Bring me a word,
I’ll gift you
with another.

Together, we will
build a bridge
to a world

Yet to be heard from.

Elizabeth Crawford  2/14/2018

Image is an inverted pen and ink fantasy.

Posted at Poets United Mid-Week Motif: Word


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In Time of the Hunger Moon

In the Time of the Hunger Moon

She enlarges her countenance
bringing brighter and different
light into our darkness.

Her message luminous, clear.
It is time to share, to shine.
Reach deep within to offer

that which will nourish, will
feed the hunger in weary soul
of another.

Elizabeth Crawford  2/1/2018

Notes: In Native American tradition, February is defined as “the time of the Hunger Moon.” Supplies are diminished, and winter’s harshness has settled in, making gathering more a great difficulty. Instead of hording, it is time to share, in hopes that some of the tribe will survive, will continue. In our current darkness, I believe the moon is sharing her message. It is time to share our truth, our light.

Image is a digital painting put through the kaleidoscope app.

Posted to Poets United: Mid-Week Motif – Moon


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Weather, or Not

Weather, Or Not

Neither game nor superstition,
January is a shady train taken
in hopes of some mysterious list
of sane gravity, somewhere in
a balmy future.

Chickens need not apply, especially
any who might hope for some grain
of warmth, or a welcoming figure
beside a blazing hearth, offering
a platter of fresh baked cookies

and a mug of steaming hot cocoa.

Elizabeth Crawford  1/14/2018

Notes: Have spent the past few weeks without a steady source of heat. It definitely affected my response to this week’s word list. Image is a pen and ink sketch, using repeat pattern drawing.

Posted to The Sunday Whirl: Wordle #334

gravity, grain, figure, taken, shady, train,
superstition, list, chicken, sane, January, game

And Poets United: Poetry Pantry #386

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Monkey-Business In Moonlight

Monkey-Business In Moonlight

Air is stung with blows
from swords strapped on
with relish. Clangs merge
with strident song of iron
that rings across and over field stubble,
or against hard stone of filled silo.

One can only wonder at what
unhinged crime might be occurring
as shadows shimmy and fly at one
another, chopping evening’s order
into squirming worm-like madness,
until quiet suddenly descends,

and silence kisses darkness once again.

Elizabeth Crawford  11/19/2017

Note: Thought it was time to get back to both Wordles. Used all of the words in one form or another. Image is a Photo-kali, made from a photograph.

Posted at The Sunday Whirl: Wordle #326

monkeys, sword, moon, merge, kiss, fly,
relish, chop, shimmy, strap, sting, crime

Sunday’s Whirligig: Worled #138

air, light, hinge, worm, song, stubble,
silo, over, iron, clangs, blows, order

Poets United: Poetry Pantry #379

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Stray Thought 14

 Was a singer, not a monk

Songs written by others
fell from her lips, like nurturing rain

Often dreamed of dragonflies
guarding the gates of dream-time
where own song lived,  unheard

Elizabeth Crawford 11/14/2017

Note: In Native American mythology, dragonflies guard the gates to dream-time.

Posted to Micropoetry: November 2017

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Stray Thought 13

“Hush child. You know
there are those days
when the words
stretch, like lacy tree
branches, but can’t
quite reach,
to find and make meaning.
Let them be, but listen
as they whisper
between themselves
of wind and soft breezes.
Wrap and rock themselves
to a different lullaby
sigh in soft contentment
to just be
without your need
to be heard.
If you give them that freedom,
I promise,
they will return.”

Elizabeth Crawford 11/13/2017

Posted at Micropoetry: November 2017






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Stray Thought 12

Before the surgery, they shaved off her creamed-coffee curls. Replaced them with a scar that arched over her left ear. Used a steel pin to stop up the hole where bone had been broken. Doctor said she was his “Miracle” girl, but her family thought her words were spoken out of turn, not to be trusted. So, she traveled through the next thirty years always doubting her mental processes, forever seeking an answer that would bring peace.

deep in dark woods
heard scream of fierce hawk
looked up to see hope

Elizabeth Crawford  11/12/2017

Note: The left hemisphere of the brain is the center of logic and language

Posted at Micropoetry: November, 2017







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