The Other I Am

For The Sunday Whirl prompt: Wordle 204

clay, sleep, tongues, powers, burns, wild,
dream, end, stolen, through, beginnings, am

Fantasy Secret Garden  8-15-09b

The Other I Am*

The Other I Am is no longer
a secret kept by me, from or to
myself. Had her beginnings

in sleep. Born wild from clay
of dreams, where she learned
the power of tongues, speech.

Her small light burning
through stolen moments,
she thought might never end.

But together we have built a garden
where we meet each day to find
various ways of telling our story.

Elizabeth Crawford  3/22/15

Notes: Last week, I shared what I defined as a zen doodle. Those were done in small 3×5 sketchbooks. I did get a much larger sketchbook which I titled Morphology. In it, I drew free-hand, images I called Fantasies. They were done in India Ink, usually all in one color and were a combination of line-weaving, zen doodles, and just play. The image that introduces this poem is just such a fantasy, done about four years ago. I titled it My Secret Garden. I have been working on a compilation of poetry, with some prose, for almost a year now. Lots of fitful stops and starts. The zen doodles have helped immensely because I can use them to finish off pages where the poems are short. After working on that addition through the week, I checked out the Morphology sketchbook and really liked what I found there. The next day, I got the wordle list and the poem sort of wrote itself in less than 15 minutes. The book is titled, The Other I Am. That is taken from a Walt Whitman quote in Leaves of Grass, from the section titled Song of Myself. 

*I believe in you my soul,
the other I am must not abase itself to you
And you must not be abased to the other

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For The Sunday Whirl prompt: Wordle 203

rustling, dry, sweet, deck, tear, monkeys,
blasphemy, whole, born, plague, will, keep

3-14-2015 7;30;01 PM


How does one speak of blasphemy?
Of a church dealing from double,
plague-ridden deck of definitions.
One for itself, another for all others?

Or the monkey-business of politicians?
Who would keep the whole plate
of wealth for themselves, and leave
only dry bread crumbs for those they
supposedly represent?

Born into this beyond belief, beautiful
and sacred world that is being torn apart by
constant rustlings of face-saving machinations,
who will listen?

Elizabeth Crawford  3/15/15

Notes: Have spent time today, recovering images from a small sketchbook done several years ago. The words, especially blasphemy, seemed to be completely lacking in any sort of cooperation. So, I turned to the sketchbook to distract myself by scanning in some of the images and starting a file of what I refer to as zen doodles. This one captured my attention and when it was completed, went back to the words which seemed to fall all over themselves smoothly finding places, and anchoring themselves into position. Have I said, I love synchronicity?

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Unavailable Until Further Notice

For The Sunday Whirl prompt: Wordle #202

knead, excuses, wind, drive, sting, images,
string, trip, club, plant, trample, begin


Unavailable Until Further Notice

They huddle there in a ragged string
of reluctance, some kneading hands,
others mumbling excuses about
how difficult it is to begin.

Offer them various images,
scenarios that might plant
them firmly on stage, each
with role truly suited to their talents.

Their continued resistance stings.
Usually more than willing, they
trip over themselves to cooperate,
almost trampling one another to please.

Their lack of enthusiasm contagious,
write a note to leave on my desk.
They join me under the alpaca throw
where we dream together of driving

south in search of warm winds,
soft sand between our toes, smell
of deep sea in our noses, and where blue
petals of poetry are only made by others.

Elizabeth Crawford  3/8/15


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For The Sunday Whirl: Wordle #201

empty, veins, flesh, names, table, weight,
fear, howl, circle, through, ghost, granite

image_3529 fastening2


Looks a tad dense, like it might
carry weight found in ghostly veins
and flesh of granite.

Slips through air at lips
and fills the mouth.

Makes a smile
(after circling back to O) and tastes
like a morsel of music on the tongue.

Nothing here to fear,
or even to howl about,
but certainly not empty of meaning.

Shares same Germanic stem
as the word named poem
in that other language.

Should find space on any writer’s
table because it owns the face
of making myths from truly

lived in moments.

