HAIKU

together they play

as the sun shines brilliantly

casting two shadows

Marie Elena

NOT WELL OFF, BETTER OFF

So, a few less dollars grace my pockets,
and no sky rocket celebrations in the offing.
And maybe my offspring don't inherit any more
than their mother's good looks
and their father's well turned phrases.
At this phase in my life, my wife and I,
though preferring a lifestyle upgrade,
have decided that our pride and upbringing,
could have us singing in the rain,
instead of preying on that rainy day pittance.
Our daughters have learned well, and it tells
in the way they carry their grace and name,
and although they are not the same by any stretch
of my over-active imagination, they know their staion.
It might seem that we have no ambition to position
ourselves on the ladder of success, but I guess
raising these beauties with an eye towards
bettering themselves and the world around them,
is worth its weight in a life well lived.
We're not well off, but are much better off in the long run.

Walt

ANGELS' LULLABY

Angels sing me lullabies

Softly lilting voices rise

Wafting gently through the air

Carrying an earnest prayer:

“Dream of Jesus, little one

He who hung the moon and sun

Cradles you all through the night

Safely snug ‘til morning light.

Safely snug ‘til morning light.”

(My father [Sophie's Great Grandfather] wrote an original tune for this lullaby.   It may also be sung to the tune of Mary Poppins’ “Stay Awake.”)

Marie Elena (Nonna Marie)

Photo by Marie Elena Good

HAIKU

God offers heart peace
To the world-weary sinner.
A soothing soul balm.

Marie Elena

Thank you, Jim Donadio, for pointing me to this “heart peace” this morning.  Jim started a new faith-based blog, and it is blessing me greatly.  I love you, Cuz!  http://victoryinhisgrace.blogspot.com/2011/01/identity-crisis-ii.html .

ACCEPTING CHRISTMAS LOVE IN A GATHERING OF HEARTS

                                        A
                                    <       >
                                      V V
                                        A
                                     week
                                   remains.
                               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.


Walt

THE GIFT

                                                                    Silent                                                                                        

                                                                  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.

Walt

TELL ME WHY YOU BELIEVE

                                                                                                                 I
                                                                                                             have
                                                                                                         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!!!!!


Walt

GUINNESS

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

HAIKU

Belmont Avenue
Nestled among family
Longing to return

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

Marie Elena

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

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

IN THE SPOTLIGHT

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.

Walt

MY BIBLE (A SONNET)

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

HARBOR

Golden silence
Silver moon
Lake’s alliance
Souls in tune

Marie Elena

OFF DUTY

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.

Walt

THE MORIN POINT YEARS

A lifetime ago

When my kids were kids

Summer meant Erie

“Overnights” with cousins

Hours fishing on the dock

Sipping trumpet vine

Boating with Grandpop

Awaiting words, “Want to steer?”

Bracing for waves

Haunted Erie Lighthouse

Spotting Turtle Island once more

Wading Toledo Beach

Faygo quenches thirst

Seagulls play Follow-the-Leader

Sleepyheads nap reluctantly

Lakeside fire pit

Outside in pajamas, laughter abounds

Sticky blackened marshmallows

Rainy-day fun

Kitchen-table Euchre with Grandma

Blanket tent cities

The music room

Grandpop’s headphones gobbling their heads

Jazz on vinyl

Time with Grandpop

Stretched out on the floor

Catching “Tarzan” reruns

Fond memories abound

Summer days on Morin Point

With devoted Grandparents

Marie Elena

Eerie Lake

A Great Lake,
connection betwixt Toledo and Buffalo
an Eerie bond.

On the shore
ripples of waves come crashing,
lashing the sand.

Children run freely,
splashing in the rising foam.
Roaming in surf.

Sea Gulls swoop
down to the water's edge,
dredging swimming morsels.

At evening's end,
the sun seeks refuge below,
amidst orange glow.

Erie finds rest,
to arise anew and refreshed.
Summer in Buffalo.



Walt

AMAZED

The way you looked at me at first,

you look at me, still.

Those tender eyes that warmed my heart,

stir and warm me, still.

The way your soul would speak to me,

speaks so sweetly, still.

The patience you displayed to me,

endures with me, still.

And after nineteen years with you,

you amaze me, still.

Marie Elena

HAIKU

I will not risk all

to gain for myself what is

already in hand

Marie Elena

MAYBE I JUST LIKE IT THIS WAY

Coloring outside the lines
Clapping to the off-beat
Seldom dressing to-the-nines
Adding salt to balance sweet

Drinking hot tea every night

Watching college football

Rhyming everything I write

Softly silent snowfall

Crunching leaves beneath my feet

Cutting grass in summer

Seeing fields of corn and wheat

Beat of different drummer.

Marie Elena