“Yez, little one…”

Do Dragons dance?

“Ummm, why yezz we do.
When we fly.
We flip, we frolic,
how do you zzay?
We loopdaloop.
Iz that not danzing?”

Yes, I guess so…
But do you hear
music, when you do

“Muzzic? Umm,
do you mean
like when you zzing
a szertain zong,
and move your body
to the rhythmz
of the wordsz?”

Yes, like that…

“Little one, the Univerze
is filled with muzic.
Every planet, each sztar,
zings a different
szong. And, we dragonz
hear them all.
Do you know
that the treez,
here on your world
zing, each one, a different
zong, and how do you szay?

Really? How I wish
I had the ears
of a dragon.

She leans down with a smile
and says, “We all have been
given giftz and limitationz.
Each szervez a purpoze.
But, know with
a szertainty, that you
have the ear
of thizz dragon.”

Elizabeth Crawford  4/18/2018

Note: You had to know that eventually, I’d use this word. Image is a digital painting, titled Dragon’s Lair.

Posted at Waiting On Words: Word for day 18 is Dragon

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On Tree of Life

On Tree of Life

Watch myself climb
carefully onto branch
of long-ago other life.
Shaky splayed hands
wrapped around cracked
bark, which still holds
clear sparks of memory.

See her there, woman
I was, curled tightly
on living room sofa.
Afraid to open eyes
see darkness creeping
down to surround her.
Feel hiss of its mist
as it leaned to kiss
her quaking flesh.

Knew in that solitary
moment, no matter
sacred oath, or whatever
fear might hold her,
it was time to leave.

Elizabeth Crawford  4/17/2018

Note: Image is one of my first attempts at digital drawing.

Poem is posted at Waiting on Words: Word for day 17 is branches


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Final Bonfire

Final Bonfire

Hoarder as well as Hermit.
What to do with all
this paper, filled
with words and images?

Two huge metal filing
cabinets, dark brown for words
beige for images.

Top shelf of forever
opened closet doors, holds
cardboard storage boxes
filled with hand-made
chapbooks, and copies
of self-published
writer’s zine, an idea
that flew for a while
years ago.

In storage closet
off dining room, years
of hand written journal
pages kept in stationery
boxes, someone gave
as a gift, now fill shelves
of small wooden book  case.

There’s more, but the thought
makes one tired. Have considered
calling a mortuary, see what kind
of deal could be had for cremation,
if one supplied the fuel.

Elizabeth Crawford  4/16/2018

Note: Bonfire photograph taken in sister’s backyard, later used for kaleidoscope images on yet, more paper.

Posted at Waiting on Words: word for day 16 paper.



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Sandpaper Thoughts

Sandpaper Thoughts

Seems of late
my thoughts
are the texture
of coarse

Rubbing harshly
against sensitive
surface of emotions,
trying to smooth
beat of heart

by a world
intent on its own

Elizabeth Crawford  4/15/2018

Note: Image is a kaleidoscope of a pen and ink doodle done in red ink.

Poem is posted at Waiting on Words: Word for Day 15 is texture

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Girl Interrupted

Used to be that girl, “interrupted”.
Never been a patient
in a mental institution,
but often thought I’d fit in

Fed on mush of fairy-tales,
handsome prince on huge
white steed, come to rescue,
to love forever. Still, kinda
hoped that was sort of real.

But real life interrupted. He,
stuck in his own myth, was just
a man, an angry one, who
interrupted life for drinks
with the boys and other women.

And I became a woman alone
proud to be making a real life
with all its unknowable

Elizabeth Crawford  4/14/2018

Note: Image is a pen and ink line weave drawing, overlaid with a water color wash.

Poem is posted at Waiting on Words: Word for Day 14 is interrupt




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When Silence is the Only Answer

When Silence is the Only Answer

Do not think, even
for a moment,
that I remain silent
because of some false
remnant of childhood
shyness, or some relic
of awkward social

I have remained still
while you have forcefully
thrown your hard edged
bricks of chosen
ignorance at my feet.
Built an impenetrable wall,
far too exhausting
to climb over.

Will leave you now,
alone, completely enclosed
by your mindless hatred,
and go in search
of someone else, someone
who. at least, is not
afraid to hear the voice
of another.

Elizabeth Crawford  4/13/2018

Note: Image is a Photo Kali: photograph of the river, taken in my niece’s backyard then put through the kaleidoscope app.

Poem is posted at Waiting for Words: word for day 13 is silent

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Strange Reversal

Strange Reversal

Have grown accustomed
to my Hermit-like
What others might
define as just this side
of eccentric.
Don’t mind, have always
known I am different.

And it’s not that I
don’t like people.
It’s more about how tired
I get over all those
proper ‘social niceties’
needing to be met.
You know, all the
“you show me yours,
so I can show you mine”,
with all their expected
appropriate responses.

Never really imagined
that I would grow to like
being alone in my own space,
rooming through these rooms
at whatever hours I choose,
or that I might even become
a bit possessive about my
newly cherished privacy.

Elizabeth Crawford  4/12/2018

Notes: Image is an inverted pen and ink doodle, that has always suggested, to me, a private, even secret, get-away.

Poem is posted at Waiting On Words: Word for day 12 is privacy.



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