At The Gate

Day 2: NaPoWriMo  2020

At The Gate

So here I am
at the gate
to my own

At least, it’s not
or locked tight
against further passage.

Funny, how
I thought
it could
or would be.

Need to remember,
each day,
to trust the process
that is me.

Elizabeth Crawford 4/2/2020

Notes: Am simply taking my prompts from my media file, things I’ve drawn, sketched, colored, etc. The image here is a drawing using one color. When I was doing them, I simply called them fantasies.

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Looking Back

Looking Back

Stepping Stones
Elizabeth Crawford

Words used to be my friends.
Followed them eagerly
like stepping stones.

But left them behind
a while ago,
walked away, didn’t look back.

Sometimes they’d call out,
soft whispers, too easily

Can’t explain, no rhyme
and certainly
no concrete reason.

For a while
tried chocolate
but that is only a taste.

Fleeting at best,
doesn’t last,
only begs for more.

So, here I am.
Back at this gate,
eyes downcast,

seeking forgiveness.

Elizabeth Crawford 4/1/2020

Notes: Poetry has always been both personal and damned good therapy, for me. Perhaps because my poetry has always been the Personal type.  And therapy doesn’t do much good
unless it is truth filled. April, besides being my birthday month, is also National Poetry Writing Month. I’ve always thought that was a rather nice coincidence. Then have to remind myself that there are no coincidences here. It’s either real or it’s not. Writing a poem a day for thirty days is a rather daunting concept, especially under my present circumstances. Please pray for me…

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Posted for Poets United Mid-Week Motif – Walk


Can no longer walk
without a cane or proffered
hand to lend support.

Yet, my words in black ink
on white paper, create
a meandering path far easier
to follow.

Back to Indigo Blue mountains
of Montana, verdant green
trees of Connecticut, or rushing
waters racing to smooth granite
boulders just beyond Michigan

A hawk sitting silent sentinel
in metal tree limbs of utility
pole just south of city limits
near Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

Or wobbling turkey buzzards,
dark V shaped wings riding currents
above Missouri Interstate. Slow
moving prickly porcupine, sole
greeter at entrance to Yellowstone.

Wavering light of small bonfire
where we sat to listen to echoing calls
of Great Horned Owls filling dark
night with their repetitive chorus.

So many more of these, can only thank
that younger self for gathering
into words that now allow me
to freely walk, once again
in memory.

Elizabeth Crawford 6/26/2019

Notes: After sitting in a wheelchair (for mobility purposes) for two hours at the doctor’s office yesterday, and coming home exhausted, I had to laugh when I saw the one word prompt for today. Actually thought about a one line response, “Only wish I could.” But then that first stanza marched into my head and I wrote it down and the memories started flowing so I went with it. Memory is definitely a means of walking, and having written them down, they are quite quick to rush to center-stage. The real problem was in choosing from so many. Knowing I would probably end up where I am today, was the major incentive for all the road trips we took while I could still walk without too much effort.

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In Way of Remembering

Posted at The Sunday Whirl

Words: vulnerable, struggle, talk, soul, exist, way,
stories, magic, courage, messy, lean, mantra

In Way of Remembering

Struggle with reality
of being old and vulnerable.

Have long talks
with my soul and together we recall

messy stories from a past
when means to exist were lean

of all magic and courage.
Until we remember mantra

found in bumper sticker
glued to dashboard of faltering Pontiac.

Success is the best revenge.

Elizabeth Crawford 6/9/2019

Process Notes: Biographical. Still have a few people around who want me to believe I am not okay. The bumper sticker was a gift from a friend who understood, and it remained on the dashboard of that old blue Pontiac until I drove it into the ground. But then replaced it with a much newer one, paid for in cash that I had earned and saved.

Image is a rainbow photo, put through the kaleidoscope app

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Where Does it Begin?

Where Does it Begin?

What is peace? Where
does it begin? In cessation
of all hostilities? Between
countries, nations, ideologies?

Lack of a need for all boundaries
between states, communities,
cities and towns? End of
competition between schools,

religions, students, rivals, sisters
and brothers, fathers and sons?
But then I remember that single
moment of utter stillness.

Years ago, buried under time
passing, other lives lived, both
remembered and sometimes
forgotten in need to continue.

That one moment, silent and still.
World stopped, Universe holding
its breath, everything waiting
for me to hear sound of my own

single heartbeat.

Elizabeth Crawford 5/29/2019

Process Notes: Biographical and true. At age 27, I had a spiritual experience. A singular moment of awareness in which I knew that the only thing I could ever change was me. I am now 73 and still see myself as a work in progress. Image is a template I made from one of my doodles and colored it with India Ink, then gave it a digital background.

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Butterfly Light

Posted for Poets United Mid-Week Motif: Light

Butterfly Light

Words are the light
that helps to define
whatever I find
in my silent darkness.

Like the eye of a storm,
brings comforting stillness
to surrounding chaos
and utter confusion.

Flickering candle of fluttering
brightness, like butterfly wings
that quickly banish, transform
whatever fear might prevent

forward movement.

Elizabeth Crawford 5/22/2019

Process Notes: Already knew the first line of what I would write when I came online. So looked for an image and found this old photo taken many years ago. I have a thing about ‘cloud action’. The second verse came directly from the photo. And then finally noticed, for the first time, the butterfly at the center of its light. Butterflies are a symbol of transformation and metamorphosis. 

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About Those Boulders

Posted for the Sunday Whirl: Wordle #403

Words: permit, siren, shoot, insight, live, tracks,
lights, blocks, style, clues, shift, alley




About Those Boulders

Have lived life by seeking its light
through insight and following tracks
left by others dropping clues as they move
through sometimes darkened alleys
where shadows shift, changing definitions
as they twist through meandering blocks
of how’s, when’s, and always why.

Have learned that only permission
needed is my own, while honing
ability to shoot straight, using words
whose siren song forever leads me
forward, through dense forest of trees,
running rivers, and dragon sized

Elizabeth Crawford 5/12/2019

Process Notes: As soon as I saw the word list, I could see how many of them would, or could fit together. It made that first stanza somewhat easy to create. The second stanza fought with me a bit. But once I decided to change “permit” to “permission” the rest fell in place. Image is a photo I took at a park a bit North of the city. It’s main attraction is a narrow ravine that is accessible by a wooden staircase that leads down into its interior. I did use all of the words in one form or another.

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