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.

Sunday, 24 March 2013

'A Short Fragmented Broken Ode to Time Team' ' (Entry 266)

I dug the archaeology.
The mud and the clay and the rain.
Finding roman ruins and Tudor towers.
I wish 'Time Team' would film once again.


20 years of 'Time Team'
We will miss you.

"Waxed then Waned" (Entry 265)

Plugged these lug holes.
With soften malleable waxed cones
To shut out, not postpone, the sound of the unsilenced.
To jam where no band can slam.
Used beyond its use
To absorb noise and ear's substance.
Body temperature tempted the debris.
Now made of a wax of a different kind.
Disposable disposed,
New items reloaded
To remove the loudest.

Thursday, 21 March 2013

"What is Love?" (Entry 264)

What is Love?
If not the all.
Isn't that why you're meant to fall?

The candle flame, the ghostly shade.
Unruly child ne'er taught to behave.

A heat that freezes, icy depth in sizzled wake.
The razor cuts and skin burns of heartbreak.

Insane laughter that turns joy to tears.
Grief returned and tempered by years.

But all throughout you feel the tender.
The love divine from passion's sender.

The truth of amore in first kiss tasted.
Moments embraced are never wasted.

What is love?
It is all.
Sent by the Universe,
It's Heaven's call.

"Serf or Toff - Seer/Seared" (Entry 263)

Behind the evergreen fence.
Beyond the gated castle wall.
There is an unknown place,
The world and evil's all.
In here, you're safe - well guarded.
A precious object protected.
Or really a prisoner by other name.
When your pleas to leave are rejected.
For if experience is not allowed,
and discovery is forbidden.
Are you then slave or king,
when life beyond is hidden?

Tuesday, 19 March 2013

"Going Postal" (Entry 262)

Stamp it up!
A post of fleeting messages,
delivered to mail
and the Royal Lady.
The pillar of community.
Is it a Red Letter Box Day?

Monday, 18 March 2013

Sunday, 17 March 2013

"A Children's Shop Lost in Time" (Entry 260)

There is a creepy children's shop.
Selling all their clothing needs.
With mannequins of the girly type,
dressed in lace, flounces and rigid petticoats.
Stuck in a rut?
Or time drift back to Edwardian times
or Victorian fancy -
each one a life-sized freaky doll
with rictus grins.
You're welcome within.

Dusty dusky pink velvet drapes
hang stiff at the windows and
along the walls like
long-forgotten music hall.
With pre-war signage on
black glossed exterior and awning
- a yawning double door to pull you in.
Turns from shop to gothic funeral parlour
for the small ones.
Step right in and look beyond.

I'd love to meet the owner... but then again... maybe not!

Saturday, 16 March 2013

"Matinee Mayhem" (Entry 259)

Oh, dear! What can the matter be?
It's come round quick, this Saturday matinee.
We're showing the film of Lady Chatterley.
... But the theatre's chock full of kids!


To be sung to the tune of "Oh, dear. What can the matter be?"
Getting a vintage vibe going today! 

Friday, 15 March 2013

"Flirt Alert" (Entry 258)

Was that really what I saw?
A glint in the eye of someone I adore.
Did his look a little longer linger?
Oh, now he's wrapped me on that strong finger.
A brush of hand. A spinal electric.
with one flirt, we've connected.

And that smile he gave me - a pearly white.
That's gone and done it! I'm his... for the night!

Thursday, 14 March 2013

"Let the Tide Wash Over" (Entry 257)

The current pulled.
Tugging at his arms,
while broken shopping trolleys and polluted reeds
grabbed and held his legs fast.
He stopped flaying,
giving up the fight,
instead to release -
to gulp in the rushing dirty water.
Gushing into his lungs
replacing where air once flowed.
The wrong substance to petrol his internal engine,
his body broke down,
as his mind calmed and
crystal sparkles filled his mind.
Then a smile in his rive grave.

Wednesday, 13 March 2013

"Family Cash" (Entry 256)

She died of old age upon her bed.
The family gathered around.
She wanted love, and they - her money.
Couldn't wait to get her in the ground.

