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.

Wednesday, 31 July 2013

"Grey Metal Box?" (Entry 390)

Cold and rusty. 
It's so dusty. 
What was it used for?
There's buttons for movement. 
I know what it is!
I've see photos. 
I know it's so ancient. 
But that's where the tape goes. 
No one under a certain age knows. 
What a VHS player is. 
Let alone a rotary phone!
These long lost mechanicals hiding in lofts?
Just think that's where the gadgets of now will end up - unboxed!

"Street's Secrets" (Entry 389)

With case in hand, at the top of the street. 
She stared at the houses and shuffled her feet. 

Wrought iron fence at 47. 
Black arrows upright like
The gates to Heaven. 

The only way was life. 
Freedom! The world!
Experiences to be had 
Out of Brownton Road. 

This place was kids kicking balls. 
Mums calling them to tea. 
Dads in armchairs,
asleep in front of the TV. 

What will the neighbours think?
Street gossip. Prickle-prattle.
Dirty washing behind closed doors. 
Twitching curtains. Tittle-tattle. 

Today, where her road lay was... here. 
She looked back to the high road and life. 
She glared at Brownton Road, 
Stepped into 47 and strife. 

Each tread, a twitch of curtain thread. 
The jeers, Unheard gossip rang through her ears.

"So, she's back!"
"She's here!"
"How could she show her face!"
"You'd think she'd disappear!"

"Sacrifices her parents made"
"University's not cheap!"
"Only for that to happen!"
"Oh, I could just weep!"

"Didn't even finish her degree"
"Her poor parents, my heart goes to them."
"More fool 47 for taking her back!"
"I heard the court was absolute mayhem. "

"The jury was wrong. Dead wrong."
"Dead, just like the guy. Totally agree."
"Not guilty, they said."
"I'd have convicted her, if it had been me."

"Her poor parents."
"She'll have to go! She's caused such a fuss."
"Disgrace on the street."
"Poor Brownton Road! Poor us!"

"A Raw Silence" (Entry 388)

Some thing's enter this life with a roar. 
A human baby's cry that parents adore. 
First breath of announcement or even anguish. 
New born arrival comes with its own language. 
A New Year enters by fireworks and bells. 
Artificial time's passing with songs, chants and yells. 

Then there's those that enter by way of silence. No sound. 
Like true time shown without whisper by that wrinkle newly found. 
Nor does the spider on its web and it weaves. 
Or death which enters when the last sigh leaves. 

Then do we dare step beyond to see who are the silent that enter?
Like Angels, the unseen, who live at soul's centre. 
The hosts of energy, love is their being. 
They whisper in the quiet - all-knowing, all-seeing.

"New Prince" (Entry 387)

New born royal heir. 
Thunder claps your arrival. 
Hail and welcome, Prince.


Congratulations to William and Catherine, Duke and Duchess of Cambridge on the birth of their son, Prince George Alexander Louis of Cambridge. 

"Born A Thousand Tears Ago" (Entry 386)

A thousand tears ago. 
A thousand million light years away. 
A place blown to
A thousand million billion pieces 
In the Dymantism Conflict. 
That was the best thing to happen to it. 

It wasn't a town on a planet.
It was a breeding ground on a facility. 

Conceived in embrovats. 
Developed then sucked from the gel 
To dwell and be raised in optimum statis. 

Fed nutrients and knowledge. 
Extracted waste and individuality. 

Breed, born and betrayed. 
Genetically grown grunts. 

The best thing to happen to that place was when it was blown apart. 

Artificial wombs went boom!

I should know. 
One of their Spawned Warriors, made to order, made the order.
I pressed the trigger.

"It's That Time!" (Entry 385)

Kids a-playing. 
Mums a-washing. 
Then mopping up a tear. 

Ice cream floats fizzing. 
Barbecue's a-sizzling. 
Dad's cooking with a beer. 

99's a-melting. 
Rain's begins a pelting. 
Run and hide inside the Pier. 

Picnic by a castle. 
Beach and bingo raffle. 
House! Let out a hearty cheer. 

Suitcase all packed. 
Flight, arrive whacked. 
Let's come again next year. 

Long hot days. 
Red night sky haze. 
Horray! Our Summer's here!

"They Travel With Me" (Entry 384)

I sense the spirits on those long passed. 
As I tread my dusty path. 
I do not know where this leads. 
To tangled dells or shimmering seas. 
I know that those I've known, walk with me. 
Though I do not hear them, and never see. 
For those I've loved will never leave. 
They live within my heart and I still grieve. 
I miss their presence, touch and voice. 
Although I will cry. The more, I rejoice. 
As love that strong a bond will never break. 
They are always with me on this journey I make. 
So I step forward with strength so grand. 
They travel with me, in heart, by hand. 

"Balmy Ideas" (Entry 383)

Balmy day. 
Mechanical breeze whipped through the dome. 
Light shone to create tropical warmth. 
Always a balmy day inside the dome. 
Constant temperature inside the Hawaiian Dome. 

Or to ski. 
A control suit - airlock - surface shuttle - airlock away. 
In the Alps Dome. 
Oh, to wish. 
But how she wished...
She wished....

Look up from the Moon to Earth. 
To experience the real lands,
And mountains, and cities,
But mainly the oceans. 

For all her home pod,
Hawaiian Dome,
Offered with artificial surf reef and pools. 
There was no expanse of ocean,
To dive, to explore, to surf, 
To sail away. 
To be with the animals. 
Oh, how she wished to see animals for real. 
She sighed as she saw the blue of Earth. 

