555 Days... The Continuation

Welcome to 555 Days as a Poet by The Crafty Scribe

Back in 2010, I challenged myself to write a poem or a short verse a day, and post it to a blog. 555 Days as a Poet by The Crafty Scribe is the continuation of the experiment.

I gave myself 18 months to recover from the original daily blog postings, and now, I am ready to start it all over again. Although as I was beginning in the middle of the year, I thought 6 months was too short a time after my last experience.

"If I could complete a year of poems, how about 18 months?" I thought. I worked out that would be 549 days. I could have rounded it up to 550 to included New Years Day 2014, but then I thought I'd go 5 better... to 555 days.

Why 555? According to many spiritual teachers, the number 555 is a sign of change and the flow of energy. I thought it related to the blog. I spent a year writing a poem every day, then rested for 18 months. Now the tide has turned. It's time to begin the flow of words in my life again.

I'm not a trained poet, just an enthusiastic scribe wanting to create something new each day. I don't truly know my stanza from my meter, but I hope to improve and get my poetic license someday! Expect the weird, the strange and the inner workings of the Crafty Scribe's mind. Let's ride the waves once more.

Please pass on the blog address to all your verse and lyrical loving friends. I hope you will join me, and read my daily scribbling.

Tuesday, 31 July 2012

"Between The Tick and The Tock" (Entry 31)

Between the tick and the tock,
there is a static moment not shown on any clock.
In that instant, that's less than a moment,
where breath can't be taken
or a tear can not fall,
there is

This is the true time.
This is eternity.
This is immortality.

For we are fools to think
we can measure out and
organise the universe
to pigeon hole our lives into neat boxes
named by some invented integer
and spilt further to the fractional numerics
that slip between the cracks in the cosmos.

We can not be stacked linear on shelves
lain forgotten and gathering dust
- ashes to ashes -
as more boxes are filled to be stored
in the attic of history until overflown.
There is no car boot sale in the heavens
to discard forgotten detritus
"Roll up! Roll up!
Human lives going cheap,
only one previous owner
(except the reincarnated in the corner)
Step up, try 'em on for size!"

Look between the tick and the tock,
for you will find us there.
For we truly live forever and always,
in the depth, the length, the breadth, and
beyond of space.
The span and scope where there is no time.
Stare deep, can you see?

Between the tick and the tock,
that's you in there.
I'll meet you in forever.

Monday, 30 July 2012

"Country's Trouble Times Twice" (Entry 30)

When she came into his life,
he didn't think twice,
when they were together,
it was fire and ice.
He was a tall cool blonde
who took no fools.
She was a red headed woman
who broke all the rules.
It wasn't a storm cooked up,
that between them they stewed,
They were the tornado in town,
and it was trouble they brewed.
Everywhere they went,
you knew they'd leave a hurry.
They robbed and they scammed,
Living in state's flurry.
For he was a tall cool blonde
who suffered no fools,
and she, a red headed woman,
breaking every damn rule.

Sunday, 29 July 2012

"Where Wings Unfurl" (Entry 29)

I want to be where the angels live.
In crystal cities of heavenly realms.
To join the choir in purest voices
With Gabriel conducting at the helm.
Be ready with swords and shields
In the host of Michael's lead.
To fight the good fight,
where'er there's evil, where'er there's need.
I want to be where wings unfurl,
The place for bliss and for rest.
 want to be where angels tread,
Or here on Earth, where we're blessed.

Saturday, 28 July 2012

"Green Flash. Dash!" (Entry 28)

The green flash of the last glimpse of
setting sun,
stayed on retinas,
when gone from view to become
Horizon hidden.

End of a perfect day.
Perfect holiday.
Bliss of the new,
relaxation revealed
by throwing off the mundane,
like taking the lid off the coffee cup,
let out the steam,
a time to cool down.

Lean back on tropical print padded chairs,
how this realities tropical life fares,
to sip exotically fruited
alcoholic booted cocktails
at dark wicker bar.

Watch the light change,
the spectacle of natural fireworks on slow,
from white hot to hazy yellow,
green flash, to reach orange,
warmth of deep chakral red towards
where purple dwells.

But wait!
There on the horizon,
a notice of something,
a flicker,
as if the whole edge of the world crumples
and sighs.

The party on-going surrounds,
vacation in celebration.
Time, just a moment, stops
and stomach knots.
As the ocean plays a trick,
to slip
backwards from the shore,
pulling further away,
had enough of play.

A second to stare.
To realise
to be aware.
To be part of the
pitiful handful to perceive.
To stand and run and
sound an alarm,
not now to grieve.

The ripple expands,
to wave in full spate,
to rush, to flood,
to overwhelm.
A surge on this spiteful day.