Elizabeth Crawford  3/1/15

Notes: The word popped into my head a few days ago, pertaining to something I was working on. Had to do some research to see if it was a word and if so, what it was all about. It is from classic Greek, mythopoeia  interchangeable with mythopoesis, and means the process of creating myths. It was brought into modern use by J.R.R. Tolkien after he had a discussion with C.S. Lewis, who felt that all myths are lies and false. Tolkien went home and wrote a poem titled Mythopoeia, which became a part of a collection titled Tree and Leaf. In it, Tolkien defends myth-making, and insists that the modern world needs artists who can and do use classic mythological archetypes in both literature and film to tell the human story. And that’s when I remembered where I had heard the word and why it had stuck in my head, but that is a whole ‘nother story.

Image is a photo put through the kaleidoscope app. It just seemed to fit.

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Song In My Soul

For The Sunday Whirl: Wordle #200

umbrella, river, hopeless, petals, post, uncut,
yearning, delicate, tiny, perched, blue, until

And for Poets United: Poetry Pantry #240

8-14-09  Blooming Blue

Song In My Soul

Live beneath an umbrella
of hope, though never really
possessed one. Purchased
a few, perched in closet,
forgotten until I was caught,
cold and blue, in deluge
of driving rain.

My hope is an uncut yearning,
constantly moving river of tiny
delicate petals posted upon ever
reaching branches of my soul.
Always and forever telling me,

“There is more, there is more,
there is sooo much more.”

Elizabeth Crawford  2/22/15

Notes: This one gave me a problem even though the first line was there before I finished reading the list. And the rest of the first stanza fell into place quite quickly. I think it was the word perched that did me in because I found myself writing about songbirds singing in my soul and I am certainly not Emily Dickinson, even though I admire what she did so well. When I switched the perched for posted, it felt a bit more mine, but I’ll thank Emily anyway.

Image is a pen and ink drawing put through the kaleidoscope app and then colored with fine art pens in India Ink.

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Stone Weight

For The Sunday Whirl writing prompt: Wordle #199

empty, held, memory, saintly, crack, track,
wrestle, pebbles, cue, act, science, angel

2-18-2012  Nesting

Stone Weight

It’s not science, you know.
I wasn’t saintly, not even close
to being an angel.

There’s a wide crack; graveled
path in my memory track,
jam-packed with boulders
of all sizes held in place
by ever smaller pebbles.

Times when I wrestled
with anger and hate
choosing not to act
on the violence those feelings
lusted after.

Suppose I could have dumped
a truck-load of cement over all
of it, smoothed it over
with trowels of forgetfulness.

Instead, they have become a cue,
reminding me of a way in which
I never wish to go, and what I would
never want to be, or to become.

Elizabeth Crawford  2/14/15

Notes: This one started whispering when I read the words the first time. Love it when that happens. I used all of the words, but changed empty to dump simply because it sounded better. Struggled a bit with the final stanza because the word cue didn’t seem to keep the tone I had started with. Just because it was easier than most, doesn’t mean I don’t fight with the words in my own fashion, lol.

Image is a kaleidoscope made from a much smaller pen and ink doodle and was then colored with coloring pencils, then switched back to the softer color of stone. One of my favorites because it showed me a great many things I could do with just a click of my mouse.

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The Art of Active Meditation

For the Sunday Whirl writing prompt: Wordle #198

instill, fill, burst, tumble, glass, sound,
clown, fleece, another, wound, emit, seal

And for Poets United: Poetry Pantry #238


Art of Active Meditation

Forgot how the colors can instill
a burst of soft, fleece-like meditation.

How just their names: Muted Turquoise,
Teal Blue, Shell, Light Aqua, and Burnt Ochre
can emit a tumble of emotions
that carry me swiftly through map
of years from grievous childhood
wound to sounds of clumsy clown
laughter spilled over a glass of wine.

As fingers, wrapped round pen, rhythmically
fill white spaces between lines with differing
hues which swiftly become key that breaks
the seal on a poem waiting to be written,
or another world that was thought to be forgotten.

Elizabeth Crawford  2/7/15

Notes: Been a while since I did any coloring. Downloaded the wordlist and let it sit for a while. It’s been a hectic and stressful few weeks and my mind was running around in circles until I remembered how soothing coloring can be. Hunted up my pens and printed out this template made from yet another template put through the kaleidoscope app. It’s more intricate then others I’ve done, but I wanted something that would demand my attention and concentration. It will be a while before I finish it, but I had truly forgotten how swiftly this form of active meditation can move in to center ones mind and even the emotions. When I took a break and finally pulled up the word list, the poem sort of wrote itself, almost as a continuation of that meditative state of being.

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