I'm Walt. And I'm Marie Elena.
This is the collaboration of two kindred spirits; partners in rhyme;
"the best friends we've never met."
All "Across the Lake. Eerily."

Friday, December 31, 2010


Twenty Ten has scraped
like fingernails on chalkboard.
Time for a clean slate.

Marie Elena

Monday, December 27, 2010


Meet me where memory encounters moment,
dream melds with certainty,
and loss is rendered impotent.

Marie Elena

Friday, December 24, 2010


Years pass.
Christmas never changes.
In the exchange of gifts and greeting
there is a meeting of hearts and it starts.
Thoughts of voices that have been silenced
and smiles that have faded into misty memory.
Melancholy peeks through the windows
of a heart broken soul; a token show of
love for loved ones long vacant.
At some point you anoint these recollections;
a status of legend and immortality takes hold.
We remember Christmases of long ago as if
they are visions of a changeable future.
It nurtures us and give our sorrow rest.
The tomorrows are the best when our steps
are guided and propelled by the lessons learned.
Through our losses, we remember the wonder of love
and we will be healed by it; the gift of Christmas.


Thursday, December 23, 2010


Abandoned glory for virgin’s womb.
For his birth, there was no room.
Embraced His fate, though death did loom,
Crucified; then laid in tomb.

Conquered sin and death outright,
My Redeemer won the fight.
Sacrificed for sin’s dark blight;
Light and Life of Silent Night.

Marie Elena (2009)

Sunday, December 19, 2010


                                    <       >
                                      V V
                               All the prep-
                               arations are
                          nearly completed.
                      The house is clean and
                   dressed up. Boughs of green-
                        ery hang in sweeping
                   arcs, bringing symmetry to a
              celebration well planned. Every boy,
           girl woman and man, join hands in bowed
                 prayer for a day molded on peace
             and love; above all else, the birth of a
        child brought to the world to sacrifice in order
              to make a nice life rife with meaning.
              And taking time to share in that spirit,
          aside from the hustle and bustle of hurried
        desperation seems to get lost in the shuffle.
     But, when evening comes to call and all will gather
  in heart, near hearth or around the tree, a communion
                                     of love lights
                                     every happy
                                     face brightly.


Friday, December 17, 2010


                                                                  and still,
                                                                 the way a
                                                                night like this
                                                               should be. All have
                                                            retired, they surely look-
                                                            ed tired and worn. They’ll
                                                           be better in the morning, they
                                                        have earned their rest.   They did
                                                            their best. I’d be resting too, but
                                                                it’s just that I’ve still too much to do.
                                                 There’s   that list; a new quick check for updates,
                                                reprieves from me in a stretch.   A call to the stable,
          assuring                           this latest chapter of the fable goes off without a hitch.
       The        suit                        is pressed. The boots shine next to the white fur, setting
     the    brig       ht                     crimson ablaze; a staple for the Holidays. Am I crazy, or has
      De   cember   co                 me more rapid than eagles? It feels like it to me. Time flies
      wh   en I’m hav ing     fun.        I scan under the tree with a twinkled eye, spying the
   presents displayed. Every          brightly wrapped package becomes the best prize, never
    taking away from the next, at        best joining each box in wonder and richness. But,
   there is one gift that draws my attention. Did I ever mention my total love of Christmas?  It
     is in that spirit that I take up this Gift so incons       picuous, yet so utterly necessary   for
     this day. For in my hands, I hold perfection. At    closer inspection, I am certain. No giftof 
Christmas was ever so right; so accepted. So loved.   Remembering the verse, “…and the
greatest of these, is Love”, my heart swells, a telling    sign that Christmas lives within me.
 This                            Gift      so needed, fills my hands with its girth, and makes my heart
    wor                        thy                through all that it espouses. It houses purity, and sanct-
         ity.                It                       represents love. The Truest of All Love. And so it is
             with      this                   First Gift of Christmas.              I bow my head; a silent
                 prayer                         prepares me for my jour           ney. “God so       loved
              the       wor                      ld that he gave his only            son…”              and
          I ret             urn           The Babe to His manger, the love of Christmas fills me. I raise
       from                     my      knee, coming to stand near the tree. I am Santa Claus, chosen to be an icon of the season. I am humbled to receive “The Gift” I represent Who gives it a reason.          Walking in silence and reverent thought, to a waiting sleigh and a day of love.


Wednesday, December 15, 2010


“We’re running away,” said The Twins.
Mom packed their bags.
Mom packed their lunch.

Mom hugged their necks.
Mom kissed their cheeks.
Mom cautioned,

“Remember, you are not allowed to cross any streets.”

