Same Page 1/22/95

For We Write Poems prompt 202: Journal Poem

dragons lair2

Same Page from 1/22/95

Society itself makes it almost impossible
to continue in virtues it touts as most valuable.
Good ones, like sharing and compassion.

That’s why I’m here late
this morning:
a big stray dog,
four prostitutes,
and a schizophrenic healer.

For first time, feel real genuine compassion
for cripple I have been.
Know I am healing.

Slow natural process of change
comes from deep within.

Have found something inside
worth hanging onto,
worth nurturing for rest of life.

“Easy does it”
is good, right.
Steps will appear as needed,

in this place where self sustains,
creates self
as each day unfolds.

Elizabeth Crawford  3/3/14

Notes: Fourth Journal Poem. All of these words, phrases, sentences, came from one old journal entry dated January 22, 1995. Each one seemed to beckon, so they are here, all on the same page. Will return tomorrow with final poem for the prompt. Image is a digital painting, just playing with colors, and is titled “Dragon’s Lair”.

About 1sojournal

Loves words and language. Dances on paper to her own inner music. Loves to share and keeps several blogs to facilitate that. They can be found here:
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5 Responses to Same Page 1/22/95

  1. This is a spectacular poem and I wanted the story of the stray dog, four prostitutes and a schizophrenic healer… the self-awareness of the place where self sustains which is, I believe, the crux of our journey. Loved this, my friend.


  2. Ah I share Sherry’s curiosity… dogs prostitutes and healers is a strange combo…


  3. Irene says:

    All is inside, Elizabeth.


  4. There is so much to think about here from your first stanza to the insights you have discovered about yourself. I like this.


  5. “Society itself makes it almost impossible/to continue in virtues it touts as most valuable./Good ones, like sharing and compassion.” Ironic, when you consider that our Western society is supposed to be Christian. I take Christian to mean what Jesus taught, including “love your neighbor as yourself”. And yes, in this entire first stanza you are absolutely correct.

    What random chance meetings…but were they? Perhaps nothing is ever the result of chance. And I love this poem.



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