For Sunday Whirl: Wordle #40
http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/
Mystery
Ashen faced sisters scatter,
like so many shattered shards
of crushed glass vase.
They do not lack knack
of knowing, whispering charms
to keep them safe, propelled
by instincts that urge them
toward preservation.
Scalded by graphic bits
of tragic story, they run,
each one carrying within
the ancient oath that binds
them always, one to another.
Elizabeth Crawford 1/22/12
For We Write Poems: Window Faces
http://wewritepoems.wordpress.com/
Paper Persona
Life lived in slight shadow
of quasi-linen weave, leaving
marks that chart a course
encrypted by whim
of each moment.
Sometimes whole words,
notes to curb desire
for entrance into world
misunderstood at best,
where rest is found
only in small snatches.
Drawn lines bent to fit
arbitrary form of someone
else’s concept of whatever
should be normal.
Easily crumpled, tossed aside,
forgotten, or lit in flash of flame,
instant heat that swiftly becomes
no more than ashes.
Elizabeth Crawford 12/14/11
For Sunday Whirl Wordle #34: word puzzle
http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/
Startled Moment
Rapid pulsations of light
as rare glass is released
from spasm’s grip. Contents
become weightless enigma
racing toward spacious
concrete flooring in liquid
elements of rainbow splash.
Elizabeth Crawford 12/11/11
November PAD Challenge Day 23: write a travel poem http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/poetry-prompts/2011-november-pad-chapbook-challenge-day-23
Traveling The Page
Have followed signs, interpreted
unknown symbols, been nimble
while making notes to mark
each moment. Charted a course
by testing wind with wetted finger,
always seeking best direction.
Yet, still don’t know where
the Where of going is.
Decided a while back
that Where no longer
matters, when true
pleasure is found
in simple rhythms
of movement.
Elizabeth Crawford 11/23/11
Note: This piece applies both to writing and to the pen and ink sketching that I do. Today’s Mandala is one of my Zendalas, put through the digital process my friend uses. She did it as a tease, but it was the only one that suited today’s words.
November PAD Challenge Day 22: use name of fruit or vegetable for title
Finding Another Way To Say It
Didn’t like prompt today,
needed to find way around it.
Words were scarce,
refused to come.
Pulled out sketchbook
to doodle. Pooled letters
of name in crooked stack,
packed them on back of little
butterfly, stepping gently
atop, even smaller flower.
Now, hours later, still
no words. Just this image
of block letters, tipping over
edge of fragrant hedge,
yet somehow quietly
soothing.
Elizabeth Crawford 11/22/11
Note: Am engaged in a different kind of challenge at a new site for those of us who enjoy doodling. http://lineweaving.com/forums/index.php This week’s activity is to draw stack images (ordinary objects, including letters of a name) drawn in precarious stacks that defy gravity. I titled my image Stacked On Butterfly Feet.
November PAD Challenge Day 21: use whenever (blank) as title http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/poetry-prompts/2011-november-pad-chapbook-challenge-day-21
Whenever Butterfly Flutters
“The butterfly effect,” she said. “A small thing in the past makes a big difference in the future.”
The Broken Window
__Jeffrey Deaver
Was kind to her
in long ago past,
but then she left
disappearing into silence.
Now comes back to make
me laugh, to set my soul
to singing.
How could I know
that small long ago kindness
would set current butterfly
to winging?
Elizabeth Crawford 11/21/11
Note: Have been reading the novel quoted above. Found this quote in it, and knew I would need to use it today. Ahh, synchronicity.
November PAD Challenge Day 20: For today’s prompt, write a best ever poem http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/poetry-prompts/2011-november-pad-chapbook-challenge-day-20
The Sunday Whirl Wordle #31: fires, smolder, drowned, ice, fleeting, planet, spark, mindless, trapped, sky, diamond, oblivious, silence.
http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/
Before The Fall
The diamond was so small,
it would be easy to miss fleeting
fires that smoldered at its center.
Mindlessly oblivious to silence
greeting her announcement, she
was convinced she was happiest
girl on the planet. This moment,
under icy blue sky, now trapped
forever in memory, would surely
be the very best of her existence.
Nothing, and no one, would be
allowed to drown her utter
satisfaction.
Elizabeth Crawford 11/20/11
Note: This is not biographical, but have been present at a few such moments.
November PAD Challenge Day 18: write an “it’s too late” poem http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/poetry-prompts/2011-november-pad-chapbook-challenge-day-18
Too Late?
Have heard it said
that it’s never too late
for anything. Figure
whoever said that
must have been of age
when body was still
willing to comply
with whatever desire
might fly, or come to rest
in nest of inner being.
Had still to learn
that bubbles do burst,
and birds must spend time
perched in unfamiliar,
sometimes aging, branches.
Elizabeth Crawford 11/18/11
November PAD Challenge Day 17: write a poem that reveals something http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/poetry-prompts/2011-november-pad-chapbook-challenge-day-17
“Momma Said There’d Be Days…”
There are days
when I don’t want
to write poetry.
When words refuse
to connect, become
belligerent combatants,
or worse, just wanna play
hide and seek. Peek
around corners then
disappear and what one
hears is distant whispers
and giggles.
Know on those days
not to force, try to remember
there is a balance. Days
when a poem will come
clear, land right here
on fingertips, humming
its way onto paper.
Elizabeth Crawford 11/18/11
Notes: My site didn’t want to cooperate with my wishes yesterday. Tried several times, then decided to go do something else.
November PAD Challenge Day 16: Use Once Upon A (blank) for title of poem http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/poetry-prompts/2011-november-pad-chapbook-challenge-day-16
Once Upon A Butterfly
Long ago, in another life,
butterfly fluttered through
open window. Whispered
how she’d brought a gift
to awaken my inner senses.
So it was, in flashing moment,
I saw jagged lines on crumpled face,
before he told us of death
of a friend while playing golf.
And later heard tapping beat
of dancing feet as she sought
balance at edge of hole at center
of her being. Felt her terror
that she might never learn
how to fill it.
On that long ago day, Butterfly said,
“Like me, you will sense whatever
is around you. Pull it in through
fragile skin and feel it deeply. But
only you can find perfect means
to release it.”
I became a poet.
Elizabeth Crawford 11/16/11