Marie Elena
Based on a true story.

Sunday, December 12, 2010


Christmas lights.
Blinking, twinkling.
Red, yellow, blue.
Green and white; burns all night, bright.
Beacons of light in a mid-December snowfall.
Offering a brilliance not seen since early fall.
Silent, accenting vignettes of serenity.
A Christmas amenity:
strung and hung,
eclectic and electric.
Blinking, twinkling.
Red, yellow, blue.
Green and white, burns all night. Bright
Christmas lights.


Friday, December 10, 2010

ATTENTION DEFICIT CHRISTMAS (To the tune of Jingle Bells)

Dashing through the thoughts
Of an A.D.D.-fraught head.
Presents to be bought;
Writing this instead.

Pretty snow outside
Calling me to play
“Ought to/want to” soon collide
Now, which will win today?

Cards to write! Sweets to bake!
Stockings to be hung!
Presents to be bought and wrapped, and carols to be sung!
Cards to write! Sweets to bake!
Stockings to be hung!
Presents to be bought and wrapped, and carols to be sung!

Dashing through the mall
In a state of frenzied fear.
Busy! Aren’t we all?
It’s that time of year!

Who did I forget?
Did I check my list out twice?
Then I break into a sweat
For paying retail price!

Cards to write! Sweets to bake!
Stockings to be hung!
Presents to be bought and wrapped, and carols to be sung!
Cards to write! Sweets to bake!
Stockings to be hung!
Presents to be bought and wrapped, and carols to be sung!

As I sit and write
And I work to make this rhyme,
Joy creeps in despite
I’m running out of time

To do the things I must
Like write my Christmas cards.
Instead I sit and look nonplussed –
Give judgment my regards.

Things to do! Things to do!
Running out of time!
Cannot pull myself away from working on this rhyme.
Things to do! Things to do!
But I’m not uptight.
Oh what fun it was to write a Christmas poem tonight!


Marie Elena

Monday, December 6, 2010


This season tries his stamina and might,
And puts his disposition to the test.
Still, dimples bare, and eyes twinkle with light;
He carries on with energy and zest.

Though people think his work is child’s play,
I’m one who understands just what it takes.
Commitment is his motto ev’ry day
He works the whole year through, for goodness’ sakes.

I never miss an opportunity
To feed him well, or rub his weary feet.
He gives his all to each community;
I give my all to make his life complete.

Devoted both to him and to the cause,
I’ll always be – for I am Mrs. Claus.

Marie Elena


It comes and goes
when the west wind blows
and we're in the throes
of lake effect snows.
Jack Frost, the leader of my foes,
is drowning out my Ho, Ho, Ho's.
These ten little guys have surely froze;
the way it goes with popsicle toes.


Friday, November 19, 2010

CROSSROADS (A sonnet for my cousin, with love)

Psalm 139:16. … all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.

James E. Powers, Jr. 
September 23, 1952 - November 19, 2010

He stands between the living and the dead,
as ailing lungs no longer understand
the expectations of a heart in dread,
not willing to let go of all it planned.

Though comatose, his mind exerts its will,
Not giving up, nor knowing how to cope;
As loved ones, keeping vigilant, instill
An ember of illuminating hope.

Sad we cannot return to days of old,
Of playing ‘til the streetlights called us home;
Now, heart-in-throat, we watch events unfold;
Our desperate pens add chapters to his tome.

Yet, God imparts His own life-giving breath,
to give eternal life that transcends death.

Marie Elena
"...  just around the corner from the light of day"  The Boss

You lost the battle to breathe earth's air this morning, but gained eternal, celestial air.  You are loved, and always will be.  See you on the other side, Punk.


In a battle for his life,
Leukemia disassembles his cells,
One by one.


When did counting breaths take precedence
Over counting cells?

When his son’s diseased lungs
Began sucking life

Instead of oxygen.

Marie Elena

Wednesday, November 17, 2010


                                                                                                         done this
                                                                                                  for many years.
                                                                                       Tell me why I’ve never
                                                                                    noticed before. Why is it
                                                                            even the naughty ones get nice
             at                                                     this time of year? I don’t mind, since
           it                                                  means they want to get on my good side.
        Tell                               me why that is? I understand that every child, woman
     and                            man, don’t always believe in me, but I can see the good-
    ness in                    every person. I really do know. It’s a talent passed down
     from                   generations of Clauses. A telepathy maybe, or a knack. A
      crick in my back, or a tingle in my fingers. It lingers throughout the year
       and I hear a voice in my head that fills me instead with a compassion.
         I fasten my belt and get down to business. And my business has al-
          ways been Christmas. On the Eve of my big day, the elves load all
   of                                    the                                 gifts
  in                                      to                                   this
 sl                                         ei                                    gh.
  Then it’s up, up and away. Tell me why you still believe? I am Santa!!!!!


