We’ve all heard the saying, “Every time God closes a door, he opens a window.” Supposedly, it means that out of a bad situation, something good will come. We’ve been blessed in some ways throughout our lives.  Think of one of those times and see if it was precipitated by a “misfortune.” Endings do become new beginnings after all!

Poeticize what’s behind that closed door.  Why is it closed? If you’ve had an experience where something had not gone in your favor only to lead to something amazing or life changing, write of that!

Or write about that open window. What do you see there? The scene is the root of your poem.

Once that window opens, take wing and soar skyward, even if only in words!




I see and hear the birds, the deer,
the kids that play across the way.
I feel the breeze, and watch the trees react,
and I make eye contact with Chickadee.
I smile as he rests on my sill.
Then I refill my coffee mug,
sit snug and still and know
the golden glow of morning sun,
and glorious One who made it rise
and harmonize with all I see
outside my window;
inside me.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020



remember all doors are trap doors, and our fires
should be barely more than sticks. We must remember
remembering is always futuristic.

~from “Post-Apocalyptic” by Stacia M. Fleegal


All doors are trap doors.
Some lead to destinations,
others to other trap doors.
A mind’s cavernous hollow
lets you follow where knowledge
and memory lead. Knowing bears
a confidence to pursue. Memory
plays in a constant loop
revisiting that which we have left
behind or forgotten. Yet, ignoring
the past becomes a destiny to repeat it;
a step forward from where recollection
is buried. Step away from the past,
remembering is always futuristic.

© Walter J Wojtanik , 2020


Why not? It is a tradition of sorts. July comes and we’re ready to let our poetic prowess loose and celebrate it’s arrival.

But you may be saying, “But Walt, with this Corona Virus wreaking havoc and all the fun things like theaters, and restaurants, and beaches, and gyms, and sporting events and concerts being postponed or closed, what’s the allure of it?”

Well, if we find we cannot go to these places, we’ll bring those elements to the garden and use them as fodder for our worded wonder. Each day I will post a nudges upon which to base your poem. It will touch on one of the aspects mentioned above. Now I know many have suffered with the virus (I had tested positive at one point) and some have even lost their lives because of it. But, we are looking to survive with a bit of hope and a promise of something better.

So I ask that you join us on July 1st to do what we can to battle the frustration of this pandemic, and become poemic with the rest of us. Are you with us?


This one’s for Marie! Seventeen, nice and clean.

To refresh:


  • In Japanese the haiku is composed of 17 sound units divided into three parts – one with 5 syllables, one with 7 syllables and another with 5 syllables. Since sound units are much shorter than English syllables, it has been found that following the Japanese example results in a much longer poem. The Japanese write their haiku in one line. The Japanese, because of their longer history of reading haiku, understand that there are two parts to the poem.
  • In English, however, each part is given a line in order to clearly divide the parts of the haiku. This allows the reader time to form an image in the mind before the eyes go back to the left margin for more words. The line breaks also act as a type of punctuation. In English these are called the phrase and fragment. One line is the fragment and the other two lines combine grammatically to become the phrase. Without this combining the two lines together the haiku will sound “choppy” as the tone of voice drops at the end of each line.

Getting back to basics for a spell, and the Haiku fits right here. Join us for another short bit of wordplay!



Crisply the wind sweeps

between the blossoms on high

through the breath of God


Today is Father’s Day.

As we did with Mom back in May, we can pay homage to the man who had a hand in giving us our start. Write a father poem. Anything dad will work here. Or you can error typographically and write a farther poem, or a fatter poem. You can go wherever your poetic license will allow.

As the prompt heading is “Yesterday and Today,” you can express on either of those days. You can expound on yesterday or today, or write a past or present poem!

In passing, yesterday saw the change of the season. Whichever season you are entering (depending on your location), you can also use that as fodder for your poetic folly. But by golly, write something today!



YESTERDAYS (Father’s Day 2020 Sonnet for my Dad)

Just one more chance to hear your drum set swing,
And feel the pride well up inside my core.
And I believe I’d give most anything
To watch as you conduct a band once more.

To hear you call Mom Sweet Pea one more time,
And see the love for her in aging eyes
That cleaved to days of youth, well past their prime,
Embracing the enchantment love implies.

From time to time, I feel as though you’re near.
I sometimes hear your words play through my mind.
Oh how I’d love to linger for a year
While you are here, and death is left behind.

Though we may try to hold what fades away,
Our yesterdays were never meant to stay.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020



I pray my children will say this of their Dad,
that he had a kind and gentle soul.
And that he really wasn’t all that bad,
I pray my children will say this of their Dad.
That he was full of mirth, yet sort of sad,
a perfect model in that role!
I pray my children will say this of their Dad,
that he had a kind and gentle soul.


Today we’re presenting the RYŪKA.
The RYŪKA is an untitled poem usually consisting of four units
(often treated as separate stand alone lines when romanized or translated)
standardly with the following pattern of onji (sounds, syllables):
where as, the Japanese Tanka is 5-7-5-7-7. 
There are other variations of Ryūka such as
7-5-8-6 or
5-5-8-6 or
longer Ryūka with 8-8-8-8-8-8-8…-6.
Let’s write RYŪKA!
serenity lives
beneath the bright sun
lovers find strength in her warmth; light
caresses touch their hearts
(Variation – 5,5,8,6)


Many passions are found in the heat of the night. With the recent stretch of dreadfully warm days up this way, it’s time we deal with the heat. From room temperature, to tepid, to lukewarm. From simmering to a rapid boil, scalding hot and molten. Write a poem and make it hot. Then when you’re done, reward yourself with a cool shower or a long hose down. (The heat of the night can be a bit cooler than midday, so maybe use it to your advantage!) Hot! Hot! Hot!


“They call me Mr. Tibbs.”  ~ Virgil Tibbs, In the Heat of the Night

It’s 1967. I’m 9 years old. My dad is explaining the gist of a movie I am not allowed to see. I don’t want to see the movie.  More than that, I don’t want to see the nightly news.

It’s 2020. My granddaughter is 9 years old.  As in ’67, I don’t want to see the news.  Yet, there is a difference in the images this time:  Many protesters and police officers are wearing masks, attempting to protect those they see, from a virus they can’t.

The Long Hot Summer
of Nineteen Sixty Seven
begs us take a knee.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020


AS HOT AS YOU CAN MAKE IT, by Walter J Wojtanik

Make it dark
and not too thick.
I want it to warm me,
not to stick to my ribs.
No cream.
No sweetener.
No mocha-choca-frappa-latte-
f-in’-chino, Know what I meano?
Oh, and make it hot.
Very hot! Do not
hold it between your knees please, hot!
I’ll take it as hot as I can get it.
Got it? Start my day the right way.
A steaming cup of Joe, and make it to go!