Friday, 27 July 2012

"How the Hours Pass" (Entry 27)

The passing of hours are like a stone,
or pebbles on a beach.
Either many out in front of you,
or washed away in the swell and
out of reach.
The hours can be heavy,
a drudge to carry,
too heavy to lift.
Or light enough to skim on past
from waters edge
so fast.

Thursday, 26 July 2012

"The Grey Walls Wept" (Entry 26)

She built herself a prison.
A cave in which to hide.
When life was no longer worthy,
Or worth it.

She crept beneath her blanket of dark moods,
crafted by her own hands,
made stitch by stitch by experience unwanted.

She closed the curtains of depression,
heavy with despair, lined with tears
and hung on hooks of hatred and loss.

This, her castle, her home,
her haven, her prison,
her well, her oubliette.

She wanted to forget,
here behind her grey walls that wept,
crushed by the ceiling of torrential tears.

Wednesday, 25 July 2012

"Silence Way" (Entry 25)

Some things enter this life with a roar.
A human's baby's cry,
that first breath of announcement in anguish.
A New Year
enters by bells and fireworks,
and yet again,
human's cries at the passing of their own making.
Marking three - six - five gone,
(or three - six - six in four, muddled in time before)
Another arrives in new numerical order.

there are those things that enter
by way of silence.
Such as,
the true passing of time, shown as
a wrinkle
which appears without a whisper.
Or death
which enters when the last sigh leaves.

Most we do not even know they are there,
for they are the others that entered in silence.
The angels, those celestial unseen,
those most powerful slip by without hush,
Hosts of energy sans ego.
They move around us, without triumph horns.
They are with you now.
Do you feel them? Or hear them?
As they go about their silence way.

Tuesday, 24 July 2012

"A Thought" (Entry 24)

Before I sleep, one last thought.
On this day, what was I taught?
Have I used this time up well,
Or hours wasted with naught to tell?
Have I given more than received?
One last thought, what have I achieved?

Monday, 23 July 2012

"Exposed" (Entry 23)


fresh on air.
As we should be.

You can't hide.

Harder to lie
or do ill to another,
when we stand and live in skin.

All raw.
See the surface,
but see deeper.
Without its disguise,
you step nearer to the heart,
become dearer to the soul.

We are whole.

Sunday, 22 July 2012

"Sandman's Soundtrack" (Entry 22)

A distant roar of traffic,
sliced with a siren.

Heated exhale of breath,
huffed with garlic fume,
against chilled pillow,
dented with incremental heaviness
of bowling ball roundness.

Soft eyes closed
as three holes open
of nostrils above mouth,
whisper in the calmness of
the refuelling night.

Releasing the day, to be
reformed as dreams to
confuse and conflict,
beneath the comforter of downy duvet.

Sniff to sough,
Snuffle to snore.

A snort is added to
millions more,
and up above
The Sandman flies
and sighs
at the soundtrack of his lot.

Another night,
the same cacophony,
caused by his sprinkles of
moon dust dreams.
Atishoo - cough - wheeze - snort - snore - sneeze
Thank the Universe for earplugs!

Saturday, 21 July 2012

"Love in Odd Places" (Entry 21)

Hidden in a corner,
the deep dark recesses,
where baseboard meets skirting board.

There is a crack.

It's slight,
but it's there.

If you look.

If you clean away
the gathered warren of dust bunnies,
a-brush away the supermarket stash of web woven flies
by its hoarder owner and home of the spider.

You will see the crack...

and sticking out
is a yellow corner of paper,
cracked, crumbled and crisp
like an autumn leaf,
or cold unkissed lips.

See the paper,
tweezer it out carefully,
cautious not to rip.
Now you have the whole note.

Capture it in your fingertips,
Finely unfurl the folds.

To read a love message

So heart wrenching,
yearning in adoration and devotion,
that tears will declare and
laughter will caress,
at the infatuation of affair within.

No names to shout upon this missive.
No clues to accuse or encourage.
Is it lovers long ago?
Boy to girl?
The vice of versa?
The twain of divine?
As lad to lad, or women entwined?
The erotic of exotic?
Or vanilla pod cuddle?
Love unrequited?
Or whole-heartedly indulged?

Maybe spider to victim?
Or fly to its mother?
Or fairy to angel?
Or a charm of magic,
for you from a future love?

Bask in words beloved,
then return back to its home,
a requited action for another
to discover.

What will you find hidden in your corner?

For hidden in a corner
of any room,

the deep dark recesses,
if you look,

There is a crack.

Friday, 20 July 2012

"Dark in the Garden" (Entry 20)

In the garden after dark,
the humans disappear and
those creatures who rule the earth
awake, take a step to come near.

For those who dance to Gaia's beat
know the secrets of this world,
and after dark in your own backyard,
their magic ballet rises to unfurl

A beauty never seen by eyes
like yours and mine.
For in their artistry of nature,
you'll discover the Divine.