Tuesday, November 16, 2010


Crash! One at a time
each shoe falls, leaving footprints
when I carried you.


Monday, November 15, 2010


i have discarded
the long-held belief that waves
crash one at a time

Marie Elena

Wednesday, November 10, 2010


Brown, in layers,
much like it pours.
Thickly rich,
an acquired taste.
A shame to let any waste.
So much better with
a cold nose.
She grows on me.
long and lean,
a playful bark,
a stark difference
from when she was rescued.
As she's viewed,
an acquired taste,
glad my daughter didn't
let her waste. Thickly,
rich little dachshund,
brown, in layers
much like she pours.
Not much of a beer drinker,
but I thinks I can love me
some Guinness!

Walt                                                                                            Photo by Melissa L. Wojtanik

Tuesday, November 9, 2010


Caught up in Challenge.
Come and see for yourself, at
Poetic Asides.

Marie Elena

Check out the rough drafts of many talented poets (some new; some veteran):  Writer's Digest Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer .  Maybe you'll wish to try your OWN hand at poetry!

Wednesday, November 3, 2010


Belmont Avenue
Nestled among family
Longing to return

Childhood memories.
Joyful. Innocent. Carefree.
Longing to return.

Marie Elena

Monday, November 1, 2010


November 1st.

Two months to a new year. The disheartening fact of the matter is that last night, Halloween had me listening to the "Sounds of the Seasons" channel on Music Choice section of our local cable. Rather raucous and rambunctious renditions of "This is Halloween" by Marilyn Manson, and "Feed My Frankenstein" by Alice Cooper. Every sinister and macabre song, sound and effect at the touch of my remote.

Step into November. A cup of coffee, leaves meandering out my window and a brightly colored Christmas tree upon my TV screen with Bobby Darin crooning "Silent Night". It's been in the stores. It is filtering into advertising. But it doesn't infiltrate into my house until at least Thanksgiving. The seasons changed on me overnight. I should have had some warning. And so it begins...


Wednesday, October 27, 2010


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

Tuesday, October 26, 2010


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.



Tuesday, October 19, 2010


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

Thursday, October 14, 2010


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


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

Wednesday, October 13, 2010


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.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010


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.


Tuesday, October 5, 2010


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.
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.

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

Wednesday, September 29, 2010


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.


Friday, September 24, 2010


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.


Tuesday, September 21, 2010


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

Marie Elena


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.


Saturday, September 18, 2010


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.




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

Marie Elena

Friday, September 17, 2010


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.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010


Temperatures be damned, in a week we enter the "official" start of the fall season. With the Autumnal Equinox at hand, we accept that all good things must come to an end. It was a great summer in Buffalo (an oxymoron, to be sure), and although I hate to see it go, it is time to move on. We're doing a lot of that now-a-days; not always willingly,but neccessary in all cases. So in re-prioritizing our lives on the business ends of this Great Lake, we cling to what matters most. Family. True Friendship. The odd poem, from time to time.(And if you read my and Marie's work, you'll agree we hit that mark all too often. ;) We'll try and keep the warmth at a comfortable level here "Across the Lake", not too cold - not too hot. Just write, Right!?

The final third of 2010 inches to completion. It has been a tumultuous, yet productive year for both of us here. The holidays are drawing near; a chance to put those familial lifelines to good use. Thanks to all who have visited M. E. and me here at "Across the Lake, Eerily", and have offered encouragement or have been touched by our heartfelt muses. You tell us we matter, and that's always a good thing. It just helps us all draw nearer.


Saturday, September 11, 2010


As we consider
Nine-Eleven of ’01,
God, what have we learned?

Marie Elena

Thursday, September 9, 2010

POETIC NURTURE (Pathetic Future)