Tuesday, 12 March 2013

"The Pilgrim's Walk" (Entry 255)

The bleeding had stopped
to leave hardened skin.
Blisters upon blisters, ten fold.
Healed from within.
The evidence of how far she'd walked.
Her food pack long depleted
to where even at this height,
life's own need, the air retreated.
Mountain springs and nature forage
her only sustenance supplied,
but as she reached the pinnacle,
tripping over craggy outcrops, she sighed
as tearing her robe on jagged stone,
she knew why she had come.
This three month pilgrimage, it was worth it.
She'd reached the Holy One.


It's poem 255 of 555.
Only 300 to go!
Thank you for being on this journey with me.
If you like what you read, please leave a comment below.
With love and thanks.
The Crafty Scribe xxx

Monday, 11 March 2013

"Fantasy's Rain" (Entry 254)

On and on, the cascade fell.
Upon dry land where goblins dwell.
A silver river burst its banks.
Filling acorns and crystal tanks.
Soon, it sated in morning glow.
To bring the sun and dawn's rainbow.

Sunday, 10 March 2013

"A Mother's Charm" (Entry 253)

Silver charms all on a chain.
Given for birthdays,
and Christmas  - the same.
Each one a memory of each happy time.
Past passed down,
so now it is mine.


Wishing all the Mothers out there,
A Happy Mother's Day.
In remembrance of mine.
I love you now and forever, mum.
I miss you. x

Saturday, 9 March 2013

"Magician's Act" (Entry 252)

A flick of wrist.
A sleight of hand.
A mysterious smile.
A wink to the band.
A sleeve to tug.
The card appears.
Magician's secret.
To make the weird.

Friday, 8 March 2013

"Alone and On View" (Entry 251)

Room with no windows,
the grey padded cell.
Viewed by guards cameras.
His own private hell.
Hidden in plain sight.
Watch him yell.
Lost and alone.
As you might tell.
This is no home, no house,
No place to dwell.

Thursday, 7 March 2013

"Hidden from Sight" (Entry 250)

They kept it locked, cased in special place,
within the museum vaults.
For in its hideousness, it was still precious,
even with all its faults.
Kept within a box behind glass and metal,
so no-one could peer to find
and far away, to stay, from visitors' view,
for to see it - you will go blind.

Wednesday, 6 March 2013

"Carrying on Alone in Hope" (Entry 249)

The carriage rolled as the tracks tacked forward onto the train's wheels.
A speedy rate to arrive on time. That was fine.
The sooner she was there the better.
She hated travelling along, but at least she had the cabin to herself.
The blind detached to slap up as the door rattled open,
swinging and slamming out of the new comers grip.
Her head whipped round from the blurred scene beyond the window to meet his eyes.
She was no longer alone.

Tuesday, 5 March 2013

"Accused on the Loose" (Entry 248)

There was no evidence to clamp him down.
No guilt ridden note or lies in frown.
There was only suspicion to point to accuse.
But that wasn't enough for him to lose.

Monday, 4 March 2013

"Troubled Dream" (Entry 247)

The body lies
in comatosed state,
seems peaceful and calm.
Just you wait.
Look into the dream,
watch it toss and turn.
Not all that it seems
and brain waves churn.

"The Terror Terrace Sets Its Tone" (Entry 246)

Small two up - two down and made of brick.
Tiles on roof piled high and think.
Drive at front, fenced garden at back.
But it's more than it seems and that's a fact!

"The First Light" (Entry 245)

Before the village shook off
the mantle of night, and
fires glowed,
we left at first light.
In gloomy mists of bone chilled ill,
I turned to see the single candle burn on window sill.
It seemed to wave the flame and sigh.
Good luck on your journey and with that

Friday, 1 March 2013

"Death's Story" (Entry 244)

To see beyond the darkened veil.
To go beyond and bring back a tale.
To know of death and tell its story.
Is to know the Universe in all its glory.