Unusual Rose

Sunday’s Whirligig: Wordle #70

sheep, gras, waters, chilly, enemies, worry,
watch, wobbles, chair, safe, side, spill

The Sunday Whirl: Wordle #259

train, unfettered, family, grill, check, sing,
flower, thrust, twist, run, page, finish

Poets United: Poetry Pantry #313


Unusual Rose

Unfettered flower
spills across page,
relieving herself
of chilly raindrops,
thrusting color
at beholder, singing
song of deep purple
elegance, unleashed.

Elizabeth Crawford

Notes: No, its not my usual, only used a few words from each list. Had spent some time with the above image, which I found on the internet. Had those images in mind, when I finally looked at the words. So, I wrote about what was already in my head. To make up for the brevity of words, I want to share some of the images that occurred when I put the image through the kaleidoscope app.




And that’s only a few of them.

Hope you have a wonderful day.

PS. Once again, I am not being allowed to leave comments. My apologies until I find a way to fix the problem. E.




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Yet, Another “Yes” Vote

The Sunday Whirl: Wordle #258

first, call, smell, look, tide, dissolve,
branch, spin, trip, vote, give, spell

Sunday’s Whirligig: Wordle #69

garden, hummingbird, hover, weeds, burdock, peony,
patterns, softening, stem, dwindle, loss, whirring

Poets United: Poetry Pantry #312


Yet, Another “Yes” Vote

That first call came so long ago,
am amazed it hasn’t dissolved
in whirring patterns of seasonal tides
inside hummingbird memory.

Hovers there, amidst tall weeds,
burdock of loss, never softens, or dwindles.
Still spinning its spell, enticing smell,
and look of trip worth taking.

Sturdy stem, as thick as tree branch,
constantly gives support, as I once
again, lift myself toward imaginary
garden and these peonies of poetry.

Elizabeth Crawford  7/24/16

notes: When I stop and think of the fact that I have been writing for almost forty years, I sometimes feel tired. Like last week, and when I’m tired, I get ornery and rebellious, and turn away. This week, after collecting both word lists, my eyes fell on those two first words, first, and call, and the first line was dancing through my head, immediately followed by most of the rest of them. Have to admit that the call to poetry is the strongest one I own, and am not sure that is always a good thing. Yet, it also carries one of the greatest bits of satisfaction when completed. I did use all of the words. Image is from the internet.





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A Child’s Laughter

Sunday’s Whirligig: Wordle #67

have, reason, filled, when, room, child,
love, irrational, blooms, wild, season, bright

The Sunday Whirl: Wordle #256

wit, twinkle, shock, quilt, weep, warmth,
spice, laugh, lift, can, grow, bird

Poets United: Poetry Pantry #310

Betty Lou Crawford age 2

A Child’s Laughter

A room filled with childish laughter
blooms with bright warmth no matter
the season, or reason for wild antics
that may have brought on such music.

Spills a quilt of love over its occupants
and lifts spirits like small birds playing
in sunlight. Can grow a twinkle in eye
of sadness, that might have wept only

a moment before. Shock irrational fear
into making an exit, or turn it into wit
when sprinkled into that space like spice
of long ago, fresh baked apple pie.

Elizabeth Crawford 7/9/16

Notes: When I first saw the two word lists, the image of a room resounding children’s laughter came into my head. Wouldn’t go away, so it became the poem. Used all of the words. Photo is me at age two and a half.



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About That First Poem

For Poets United: Poetry Pantry #309


About That First Poem

I think that we’re beginning to remember that the first poets didn’t come out of a classroom, that poetry began when somebody walked off of a savanna or out of a cave and looked up at the sky with wonder and said, “Ahhh.” That was the first poem.

___Lucille Clifton

Do you remember that first time?
Lying on your back, looking up
at a midnight blue sky, seeing
your first shooting star?

Shimmering light, moving
with speed, a streak against
that deep blue velvet. Straight
line focus of absolute certainty,
there and then gone.

No matter the hours, days,
months or years, you will
wait. Yearning to catch
another such glimpse,

longing to see, to hear again
the poem it left singing silently
in your soul.