Life went on in a downward spiral,
a world gone viral and lacking in decorum, no forum for discourse, 
just the forces of nature in coercion with the latest version of humanity without sanity.
The vanity of every man, woman and child had taken a wild turn, spurning tradition and
heading on amission to destroy all good things. Presidents and Kings, lacking in insight,
fight for their agenda, hardly mending fences and fostering the pretense that they strive
for the common good. But, no man had the ability to change things, no hope was ever
offered. We asked not what we could do to achieve that city on the hill amidst a thou
sand  points of light. All we did was fight. In a country of excess, we came to lose the
ability to express, we would digress, a less civilized purpose; a banal circus of
illusionists and clowns. Cities and towns, centers of populations and industry,
armies of force and destruction laid barewithout care.
The inevitability of a
world wide revolution,
a universal solution
to pollution and
hunger, homelessness
and hopelessness,
brought all the
problems to the
common man
to solve. We 
had evolved into 
survivors, alive 
for each other; 
sister and brother,
Father and mother.
Pulling together in
the same direction.
Not striving for per-
fection, but working
to keep the peace.
Poets became the keepers of wisdom, wordsmiths
and scholars, knew it got better before every verse. But first we needed 
to join our hearts and minds to find our footing; a good way to start. No longer were
we right of left.Conservatives and Liberals ceased to exist. Republican and Democrat
were not viable concepts.Too bad we had to destroy all we held dear to get to
here.          Maybe          in          the          future,          we'll          remember.


Wednesday, September 8, 2010


As earlier the moon begins to rise,
and sun sets in the peached and purpled sky,
so even birds and animals surmise
that fall is in the air -- though slightly shy.

Don’t let her cool appearance disconcert,
for she can be as warm as amber‘s core.
Her sun, no longer brass, will toy and flirt,
as dazzling colors soon come to the fore.

As summer takes her leave, she bids farewell.
Yet I, for one, cannot feign grand despair.
She failed to cast on me her storied spell.
I’ll welcome autumn’s palette, and brisk air.

As summertime releases sultry hold,
I watch for autumn’s magic to unfold.
Marie Elena

Tuesday, September 7, 2010


towing harvest moon
as the sun sets on summer,
warm friendship sails on

Marie Elena


                                           winds blow,
                                           and cooler
                                           over Great Lake
                                           waters.An eerie sense
                                           of finality raises over the
                                           horizon and blends frantically
                                           with the darkening cloud patches,
                                           traces of Summer becoming fainter
                                           memories. Autumn waits ever impatiently,
                                           fighting for a dominance; prominence, meeting
                                           resistance. In the distance, a lone boat tracks, sail
                                           billowed in the stiff breeze, a genteel serenity commands
                                           the late afternoon. You swoon over the beauty as it faintly
                                           waves of emotions and Erie's redundant tide.
                        A whiff of warmth lingers, as you can count the fingers on one hand
                              the number of the times the lake had disappointed. Turning
                                        toward shore, the shifting wind brings the single
                                               sailor homeward. Summer sets sail.


Saturday, September 4, 2010


All the heat of a million suns
baking; no mistaking your influence.
For in the confluence of words,
the only thing heard is the sound
of a heart beating, greeting the stares
and glares with a clear head
and a passionate fire. It has been your desire,
to progress in talent and scope,
a sincere hope that success comes
with all the trimmings. Skimming your heart,
stepping out of your comfort zone, alone.
Taking your place on stage finally,
tempering your sanity and fighting
off your critics not ready to release you.
It pleases you that they hold you tightly,
but rightly, you have more stages to grace
in search of your rightful place.
Taking the world by storm and being warm.
In the spotlight, never let them see you sweat.


Friday, September 3, 2010


Throw off comforter
Rise and shine
Chill in air
Don fluffy robe
Sip hot coffee
Take hot shower
Dress in layers
Heat the car
Go to work
Strip top layer
Work, work, work
Strip second layer
Work, work, work
Clock back out
Head to car
Strip to tanktop
Cook and eat
Throw on sweater
Go for walk
Take hot shower
Don fluffy robe
Sip hot tea
Throw on comforter
Repeat next day

Marie Elena

Thursday, September 2, 2010


I’m living in a country where I’m blessed;
where I can freely read God’s word at will.
Without the fear of seizure and arrest,
I drink it in to get my daily fill.

Not everybody sees it as God’s word;
some see it as a convoluted text.
I can’t believe their hearts would not be stirred;
a thought that leaves me saddened and perplexed.

I cannot fathom life without this gift
that speaks to me through times of pain and strife.
Without God’s word, my heart would be adrift,
and, aimlessly, I’d wander through this life.

Immersed inside The Word, I’m right at home --
My Father is the author of this tome.

Thankful for this freedom.

Marie Elena

Tuesday, August 31, 2010


Golden silence
Silver moon
Lake’s alliance
Souls in tune

Marie Elena

Saturday, August 28, 2010


A morning calls, freshly whispering  in the vacant shadows of night,
a sunrise in sight on the horizon, rising ever-upward to her perch.
The church of this new and blessed day dawns upon us. We pray
that every new day possesses her beauty and grace, a place
where the angels stand, hand-in-hand, offering their songs in the
rustle of each leave, the hush of the breeze and in every newborn's sneeze.
A morning; as new as any beginning for which we can wish.
A day, as precious as the life we offer to Him in our every action
It is pleasing in our sight that this right moment is presented to us;
this gift is given to us. Accept this new day in the spirit of life.