Thursday, 19 July 2012

"Secrets on the Shore" (Entry 19)

The sound of secrets lapped
against the shore of the universe.

More joined.

To create swirls in the solar system,
waves in the cosmos,
eddies amongst the stars.

The sound of a trillion secrets
disrupted the music of existence
causing chaos and discord.

Wednesday, 18 July 2012

"My Birthday" (Entry 18)

On my birthday,
I want laughter and fun,
to celebrate this trip,
another cycle 'round the sun.
I want presents, of course,
but most of all, I want
to experience new things.
At home or on a jaunt.
But most most of all,
I want on my special day,
is to be with you.
I hope that is okay?
On my birthday,
I want your hugs and kisses
(maybe a present or two!)
These are my perfect wishes.

Tuesday, 17 July 2012

"Power Beneath The Shadow of The Moon" (Entry 17)

There is power in the moon shadows.
It's there for those who wish to learn,
and walk a slope of discovery,
to the higher places where you need to climb,
to reach the peak and view
The Universe in its whole.

It's in the moon shadows,
where the trek begins.

It's not for all,
but if you choose
and are chosen,
accept the step into the depths
to learn the wisdom of infinity,
to know we are as one.

It's in the moon shadows,
where you find joy and light.

Monday, 16 July 2012

"The Sense of Angels" (Entry 16)

They blind my vision
in glorious rays of expression.

They whisper in my ears,
the zephyrs of wisdom

and scolding
heat blanked by many
free-will wall.

They stroke and massage my soul
with longing and enveloping want.

I smell their perfume
sweet and spicy,
fresh and husky
like the ages of times scooped
by the depth of ocean and
the gathering of land's lush.

They taste humanity,
allergic to most,
but find the umami
in our spirit.

These forms of stars,
these celestial light beings,
these profiles of angels
at our side, always.

Sunday, 15 July 2012

"The Checkmate Alone" (Entry 15)

The table in the corner
is where he always sits,
plotting business manoeuvres
on red and white checked cloth.

Each move he makes a game of chess.
Salt races forward to take fork,
as he deploys mobile, laptop and
cappuccino into battle.

Occasionally he receives a visitor,
a subject or two,
this king of his corner table,
but mainly he rules,
then dines alone.

Saturday, 14 July 2012

"Birth Day" (Entry 14)

At the hour of your birth,
as air fills your lungs,
A life of promise and hope,
sits on Fate's ladder's rungs.
Will you climb high?
Rejoice in each day.
Or will you stay grounded?
Or shine like star's ray?
From the time of your birth,
through the days between
From now on CREATE
Your life long dream.

Friday, 13 July 2012

"Wedding That Never Was" (Entry 13)

The confetti lay forgotten.
Full boxes
treaded into carpet and floorboards.
Swept up and thrown away
to join pristine white dress in greasy blue skip.
A dress never seen by congregation's eyes.

The tables place setting untouched,
never to be dislodged by well-wishers elbows.
Scarlet velvet seats unflattened by
Aunt May's own ample cushions.
All still prepared for spectres
to act out the wedding that never was.

She waited, of course.
She waited half an hour, he's been delayed, she thought.
An hour, surely someone must have called?
Ninety minutes, where's the best man? Why isn't he telling her the worst.
Two hours, how could he? Leave me ditched  at the altar.
Nerves to worry to concern to...

The police officer walked towards her across the dance floor.
Sombre steps, instead of the first waltz.
Sorry. He said.
There's been an accident.
She heard the words: car - junction - lorry -
on the scene - unable to save.

After the last guest left, she cried.

Thursday, 12 July 2012

"Silent Sound" (Entry 12)

In silence, there is energy.
A buzzing anon.
A non-existing noise that permeates through the skin
to join the roar of life which

For there is nothing as noise,
which dances and drums,
not allowing silence its hold.

One may sit in silence,
but the body within teems with its own cacophony of planetary existence.
Cells career on circulatory motorways.
Lungs swell like sails.
Hearts pounds out the life's beat,
like the master on a galleon.
Lub-dub! Row! Lub-dub! Row!

The raw flesh and gaseous exchange
and fuel to keep on its course,
on its voyage,
until the end.

But still in death, there is no silence,
as we become
with the universe.
Part of the celestial dust,
sparkling and scattering through space.
The true rhythm of the cosmos.

Wednesday, 11 July 2012

"First Birds" (Entry 11)

They twittered,
fluffing and preening.
Calling to each other.

As the sun moved across the sky,
time became a priority.

They began to flap,
trilling and pecking.
Facing to book those unprepared.

Until it was the moment for them
to fly out into the world.

The first birds glowed in their finery.
Vying for position,
they entered the school disco.