"One day, I'll get there. I know I will.
The thought of being there with all that diversity. 
The wonders!
To get beyond the Moon. 
To walk the land and swim the seas. 
It's a leap, I know,
But one day,
I will step upon the Earth!"

"Exotic Oils" (Entry 382)

Exotic oil
Made with toil. 
In eons past caressed those royal. 
Bought on a whim,
A gift from him. 
Now gently massaged onto limb. 
Liquid gold,
Glide and mold,
What secrets flow in liquid behold.
Resin and petal. 
Seeps to settle. 
Sensual scents strengthen spirits mettle. 

"Today was Different" (Entry 381)

Car park cordoned. 
Police patrol. 
The Strip stripped of a stretch of side road. 
Twenty four hour partying under neon never noticed. 
Though traffic backed up. 

The boy with the lunch pail,
bit his lip, 
worrying how this would 
effect his tardiness record. 
Proud he never received a slip. 
Today was different. 

Mom wasn't taking him today. 
Mom wouldn't have taken him this route,
past the casinos and strip joints. 
He never knew that she didn't want folks to recognise her,
while he was with her,
near her place of work. 

Today was different. 
Uncle Mike was taking him. 
He'd been his Uncle for a month now. 
He told the boy, his mom had to go into work early. 
He was upset she hadn't told him herself, 
when she kissed him goodnight,
but he wasn't going to tell Uncle Mike that. 
The boy was still afraid of him. 

He bit his lip again. 
Then coughed,
"'cuse me, sir... err - Uncle. How long will we be? I don't wanna be late, you see as..."
He broke off at the shrug viewed through the rear mirror. 
Uncle Mike went on ignoring the boy to pop a window, and lit a joint, as he sneered at the rows of cop cars. 

The boy slide down on the sticky back seat and 
peered out the lower edge of the dirt ingrained glass. 
He watched bored police leaning against hot hoods and cool shaded walls. 
He saw the ambulance, 
all flashing lights and sirens,
lost in the cacophony of Las Vegas. 
He saw the stretcher and black bag on top. 
A long black bag. 
Containing something. 
The boy frowned. 
He was expecting to see a man, 
or even a lady on the stretcher,
like he'd seen at the hospital that one time,
when his mom got bruised and broke her nose, 
by a silly fall down some stairs, 
and Uncle Benny stopped coming around. 

He'd like to be a paramedic, or a police officer, or a scientist, or a fireman, or an astronaut, or a doctor, or Justin Bieber. 

"What's in that bag, Uncle Mike?" The boy asked. 

"Bad news for someone today. You wouldn't wanna be that person now would ya, boy?"

"Take My Leave" (Entry 380)

Thoughts retrieve
Where you weave. 
Can I hope, when I no longer believe?
I take my leave,
While you deceive
And think that I can not perceive.

"Caught in A Courtyard" (Entry 379)

Taste the air. 
Sweet and hot. 
Jasmine caresses across the tongue. 
Sip espresso. 
Spice envelopes floral. 
Intoxicating embrace. Where I belong. 

Hugged in silk
By overstuffed cushions. 
Hiding the rough raffia chair. 
Verdigris dolphin dances,
On central fountain,
enjoying ecstasy without a care. 

Water joins in the game 
To leap beneath 
Hexagon bowl and beyond. 
To land on tiles,
Blue, white and gold,
Marbled marvelled inlaid on floor and pond.

Droplets hit mosaics,
Sizzle to steam,
Minuscule hiss lost under sound of crickets. 
Courtyard sand stone,
Hides the world,
To stay in here. What life, this is!

"Herds of Words" (Entry 378)

Picture me 
A dictionary. 
What do you see?

Collection of words. 
Alphabetised herds 
For literary nerds?

"Ashes" (Entry 377)

She was used to seeing ashes. 
Fireplaces in every room of the big house where she worked. 
Lowly maid, cleaning grates, when she was younger. 
Much younger. 
Then she met him, in line at the pictures,
His face a picture as he offered her a cigarette. 
Knowing from that first moment. 
Together Forever. 

Happy cleaning her own fireplace. 
House proud. Proud of her life. 
Their own place. Home. 
Where they raised their family. 
Happy. Together Forever. 

She washed the ashes from her devastated son's face,
As they climbed over the rubble of their home - 
Bombed, burnt to the ground - Blitzed. 
Knowing that as long as her family where at her side and 
He was fine on his far off duty,
They would build their home again. 
Happy. Apart for Now, but Together Forever. 

She laughed along with her family 
As the ashes from Chinese lanterns landed gently around them. 
Fireworks shone in some exotic celebration. 
Singapore where she followed him on his last posting and 
She learnt about style, silk and sophistication. 
Happy. Together Forever. 

She'd often brush the ash from his hair each morning
As he returned from late nights at the Foundry. 
Back in Blighty, saving hard
To put the children through good schools and colleges. 
Happy. Together Forever. 

She cleaned the ash trays 
Filled to the brim after part-time work in the pub to pay for holidays and family presents and treats. 
Or those used at home in evenings with friends. 
A time full of music and dance
And Gin and Tonic and John Players and 
Benson and Hedges and Martini. 
Happy. Together Forever. 

She was use to ashes,
But not like these. 
She stared into the Urn. 
Cough turned to blood which turned him ashen. 
Cigarette ashes to ashes. 
Dust to Dust. 
Knowing one day, she'll be with his again. 
Happy. Together Forever.
Together Forever.