MOM

At 4:30 a.m., she left this world.

I can only imagine she gazed with sheer awe into the eyes of God,

and had trouble looking away, even momentarily, to greet her Mom and Dad,

and others who were excitedly waiting to throw their arms around her

 and welcome her home.

They now have the honor of her gracious presence,

while we will be without.

They have the pleasure of her lovely, ready smile,

while we will need to content ourselves with one-dimensional photographs,

and warm memories that we will not allow to dull.

Keith and I count it a privilege to have accompanied her on her journey.

Bearing witness to Dad’s adoration of her to the very end,

we walked with them hand-in-hand to the line separating this world
from the next.

It was there that Dad tenderly and selflessly encouraged her to

 “Go ahead, Dolly.”

A man of valor. A woman of nobility.

An exceptional love story

 that will not end with the death of one’s earthly vessel.

Thank you, Mom, for making it easy for me to call you “Mom.” You will be deeply missed.

Marie Elena

Deloris Jean Good

November 8, 1939 – October 26, 2010

HOLDING THE GIFT FOR ANOTHER YEAR

A gift so given, entrusted,

to be held for as long your hands can hold.

When we were presented with this prize,

we weren't sure what to do with it,

but we knew it would take a lifetime to learn.

It came with no instructions; no manual for success.

Just a trust that you would do the right thing

as you had come to recognize it.

There were times people tried to show you,

but you found that you could figure it out.

You would fall flat on your face sometimes,

only to pick yourself up and keep going.

You would leave little pieces of yourself 

wherever you went; spreading your joy

through the wonder of your "toy".

Yours from the day you were born, 

no need to be forlorn, it's a happy day. 

You've held your gift for another year,

and those who know you, hold you dear.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MARIE!

Walt

BEFORE THE STORM

How strangely still
the water is today.
Calm and tranquil, strangely still.

Clouds upon the horizon,
harbingers of things to come;
clouds obliterate the sun.

The air is cold; it chills,
winds stirring through the clearing.
Winds of change do not thrill.

How strangely still
the water is today.
Peaceful thoughts; I get my fill.

And then the clouds converge,
driven by gusts of icy breath;
a nasty dose of a late season surge.

Before the storm, it seemed quite warm.
How strangely still
the water was today. Such a rapid decay!


** Inspired by "Sea Calm", by Langston Hughes
 
 
Walt

LYRIC WATER REJOICES AT SEASIDE

The happy dead are in its voice.

Majestic Poet! Might I be as full of song.
Melodies of seafarers past

haunt each true and measured step.

Lilting, ever-lifting; a gift

from the weary mariner to Neptune’s ear.

Accompanied in breath and beat,

symphonic sound of a lunar baton.

Maestro of the night, unwavering.

Building to crescendo, euphonic.

Tympani, cacophonous crash;

an introduction to the score

so written. And hidden within

languishes its familiar song,

lyrical expressions of heart and soul,

left to wash away traces of the moment.

Never ending refrain, sing again!

**Derived from “On Seeing A Train Start For the Seaside” by English poet, Norman Rowland Gale

 

 

Walt

SPEAKING OF ANIMALS...

God has a sense of humor. That is very clear to me.

Just take a look at nature, and you’ll see it perfectly.

I’m thinking ‘bout the porcupine, who looks so cute and snuggly.

But when his enemies approach, things quickly get quite ugly.

The Manakin’s a little bird that’s talented, no doubt.

He does a perfect moonwalk. Really - you should check it out!*

I think God threw the skunk in as a most surprising joke.

He may appear defenseless, but his scent will make you choke.

Then there are tons of samples when you look into the sea.

The octopus, the seahorse, and the jellyfish are three.

The flounder’s an amusing chap, which I’ll describe to you.

He has such mixed-up features, it may take a line or two.

His eyes are placed together on the same side of his face;

and yet his mouth is in a weird and unexpected place.

He looks like he should swim one way, and yet he swims another.

And let’s just say his face could be loved only by his mother.

The Duck-billed Platypus? Oh PLEASE! You can’t escape the humor!

Now here’s some information that is true, and not a rumor:

This odd, warm-blooded Manera has some reptilian features,

So some dismissed him as a fake -- this odd one of God’s creatures.

God has a sense of humor. Do I need to spell it out?

He made the likes of Walt and me. Does that erase all doubt?

So much of God’s creation is amusing beyond measure,

But this one thing I know for sure: it’s simply for our pleasure.

Marie Elena

* Check out the Manakin:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T2Bsu4z9Y3k

AT THE ZOO

Cramped quarters, and crowded to overflow,

you never know how these things are planned.

As it would stand, the animals had little say.

It was sad and upsetting in a way,

that the keepers made the choices and

those without voices had little to say.

The variety of the species was intriguing,

in a league all their own, over-blown

in scope, and that left little to say.

Everyday, the wild ones were forced into domesticity,

a simplicity to those cracking the whip. The zookeeper

fond of rum indeed, due to breeding and nothing constructive to say.

Four young lions, strong in spirit and vision,

but always in division over their birth right

and wrong as it sounded, they had little to say.

