Flight Of Fancy

For The Sunday Whirl poetry prompt: Wordle #175

Image from Internet

Image from Internet

stutter, cliff, rickety, bones, cart, absence
rift, flight, longing, sustain, baffles, language

Flight of Fancy

Dried bits of bone stutter
in grumbling guttural
language with every
movement of the rickety cart

as it is pulled painstakingly
up path leading to the cliff
edge by equally old, weary donkey.
In absence of logical reason,

imagination creates baffling
image of two eagles longing
to sustain, even in death, flight
over ancient rift that used to be


Elizabeth Crawford 8/24/14

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Wordle Wind

For The Sunday Whirl poetry prompt: Wordle #173

bend, east, lane, limit, case, grain,
sound, parts, straight, water, eye, way


Wordle Wind

Try to bend my way with whatever
wind is passing through these parts,
straightening my sails while keeping
an eye on the water line.

Wasn’t always the case. Limited
by small grain of understanding,
had to completely switch lanes
to sound of soughing exasperation.

Finally learned to look east, toward
rising sun. To remember that each
morning is a new beginning and I
will find whatever I need within it.

Elizabeth Crawford  8/10/14

Notes: Image is an inverted template with a pen and ink line weave drawing in its center.

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Two For One

For The Sunday Whirl poetry prompt: Wordle #172

irritation, sound, disclose, bliss, last, signal,
appetite, sun, flamboyant, jumbled, point, tire

download HL


With a seeming appetite for irritation,
he discloses most recent occurrence for
flamboyant, often overdone agitation.
Someone else is always to blame.

Ignoring polite social signals, he finds bliss
in proclaiming missteps in colleagues’ behavior,
super quick to point a finger, raising sound
of his voice above surrounding chatter.

With grumbling need, must always have last
word. Never tires of explaining how the sun
is a dying star, and that means nothing is of real
importance in this jaded, jumbled, tumbled world.

Zentangle Mandala #10 8-12-09 4

That Time of Year Again

Flamboyant bliss is never found
in filling out forms. Voiceless,
without a sound, they signal certain
jumbled blank void, pointing toward
hidden place in primitive brain stem.

Upon first appearance they swiftly
move past irritation, disclosing
dark and numbing fear. Having no
appetite for their silent intimidation,
quickly grow exceedingly tired,

yearning for rest and bright sunlight.

Elizabeth Crawford 8/3/14

Notes: The first thing these words brought to mind was the TV character Dr. House (have been watching back episodes on Netflix). They wouldn’t let go until I wrote the first piece.
Did that, but then they spoke to another very real issue: my phobia about filling out forms. My daughter, who comes alongside to help, says that I am normally an intelligent and articulate woman, but faced with an empty form to fill out, I become something else…I believe she mentioned drooling…lol.

First image is from the internet. Second one is how my brain feels when faced with a form that needs information and answers. It began as a pen and ink doodle but was altered digitally by a distortion app.

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Dabbling Gambol

For The Sunday Whirl poetry prompt: Wordle #171

dabble, thrill, whack, hallowed, blasts, stained,
hunt, unfolds, shallow, center, skill, reveal

And For Poets United: Poetry Pantry #211



 Dabbling Gambol

While the babbling rabble
scramble to hunt down
whatever stains their shallow
sense of that which is hallowed,
blasting their wacky beliefs
at innocent bystanders only
to reveal their own ignorance,

she, with minimum skill, thrills

to stillness at center of being


as she dabbles with scrambling colors


to reveal exquisite rambling hues


of ever-unfolding beauty.

Elizabeth Crawford  7/27/14

Notes: Hell of a run on sentence, yes? Had a load of fun with the words this week. The word dabble really caught my fancy and I started trying out different sound a-likes for it. That led to this, which is true of the past week. Have been reading a great deal of violent rhetoric on FB and decided my response to that would be to post beautiful kaleidoscope images each day, using photos my niece took in her backyard garden. Used all of the words, but changed whack to wacky.  The first image here, is one I used from a FB friend (she was pleased with the outcome). She’d been using it as her profile pic. The rest of the images came from that same image when put through the kaleidoscope app.

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Poetic Nightmare

For The Sunday Whirl poetry prompt: Wordle #170

magic, forest, swarm, storming, words, without
hangs, while, thrive, passions, creature, jump, hum

And for Poets United: Poetry Pantry #210


Poetic Nightmare

Words swarm in forest of thoughts,
hang in the stormy air, humming
that low buzzing hum that means
they are up to something.

Soon become magical creatures
that thrive on passions better
left without clear definitions.
Leap and jump from highest branches,

while poet sleeps

Elizabeth Crawford  7/20/14

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Worth A Shot?

for The Sunday Whirl poetry prompt: Wordle #169

eclipse, piece, throat, shot, honors, lackluster,
side, cheeky, manufactured, millions, hike, room


Worth A Shot?

Take a hike
outside lackluster room,
manufactured honors,
cheeky asides,
millions of pieces
of throaty drivel.

Total eclipse of soul
might bring
single burst of sunlight,
or maybe an idea?

Elizabeth Crawford  7/13/14

Notes: These words just wouldn’t come together and make any sense. So I finally decided to just pair them up arbitrarily and got that first verse. Then had to take it somewhere, realizing I was having another one of those stiff upper lip conversations with myself. At the very least, I did use all of the words. Image is a kaleidoscope design made from a photo of a bonfire.

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Someone Mentioned His Name

For The Sunday Whirl poetry prompt: Wordle #168


Someone Mentioned His Name

Memories are ghosts
of time,
blind to present moment.
Simple single mission
to hold us in arms
of a past long gone.
Bind us in ragged cape
of remembering,
longing for candle flame
of “what might have been.”
Bloodless images
without living breath,
yet able to quicken senses
like scent of fresh rain
on tree covered

Elizabeth Crawford  7/6/14

Notes: Recently was told about someone I knew in high school who had asked about me and what I was doing. When told that I was putting together a book of poetry, he asked where he might find some of my writing. Thus the poem. Image is a photo of my nephew, taken yesterday at 4th of July gathering. Put it through the kaleidoscope and really liked what happened. It made me think of how memories are like photos, suggesting other things, yet still holding some essence of truth. Permeating our senses as we explore them from different angles of focus and reality.

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