag: Sonnet

ALL IN THE SAME BOAT (Or, “Idyllic,” a Sonnet for Political Sanity)

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Photo by Keith R. Good

When I consider all, from left to right,
I find myself smack dab in center’s eye.
But I am now okay with that, despite
The pressures of a partisan outcry.

Those right of me say I should think as they,
And fault me for the way I lean more left.
While to my left are those who stand dismayed
That I am not (in their minds) more “progressed.”

Yet are we not one vessel, stern to bow?
We need to row as one, or we will sink!
And so let’s work together to learn how
Our center, left, and right can interlink.

Let’s turn off the contemptuous hate speech,
And focus on the positives of each.

 
© Marie Elena Good, 2019

A Creator’s Palette (Sonnet to The Artist)

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Reflections of autumn’s trees on Rose Lake in Ohio’s Hocking Hills region.  Photo credit:  Keith R. Good

Describing “yellow” leaves in fall, for me,
Does not at all depict their cheerful gleam
As sunlight spills as liquid through the trees,
And they themselves could light the day, it seems.

So also “orange” can’t describe the bliss
That autumn’s gorgeous vista just compels.
And though I can’t rename it, I know this:
Fall’s celebrated color casts its spells.

My favored autumn shades though are the reds:
From rosy blush to crimson, fire-and-iced.
They fairly flaunt and flame as they turn heads.
There’s no way common “red” would have sufficed.

How can we label paints and pens of God
That leave us reverential, praise-filled, awed ?

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

FOR POETIC BLOOMINGS AUTUMNAL POEM-A-DAY CHAPBOOK CHALLENGE, 2018,  DAY 11:  CRIMSON

HOLY BOOK (Sonnet to the Word of God)

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A book of books; a letter to mankind
God-breathed to men of many walks of life –
And yet this faultless work is undermined.
Some say its very Author causes strife.

Translated into fourteen hundred tongues,
No other book approaches such renown
As this, which is as breath to failing lungs.
Throughout, God’s living hallowed voice resounds.

Amazing in enduring relevance
Astonishing consistency of thought
Unparalleled in unbound eminence –
Deny its holiness? No, I cannot.

Though there are those who disregard His word,
My God will not be silenced, nor unheard.

© 2013, Marie Elena Good

OF HUMBLE MEANS (Sonnet to the Newborn King)

 

 

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Public domain photo

Expectant couple travels far and fierce.|
She, full with child, atop a gentle ass.
He, worried as her sighs begin to pierce,
And finding there’s no room in inns they pass.

He, with no proper room to birth her child,
Secures a proffered stable to take rest.
The Babe comes quickly, there amidst the wild.
He frees her Son, and lays Him at her breast.

The Newborn listens to the bleating sheep.
The feeding trough He lies in smells of hay.
His weary mother tries to get some sleep,
Through rolling sounds of cry and bleat and bray.

Great throngs of angels revel in this day –
In lowly trough, there lies The Truth.  The Way.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

RECEIVING SONNET

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Photo by Keith R. Good

The very word is musical, to me.
Her soft iambic pentameter, calm.
Her rise and fall, a wave of soothing sea.
A therapy. A troubled spirit’s balm.

The sonnet seems to whisper, not to shriek.
No heart has she for bias or outrage.
Her soul is surely humble, yielding, meek.
A lady, moving gracefully through age.

When strolling wood, I hear her hollowed call.
While contemplating God, she sometimes sighs.
Perceptible in mid-west farmland’s sprawl.
She’s many means to draw and mesmerize.

Each time she calls, I gladly sit with her.
I stroke each word, and listen for her purr.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

THIS I KEEP ON DOING (a sinner’s sonnet)

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Photo by Deanna Marie Metts

 

“For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do –
this I keep on doing.” ~ Romans 7:19

Like Paul, I do what I don’t want to do.
The best in me is shallow as a shoal,
That barely covers that which is askew.
An ugliness lies deep within my soul.

Too quick am I to judge and criticize.
This goes against my core belief; my creed.
I want to see my fellow man with eyes
That focus on their value and their need.

I give to Christ my own besetting sin
And ask Him to unseat its hiding place.
I beg of Him to change me from within –
Remove what doesn’t bolster love and grace.

For He alone can break through this façade
To commandeer the part that’s deeply flawed.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

ADDICT (sonnet for a friend in distress)

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She doesn’t fit the image in your head –
The one my title planted in your brain.
She’s quilted patchwork, fondly stitched bedspread.
She’s warmly welcomed gently falling rain.

She’s selfless soul and kindness above all.
Her prayers are like symphonic rays of sun.
When help is needed, she’s the one to call –
She’ll set distress aside for anyone.

Her nights are filled with terrorizing dreams;
Her days besieged with raging drug demands.
While patchwork stitches strain along the seams,
Her trembling heart is placed in Jesus’ hands.

If you are without sin, then cast your stone.
But He?  He will not let her stand alone.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

A SOMBER SONNET, THIS

somber sonnet pic of izzy

*

Ain’t got no time for silliness, I say.
No room for fun.  No need for loud guffaws.
Can’t cope with pranks.  Can’t stand the phrase, “Let’s play.”
I’d rather deal with early menopause.

Ain’t got no time for silliness, for sure.
Won’t take the time to write a silly poem.
I’m too articulate, and too mature.
I’d rather chew on tin or Styrofoam.

Ain’t got no time for silliness, ya hear?
I’ve got no use for gigglers all aglow.
Don’t whisper no sweet nothings in my ear.
I’d rather use teaspoons to shovel snow.

Were I to pen some fun, I’d be remiss.
I’m glad that it’s a somber sonnet, this.

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

*Izzy’s first haircut!  😀

AN IMPERFECT POET (Sonnet for a Merciful God)

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My Lord is great, and greatly to be praised.
In Him, I live and breathe, and take delight.
Yet, even though I’m awed and stand amazed,
My hollow words do not reflect His might.

How regal is Your name in all the earth!
Lord, who am I, that You would care for me?
Creator of my heart before my birth,
I long for it to be a light for Thee.

Now, “may the meditation of my mind,
And words upon my lips,” as David urged,
“Be pleasing in Your sight,” and may You find
Offensive ways concealed in me, now purged.

Imperfect poet, bound in mercy’s frame,
I seek to daily lift Your sacred name.

Casting Stones