Gazelles, graceful and girlish, flanked the habitat,

concerned with this and that, did strive to survive the onslaught,

but, they ought to have been allowed more to say.

When it was feeding time “at the zoo”, the milieu

benefited the fittest, as we crowded around the dinner table.

You could label us as you wish, but each dish had something to say.

Life in “the zoo” offered sanctuary, with nary a worry,

for family gave you more than we “beasts” expected.

We were well protected, and that said it all.

 

FOREST FIRE

Rising out of the trees,

a misty wafting of moisture raising 

skyward amidst the changing leaves, colors

ablaze against an ashen sky. Much heat in the 

oranges, warmth in the golden hues, the 

crackle of crimson, crisp and clear. 

From here, as 

the morning 

awakens, my 

soul is shaken 

by the beauty,

and stirred by 

the illusion; 

visual intrusion

of autumnal foliage,

appearing to smolder as night bids adieu.

Walt

THREE IN SIJO FORM

I
When the beckoning telephone causes your heart to race,
and you awaken each morning to daunting and disturbing truths,
be reminded of the friends God has placed upon your path.
 
II
In the midst of these disconcerting times, this painful trend,
this season of anguishing heartache and languishing disquiet,
I will lift my face to the heavens -- and I will choose joy.

III
I search the lake for still waters, yet see riotous wave
after riotous wave, thus hindering my view of the lighthouse.
Yet the Light of the World illuminates my path to joy.


Marie Elena

ER

 

Silently she sits,
vigilant, ever-concerned.

More trouble than a Good

and loving soul should stand.

Making a grand plea for peace
for a troubled daughter,

an aging father, and
a mother-in-law that is

as Good as her name.

Just the same, she'd rather

cuddle on the couch,

contemplating poetry
and wearing her "Buckeye Pride",
while inside there is
a sentinel, a guard of her sanity

and her heart. Always that Good man

near to keep her well-rounded,

grounded in her faith; relief

in every belief on which she was raised.

Praise to He who is deserving,

never swerving from her heart.

But for now, she sits.

Silently. Steadfast.

Good to the last.

Walt

WHISPERS

It's a tranquil lake that licks the shoreline,

a gentle taste; longing for the familiar flavor

of a summer sent packing. Lacking much
in the way of seasoning, but anxious for the season
that approaches. It can be heard in soft sounds.
Not rambunctious and raucous; more tip-toey

and cautious. Secretive. Seductive. Luring

and alluring. Stirring the paint pot with
a broad brush, coloring the landscape to offer

a grand escape from the hum-drum. Some

certainly envision the splay of oranges and golds,

crimsons and whatever else nature holds for our viewing.

Autumn is brewing. Not with an extravagant entrance,
but with a warm nuzzle; a comfortable caress.

Hushed words expressing what a heart can feel.

Hear it in the whistle of wind. Listen to the rustle of the leaves.
See it in the palette of the Grand Master's artful stroke.
Embrace the whispers of a serene and assuring nature.

Walt

MEANWHILE, ACROSS THE LAKE ...

Summer Heat lobs a
bolo punch, not yet ready
to throw in the towel.

Marie Elena

A CHILLED WIND

Morning breaks,

moistened by the evening coolness.

Misty fingers meander

across the grassy knoll, touching

every blade of grass in tender caress.

A slumbering sun lumbers over the horizon,

rising to prominence by degrees.

The wind wafts over the spreading green,

a scene witnessed time and again.

Summer breathes its last gasping breath,

a cough and a wheeze in a cold autumn breeze,

and an expiration expected, but sadly endured.

Autumn falls.

Walt

CHAMPION ANGLER (MASTER BAITER)

He walks by night
flashlight at the ready,
he holds it steady
to keep his prey at bay.
Creepily, he slinks; fisher by day,
and by the way, he’s good at his craft.
You’d have to be daft
to walk in the shadows
in the dark moist night
they’re right under foot
as night owls hoot and they scoot.
Creepily, they slink, earthbound
and round, for now off the hook.
But as the day breaks
he’s got what it takes,
and anglers, they wait;
they always take the bait.
Just the earthworms he’s chosen.
Two bucks for a dozen.

Walt

...AND SPEAKING OF LAKE ERIE

FISHING AS A HOBBY:  STATISTICS IN HAIKU

Half like it. Half don't.
It all depends on which end
of the line you're on.

Marie Elena

LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

I was drawn to their son.

The kind blue eyes

That softened, and crinkled in the corners

When they dared make contact with mine.

The broad shoulders,

That beckoned me to lay my head

Against the chest they framed.

The unassuming demeanor

That spoke volumes to me

Of how he was raised.

But my heart had been wounded.

My trust had been broken.

My spirit was guarded.

Until I met them.

And I saw

The kind blue eyes

That softened, and crinkled in the corners

When they made contact with hers.

The kiss placed tenderly on her head.

The hand that gently stroked her cheek.

The whispered prayer that honored her.

The heart that took in

Every word she spoke,

Every breath she drew.

And I knew

Their son,
Who was stealing my heart,

Could be trusted.

Marie Elena

Photo by Ron Gries

To Mom and Dad Good, with much love and great respect.