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, 25 June 2013

"A Memory Whim of Learning to Swim" (Entry 354)

Air-filled red rubber squeaks
As bands are pushed up twiglet arms,
To leave a white ring against a tan. 
Tip-toes tap along hot sand,
To reach the lapping coast,
That licks at feet like over-excited puppy relieved that its master is home. 

Tentative tootsies taste the water. 
Cool and nippy against sun-fried skin. 
To knees, to waist and torso. 
Low gradient makes easy gauge of depth. 

A leg raises, a wave and hasty return. 
To try again and hold. 
Then, with brave breath, the other. 
Salty sea hugs and balances. 
Kick of foot. Flap of hand and 
Swimming!

Confidence increases until
Large strangers bounce past. 
Water hits face. 
Flail and panic!
Head disappears. 
Come up choking. Crying. 
To stop on realisation of
Feet upon sandy floor. 
Stand up near the shore. 
Only waist deep!

Run on back to
Sympathetic parents who
Buy snorkel mask. 
Problem solved!
Straight into the sea. 
To play and splash in the
Heated surf beneath flaming sun. 

By mid-afternoon,
Arm bands removed,
And tide-lines disappear to
Shade golden brown. 
Within a day, a swimmer. 
A mermaid of the Mediterranean sea. 

*************
Me and my dad on the beach - Malta circa mid to late 1970s!



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