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.

Friday 12 April 2013

"A meeting. Hey, Lady!" (Entry 282)

"Hey, Lady! Got any change?"
"What?"
"Change. Have you got any? To spare, like."

Lady glances at the grubby girl in the doorway.
Just another dropout, but there was something about the eyes.

What is it about eyes?

Grubby can't be more than 15,
a child really.
A child.

Lady rubs her swollen belly protectively,
then digs into her bag,
pulls out a £5 note, pushing into the outstretched hand.
"Wow! Thanks, Lady!"

Grubby jumps to her feet and
lays her hand on her donor's stomach.

Unexpected!

"You and your child are truly blessed."

Startled by the statement,
as the voice that occupies Grubby is much older, deeper almost a host of sound that resonates.
Echoes.
Sings.
Chants and praises.
Raises and rides an ocean wave of emotion.

A moment.
It seems that the 33 week load she carries becomes weightless, like a helium filled balloon.
Relief. Warmth. Release.
Love. Support. Peace.
Grubby got it right - a blessing.
Truly, a blessing.

Lady turns to question Grubby.
Gone.
Off to spend the money on booze or drugs or some such thing.
With that thought,
The pain returns.
Lady sighs.
And sighs again.

No comments:

Post a Comment