They the first.
These little pretty preening twittering birds
ready for the music.
Ready where they belong.

Monday, 9 July 2012

"Recipe for Disaster" (Entry 9)

The time. Was Christmas.
It was her mother's and her mum's
mother's recipe before.
Used for decades,
Tried and tested.
Loved, each year, by all
in the family, they'd jaw.
So when she made it...
and it did not work.
It did not rise,
and taste? Well... abhor!
She cooked it again,
then again, and again
and each more awful,
much worse was the chore.
She glared at the recipe,
vowed Nigella was in,
and her mother's? The door!

Sunday, 8 July 2012

"Syrup of Silence" (Entry 8)

Anguish. Tears.
Tiredness. Unspoken dreams. And fears.
Squelch and quell histories, better left forgotten.
Better to listen to the hall clock's
echoing tick,
deafening tock,
than let out the words
that can never be caught and dissolved again.
Choke down your life.
Take the bitter syrup of silence, and
It'll be over soon,
once you reach the long still hush.

Saturday, 7 July 2012

"Back Alleys" (Entry 7)

Back alleys.
Hidden spaces of ill repute.
Storage of waste, both detritus and human.
The debris refused and left
to dreg and scrap for trash.
World's garbage left in unused passage.
Festering in dank corners
along with the creatures of distaste.
Rats and cockroaches, society's down and out.
All looked on as vermin, in an underworld
and out of sync.

Friday, 6 July 2012

"Imagine This" (Entry 6)

Who could imagine
the things we would see.
Like Rovers on Mars.
All ideas of fantasy.
And tablets to touch.
Cars running sans gas.
Colliding universes.
Future technology here at last.

But imagine this to,
where is our Concorde,
and NASA's Space Shuttle?
We now can't afford
These icons of progress,
as banks struggle en-mass,
plus with countries in trouble.
We, the West, have fallen on our ass.

Thursday, 5 July 2012

"Hand Made" (Entry 5)

It was made by hand.
That card with crystals on top.
The one I sent you, covered in flowers.
It was made by hand.
Not bought from petrol station or shop.
Not chosen in minutes, but worked on for hours.
It was made by hand.
Using paper and ribbons and glue.
Folded card and cut for my beloved kin.
It was made by hand.
With love in my heart, just for you.
Please remember the work,
before it goes in the bin.

Wednesday, 4 July 2012

"Muted Hunger" (Entry 4)

I want a life better than this.
To have the chance to devour
To taste all there is on offer,

The all-you-can-eat buffet.
To pick and choose and have the best.
Instead of the forgotten infected pickings at the dumpster.

A muted hunger. The Desire Unspoken.
I have an appetite you can't fulfil.

Tuesday, 3 July 2012

"Waking Up to Sleep" (Entry 3)

Sleep. Sleep.
I want to dream
And dwell in the dark place.
To unravel the yarns weaved
into today.

Awake at One.
Only two hours gone.
To sleep in deep pools of rest
and yet...

Awake at Three.
Oh, not again.
Then repeats at Five.

Wide awake, to traverse
the race of planned planned,
but too early.

So force that feeling.
Squeeze the eyes and brain,
to sleep that one more drop.

Seven O'Clock!

Alarm blares.
Taken unawares.

Does no-one croon or wonder why
it's now?
That it's now I'm warm and safe
and without a care.
I want to dream
in this place.
It'a a thought to contemplate.

To sleep and sigh.
To sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep and
Oh, no! Overslept!
I'm going to be late.

Monday, 2 July 2012

"Every Night, We..." (Entry 2)

Every night, we save ourselves,
and all of Earth's humanity.
We don in dreams, the cloak of heroes,
and be the saviour we want to be.

Every night, we scare ourselves,
in horror stories of dark despair,
worse than those seen on movie screen,
play out in depths of the nightmare.

Every night, we leave the planet
to journey beyond stars to the unknown.
Those places where myth and magic dwell,
through the cosmos we weave and roam.

Every night, we replay our lives,
to highlight mistakes or rewind a wrong.
We experience passion deep and raw
and love's regret acted out in song.

Every night, we save ourselves,
as our minds work through fantasy.
A challenge. A quest. A moment's jest.
Unravelling the clutter to let us be.

"A Shade Tree" (Entry 1)

There is no world beyond the shade tree,
beneath its branches lies the hopes and dreams of
all who lean on sturdy trunk.

There is no where else you'd rather be.
(no else to be)

All else forgotten as to climb and perch,
to try to reach the up most leaves.
Ne'er making, ne'er stretching to

The sun. Is warm, but never burns.
The rain. Refreshes, but never drenches.

There is no extremes, just the place of perfect being.
Protection. Loving. Belonging.
To embrace and be embraced.

All as it should be
Beneath the shaded tree.