pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

Tag: War

At Risk of Inconvenience

Photo by NEOSiAM 2024+ on Pexels.com

AT RISK OF INCONVENIENCE

When is the time to
ask, “From what are you fleeing?”
to decipher which
response sits well with
your belief system of what
is acceptable?

A conventional
distance between bombs fallen,
and their child’s bedroom?

Number of women
kidnapped for sexual gain?
Number of children?

The amount of food
unavailable to feed
themselves? Their children?

Are there adequate
words to set your mind at ease
that this person’s plight’s
perilous enough
to justify leaving home,
setting themselves at
risk in different ways
than what they feel forced to leave –
forced to escape – now?

To make certain their
endangerment matches your
own definition?

And when, in your thoughts,
is it acceptable to
bomb a hospital?

Perhaps when evil
lurks beneath? Then, innocents
are expendable?

What gives you enough
luxury of ease of mind
to give your thumbs up?

© Marie Elena Good 2024

BEGINNING TO END

Photo by Tirachard Kumtanom on Pexels.com

The start of a war
isn’t the start of a war
nor the end, the end.


© Marie Elena Good 2024

HUMANITY, ECLIPSED

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

A Syrian friend
flees the supper table with
her whole family

leaving home-cooked meal
to decay in silence, as  
bombs scream her story.

While bombs shake her house
in Ukraine, a sweet young child
runs out the front door,

glares at a gutless
foe, shakes her fist, and bellows,
“You cannot scare me!”

A gentle woman
from Afghanistan stumbles
as she tries to bolt

away from the bombs
in her path. She breaks her nose.
But her lungs still breathe.

More friends from Ukraine
had no light, no heat for months.
This, in my friend’s words:
 
“Life is divided
into before and after
war came to our house.”

In shadows, evil
slinks across the globe beneath
our sentinel moon.

© Marie Elena Good, 2024

These are just a few of the stories of war-weary refugee friends of mine. These few don’t express but an infinitesimal spec of the havoc war wreaked on our planet in the time it took me to pen this poem. What we humans are willing to do to fellow humans is unspeakably horrific.

December, 2023

Toledo Helps Ukraine Cookie Walk

Seated in my comfortable chair
across from my adorned and
glowing Christmas tree,
there is a sweet hush to my home.
Most of my shopping is done.
I’m planning a small Christmas Eve
gathering with family I was born into,
and new-found loves who may
not speak English well,
but speak love fluently.

Yesterday morning,
sweet, colorful cookies were
trayed and displayed. Many came
to make purchases for this season’s
celebrations.  The money,
not enough to cover the costs
of war. The sweet aromas,
not enough to cover the stench
of death in the nostrils of those
who were able to escape, let alone
waft to where unwarranted revulsion
continues to slaughter and steal.

I relax, plan, shop, decorate,
and enjoy these sweet friends
I never would have known,
if not for their unfathomable plight.
And I beg forgiveness
for too easily shoving aside
the tempest that wells within –
for my inability to calm the one they live with
every waking moment.

© Marie Elena Good, 2023

#glorytoUkraine

PLEASE, NO MORE AFTERS

Photo by Mathias Reding on Pexels.com

A Ukrainian student,
who speaks nearly no English,
brings a map and photos
to class. 

The map shows her home,
and its proximity to Russia.
Her quivering finger moves across it
showing us her escape route.
Border-to-border, across Ukraine.
Romania.
Germany.
The U.S.A.

She moves from photo to photo.
“Our central park.”
Before,
and after.

“Capitol building.”
Before,
and after. 

Her house,
out of photo’s view by centimeters,
“here,” her finger rests. 
The building in view,
demolished. 


Her house? 
Likely an “after.” 

© Marie Elena Good, 2022

#apictureisworthathousandwords
#prayforUkraine


COME HOME (Sonnet to Immigrants and Refugees)

Photo by Elu012bna Aru0101ja on Pexels.com
So, at what point does one decide to flee
the land where fruit and spice speak Grandma’s tongue?
Where generations of their family 
breathe music, art, and song as through shared lung?

This land (their land) where memories are made:
The land that births their children’s love of life,
where laughter laughs, and prayers-in-sync are prayed,
with rooted norms for husband and for wife.

At what point does their home feel foreign-born,
so much so that they have no choice but leave?
How long ‘til all their colors wilt war-torn?
How long until their soul does naught but grieve?

At what point can one let go of what was,
to feel at home in land of unlike flaws?

© Marie Elena Good, 2022

A DISTANT WAR

Photo by Kostiantyn Stupak on Pexels.com

Even their shadows hide
beneath dark sky
and grim state
as they make
their way of escape
from dark to dark –
or watchfully, vulnerably wait
to face night’s peril
as I write this poem
in my recliner
in stream of sun
while cheerful flowers
named for same
flourish on my screen.

© Marie Elena Good, 2022

#prayforUkraine

BENEATH THE MOON OF GOD’S CHOOSING

Photo by Keith R. Good

In the midst of war
(and there is always a war)
lies grim misjudging.
Fear of difference.
Insatiable greed for land.
Resolute loathing.
Dire false impressions.
Grave miscommunications.

And a common moon.

And beneath that moon,
in God’s perfect alignment,
is home to us all.
We’ve food and water
(if only we’d gladly share),
great plains and mountains,
celebrated seas
with unfathomably large
communal mammals.
With microscopic
yet astoundingly complex
sentient beings.
Sands God has numbered
stay in place as our home spins,
not spilling a drop
of the vast waters
that both adorn and provide,
beautify and quench.

And though we do not
tend to her needs (let alone
the needs of “others”),
God gave us this home
brilliantly placed beneath the
moon of His choosing,
populated with
children He chooses to love.
(There are no “others.”}

© Marie Elena Good, 2021

#5-7-5

WHITE SPACE

untitled

Photo from HMbd.org

There is a distance
of point eight miles from my home
to “Indian Hills,”

our name for the site
of The Indian Wars, on
the Maumee River.

Seventeen Ninety
to Seventeen Ninety Five:
The “savages” fought

To save their homes from
American Pioneers
aiming to settle.

Nineteen Fifty Five:
An historical marker
was erected, and

continues to stand
regally, as visitors
are enlightened to

the proclamation
of “peaceful white settlement.”
And there’s not enough

Witeout on hand to
to cover our ignorance,
and there will never

be enough distance
between Seventeen Ninety
and my property.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

Historical Marker of The Indian Wars. 1790-1795, erected in 1955 by the Historical Society of Northwestern Ohio

The marker begins, “When American pioneers attempted to settle the area north and west of the Ohio River, following the ordinance of 1787, the Indians, aided by the British in Canada, fought valiantly and fiercely for their homes in the Ohio country. It required the efforts of three American armies to break the Indian resistance.” It goes on to say, “ … the Indians signed the Treaty of Green Ville August 3, 1795. They were thereby placed under the control of the United States, and the Northwest Territory was opened, in part, to peaceful white settlement.”

And it makes me shudder.

ARMED TO THE TEETH

war-472611_640

Image courtesy of Pixabay’s ThePixelman

My stomach is tied up in knots.
I wonder who’s calling the shots.
And will they admit
when the bullet gets bit
even they had their own second thoughts?

© Marie Elena Good, 2020