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.

Monday 29 April 2013

"Impress and Make the Grade" (Entry 303)

Before the guests arrived...
There were tears.
Lots of them.
First celebration.
With in-laws, no less!

Lists were made.
Crossed off
and rewritten.
Again and again and,
still he had strayed!

Yes, his fault!
He hadn't helped.
Wrong wine.
Went 'off-list'.
Only his 'rents, he said.
This is such a mess!

Just his parents?
Just his eagle-eyed mother.
Spotting dust at 90 paces,
and her pecky way of eating.
Less trouble if royalty stayed.

Cushions were plumped.
Table cloth et al, ready.
Prepared.
Glasses gleaming,
free from finger marks, no less!

Ruby and emerald baubles
hung balanced throughout
the real Christmas tree.
Then she noticed,
on the lights, just one,
its glow - gone out.
Right by where the table was laid.

Enough to cause panic,
a torrent of snot-ridden tears.
He held her, and calmed her.
Then shoved the offending bulb
behind glittering balls and
plenty of needles.
An action to deflect all of this stress.

Finally, everything perfect.
The aroma of the seasons lingered
in the air, as pots bubbled in the kitchen.
A moment of joy,
before the guests arrived.
As the anxiety began to fade.

The door bell rang,
soon the house was full.
Of noises, and presents,
boots, coats and old folk.
It seemed such a good start,
even a success.

All smiles and movement
into the lounge.
Where Queen-in-law devoured
the image in a single glance.
"You've got a bulb out, did you know?"
sniffed the old maid.

They'd tried to impress.
But with one line conveyed,
contained such negativity assess.
Caused celebration downgrade.
Depress and Dismayed!



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