Elizabeth Crawford  7/3/16

Notes: Spent some time this past week exploring quotes about writing poetry. Found this gem from one of my favorites and my thoughts began dancing. That happens a lot.




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Finding The Right Medicine

The Sunday Whirl: Wordle #257

drizzle, rot, roots, diamonds, trail, tunnel,
swift, heaven, peak, weeping, medicine, saint

Sunday’s Whirligig: Wordle #65

single, empty, dandelion, spool, aflame, wanton,
flaring, wildflowers, poppies, coastal, innocent, coat

Poets United: Poetry Pantry #308

Scan_20151228 (2)a

Finding The Right Medicine

They certainly are not diamonds,
these dandelion roots of words
wantonly sprawling themselves
across single sheet of white paper.

Leave a senseless trail spooling out,
foolish empty rot of nonsense
that tunnels beneath surface of any
innocent purpose under heaven.

A weeping saint, aflame with fervor,
could not swiftly put an end
to mindless drizzle of black ink
that furs this coat of wild creativity.

Seeking inner calm, close eyes to see
coastal peak, field of wildflowers, bright
red poppies flaring their heads in golden
sunlight. Once again, at peace.

Elizabeth Crawford  6/26/16

Notes: This one came in pieces, one stanza at a time. Each, several hours apart. Used all of the words, one in the Title.

Image is one of my templates colored with Artists Pens, with a digital background.




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Would Be King

Sunday’s Whirligig: Wordle #64

roses, plea, mud, thorns, sins, sense,
loathsome, love, canker, bud, thief, sweet

The Sunday Whirl: Wordle #256

erupt, shimmering, crow, paint, shadow, fury,
ripple, boiling, rise, swarm, park, sweep

Poets United: Poetry Pantry #307


Would Be King

The crow erupts from the roses,
shimmering shadow of glistening
feathers and fury. Cawing his plea
that we rise up, stop this swarming
nonsense that would paint love,
and gentle compassion as a canker
sweeping out to destroy our world.

That somehow loathsome, barbed
wire walls of boiling hatred should
replace the sweet sense of understanding
and forgiveness. That thorny sins
of bigotry and mud slinging would
better serve our purpose. That violence
and war are better than hard won peace.

How long will it take before we know
that this thief has only his own purpose
in mind. That he feeds on rippling fear
and the growing bud of blind ignorance?
That his only wish is to park his butt
on a throne so he might declare himself,
King. Lord, of all he sees.

Elizabeth Crawford  6/19/16

Notes: The crow is a symbol of higher law. That which is above whatever mankind makes.
I usually steer clear of politics, but these words refused to go anywhere else. I did use all of them.

Image is a bonfire photo put through the kaleidoscope. It has always reminded me of an ancient idol, perhaps a false one?



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Creative Healing

The Sunday Whirl: Wordle #255

whirring, smirk, churn, splatter, chat, tin,
trim, lemon, scar, left, chisel, dig

Sunday’s Whirligig: Wordle #63 

flashes, moments, uneasy, recall, week, writing,
altered, distorted, three, sister, years, came

Poets United: Poetry Pantry #306


Creative Healing

Some weeks my writing is no more than
a whirring churn of uneasy recall, distorted
moments left splattered on the page, only
flashes trimmed down to suit my purpose.

Then there are times when I must chisel so
deep, it feels like it will take three years to get
back up to the surface with only an altered
lemon, left to show for all that digging.

Sister comes and we chat, but I know she’d
rather I left the lid on that tin of scarred
memories. Yet, would never smirk at my
need for this creative means of healing.

Elizabeth Crawford  6/12/16

Notes: It was a big surprise to find that one of the word lists had come from a piece I had written. My first thought was that it would be impossible to write something with them. At least, something fresh and different. Yet, the word writing seemed to jump out at me, so I followed it. I truly believe that our creative urges, and endeavors, are a door that opens to our built in healing agent. And find it very sad when I hear someone say, “I don’t have a creative bone in my body.” I believe we all do have that source, but some won’t take the time to find it. Perhaps too busy living a life that could be altered and changed in so many unknown ways.

I did use all of the words. The image is a pen and ink line weave drawing and it always makes me think of the abundance to be found in any and all creative efforts.

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