For no matter what the mortal men predict, it is a new and blessed day.
If clouds should form, it is a sign to appreciate all you have when the sun
sits high in a blue sky. If rain should appear, know that it will eventually clear,
leaving the bloom of flowers and the freshness of a start anew.
Any obstacle was placed before you, to teach you. To teach you to persevere.
To teach you acceptance of the things you cannot change. To give the lesson
that all God offers in each new day is a blessing. It is never more than we can handle.
It is always a manifestation of His love for us. Embrace this gift for it is given in love.
Embrace this day, your life, your family, your friends, and the time you have to embrace.
This is a great place that emerges from the shadow of night; this day so given.


Wednesday, August 25, 2010


Graceful and heartful, smart,
full of vigor to fight the rigors of life
as defined. You don't mind
because at your side, having your back,
is a friend. In need, indeed;
when not needed, wanted just the same.
The game is simple. Having a friend is being
a friend. Faceless, replaceless
never graceless, with a spacious heart.
From start to end, a Good friend is priceless.
Good as gold, and then some. Without end.


Saturday, August 21, 2010


Waves wash in unexpectedly, heaving and surging,

threatening our very footing, as one of our own

is wrestled under, ill equipped for the

fight of his life, which finds all

of us standing aground,

ourselves breathing


Marie Elena


Crash of surf on sand,
gulls abound and flit around
in gangs of ten or twenty.

I'd have bet money
that the beach would be full
until we cleared the ridge to the shore.

Widely scattered blankets more
sand than flannel, to a (wo)man
the guards start to vacate. We're late

to get in the water, we ought to
have come earlier. But the atmosphere
is soothing. Two of us barefoot at Erie's edge.

Hedging that bet, I get a flash of memory,
back to the day when the girls were younger
and I didn't need sunscreen to protect my scalp.

No guard on duty. Service suspended.
But it didn't cause the end of a wonderful day.
Sunset burned into our eyes; in our hearts it stays.



Ten days of silence
Eerily, Across the Lake
Buoycotting muses?

Marie Elena

Wednesday, August 11, 2010


Tutankhamen need not apply
to that "pyramid" by-the-by,
under a sunny Cleveland sky.
He's not the guy; he's not the guy.

Enough kings there to fill the role,
the best of R&B; soul,
the Kings of Pop and Rock and Roll,
tops of the poll; tops of the poll.

If you can wield your "axe" with pride,
if you may or may not have died,
your music will get you inside,
enjoy the ride; enjoy the ride.

As part of a group or solo,
your legend will shine at the show,
Rock & roll; the right way to go
to make your dough; to make your dough.

As Halls of Fame go, this one rocks!
The names inside will knock your socks
so hop, and rock around the clock.
Cleveland does rock; Cleveland does rock!



Take me back to sixty-nine,
the year, not the...never mind.
I keep reverting to that time,
when life was simpler; sublime.
In the throes of puberty,
feeling music course through me.
Songs of the day,
artists of the time,
albums of the year,
in my mind, they all shine.
For music was where I found my "voice",
those melodic poems were my choice,
when I ran out of notes, the lyrics popped,
(and for a span of twelve years I completely stopped).
But back with a vengeance I came roaring
to hear my poetry take flight, now soaring
beyond all expectations, my fait accompli;
my celebration of mind, and words and me.
If I had to pinpoint where it began,
'twas the "Summer of Love" kick-started this man,
and so as I venture to continue in rhyme,
I toss my once-upon-a-mane to Nineteen Sixty-Nine!

Peace, Brother!


Sunday, August 8, 2010


The vision of a friend; seeker of artistic worth.
How on earth did she ever find this connection?

But the direction she chose to expose that eye,
a far cry from Toledo, across the Erie Lake toward Buffalo.

Little did she know, the voice she heard spoke in words
that expressed a devotion to song, lyrical and lilting; lifting

an unsure foot, and then the next. Small steps into his world
unfurling the banner of poetic pondering, wondering if her words

could touch the soul of one she perceived so gifted,
lifted by his support and recognition; a position reciprocated

in kind. In his mind, he is driven, given the opportunity
to share in poetic unity; like minds finding a common bond.

Hands across the lake, reaching and teaching each other,
a rhyming sister and brother, related by their poetry, knowing

they are enhanced by their presence, in essence their words
become their umbilical, joining and nourishing their combined muse.

He is used to relying on her friendship; a necessary camaraderie
in her eye, the window to their personalities, a view to their worlds.