Untitled senryu (isolation prompt)
Image from Pixabay by Gordon Johnson
Until they are brought
together to speak, they’re just
twenty six letters.
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
pictured words
a simple pairing of pictures and poetry
Tag: Writing
April 20, 2020
October 24, 2019
HOCKING HILLS AUTUMN 2019 DAY 5
Blue Cabin at Frontier Log Cabins.
Silence, except a
crackling fire. Notebook in hand,
thoughts leaking to page.
(c) Marie Elena Good 2019
#57519
#hockinghills
#frontierlogcabins
October 22, 2019
HOCKING HILLS AUTUMN 2019 DAY 3
I. Keith hikes Old Man’s Cave
while I purchase a notebook
and count syllables.
II. I feel sixty one.
Yet I watch older women
hike in their dress shoes.
(c) Marie Elena Good, 2019
#57519
July 25, 2019
WHERE LIES MY INTEREST?
Photo by Keith R. Good
When I was a child,
I loved to pretend.
The “what” mattered little,
As it was all in the imagining.
As a young adult,
I loved to garden,
Bicycle, and hike.
The “where” mattered little,
As it was all in the doing.
As a now-older adult,
My passions are to
Pray, write, and ponder.
The “why” matters much,
As it is all in the love.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
January 13, 2019
THEN AND NOW
“So you write your novels, if that’s what you do,
Or scholarly texts, or cerebral world view,
While I write my lighthearted, fun-to-write rhyme,
Then do it again for the ten millionth time.” ~ Marie Elena Good, 2009
Now sometimes I write some political stuff –
Some downers and bummers, and, oddly enough,
It isn’t dependent on what’s in the news,
Nor spotting and schmoozing with some obscure muse.
What moved me back then and still moves me today
Is the awe of my God – and to this end I pray:
That whatever I write, be it witty or grim,
It will honor my God, and point others to Him.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
Written in response to the Motivation prompt at Poetic Bloomings: Write a poem about what moves you to write.
May 15, 2016
INVENTION’S FOE (a Sonnetina Tre)
Photo credit: shutterstock.com
What right have I to claim a poet’s heart?
What write have I inside this heart I feign?
What depth of wisdom have I to impart,
Or story that’s not dreary, nor inane?
Perfectionism is invention’s foe:
Methodically it stalls, then stops me cold.
I want to breathe and let the words just flow –
Exhale a poem exquisite to behold.
My only hope to fight perfection’s sway?
Curl up in something soft at end of day.
© Marie Elena Good, 2016
May 4, 2015
No ‘author’ity
No authority
Abandoned spineless blank leaves
No write to be heard
Photo credit: http://piximggif.com
pictured words 