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, 31 December 2013

"Lift and Lighten" (Entry 549)

Illuminate the night. 
Bring in the bright. 
Make your mark. 
Scare off the dark. 
Time of winter's here. 
Candle spark lessens fear.
Be safe and be together. 
Even in the gloomy weather. 
Lift your spirits away from ill cheer. 
Lighten moods, bring in New Year!

"Terrific Scientific" (Entry 548)

Molecules agitation 
Supercool migration
Magnetic reflection
Genetic selection 
Thermal dispersion
Epidermal inversion
Atmospheric transmission
Numeric ambition
Terrific motion
Scientific devotion

"Stoke and Shivers" (Entry 547)

Cold seeps and instills
Icy diffusion into 
All it caresses

Saturday, 28 December 2013

"Just A Little More?" (Entry 546)

Turkey still to be eaten?
Leftovers brunch, or are you beaten?
Bored of cheese boards and pies minced piled high,
Or that evening buffet you just can’t walk by?
Sherry, liqueurs and brandy and port.
Too much for the liver, or ready for another snort?
A belly full of tasty, or the thought makes you pasty?
There’s still much more to munch. 
(Remember New Year’s? Another lunch!)

"It's A Cracker!" (Entry 545)

Last cracker pulled.
A snap of last pop.
Toy of bright plastic,
Unsold in a shop.
A cracker’s for Christmas, only one day.
Rest of the year, never a thought comes their way.

Mirth mists dissipated
from bad jokes hidden yawn.
Hat lays discarded,
Ripped and forlorn.
Joy that they gave, gone in a flash.
Cardboard gather together and into the trash.

"Another Day to Party!" (Entry 544)

Will you be a mellow fellow?
Or shop the sales, and fight the gales?
Don’t clash and bash,
Or ration the passion. 
Don’t debate the hate,
Just adore and more.
Go on, pound to the sound
from the jukes-boxing day rocking way!
Sashay, play and PAR-TAY!

Wednesday, 25 December 2013

"Rejoice" (Entry 543)

Stable born this day
Celebrate a life’s new start
Praise, rejoice and sing

Merry Christmas, everyone!

"Have You Been Good?" (Entry 542)

Stretch up on tiptoes,
Pink bunny slippers falling away at heels,
To reach the crack in the door,
Where the wood warped over the years, 
To leave a slither of hope. 
Tiny slash of light,
Draws you forth, tempting a look. 
To glimpse delights within. 
Try to cling to polished oak. 
Balance lost!
Teddy bear tumbles along. 
(Wordlessly, uncomplaining of his treatment.)
Grab hold of brass handle,
Careful! Don't turn or rattle. 
Meant to be in bed, 
Beyond sleep and playing in the realm of dreams. 
Hold breath and steady,
To catch the fragments of delight through the crack. 
Clink of chandelier!
Crystal droplets sing in the draught of the movements beneath. 
Sharp tang of pine,
Branches heavy with glass of colour and light. 
Then there...
See? See!
Mission accomplished!
Parcels. Wrapped in varicolour spectacle.
Santa has been. 
A good girl after all!

Monday, 23 December 2013

"Favourites of Santa" (Entry 541)

Fabulous fancies and rainbow dances.
Marsh mellow wishes and candy corn kisses.
Unicorn riding and fairy seek and go hiding.
Star sparkle bright and christmas tree lights.
Baubles a-dangling and mistletoe hanging.
That time of year, when Santa appears.

"Future Gifts" (Entry 540)

Burden or gift?
Power or responsibility?
Crushed or weighed heavy?
What present will be present in your future?

Saturday, 21 December 2013

"In Glade's Embrace" (Entry 539)

The bats continue their symphony.
Leading and guiding the way.
Follow the path unseen.
Travel where only the blessed have tread.
Relief as companions appear
from the shadowed embrace of oaks.
Carry holly and the mistletoe.
Enter the glade together.
Sacred space.


Happy Yule to all of you celebrating today. Blessed Be!

"Winds Turn" (Entry 538)

North winds turn to bound and ground.
East winds turn to whip air and rip.
South winds turn to light up the night.
West winds turn to moon’s tidal ride.


Thinking of everyone in the UK suffering through these gale force winds. Stay safe and warm. 

"Searing Storm" (Entry 537)

It was the day after the news broke.
Heading our way.
Hot wind in this cold land.
No way for us to leave.
Barricaded windows,
Set our stores 
to the centre of the cabin
and waited.

Might be the lucky ones.
No idea how the packed ice of millennia
would react when it hit.
The hot wind. The searing storm.
World turned on the axis,
changing weather patterns and tides.
Even altering magnetic compass itself.
We waited.

Fearing to speak,
thinking our breath would invite.
Vast three figure mileage tornado to join the silent air.
More than a tornado, more than a storm,
formed from boiling desert temperatures 
whipping razor sharp sand shards into the air,
building, expanding, 
grabbing with greed everything it touches.
Bringing it towards us.
We waited.

We had no idea how the rest of the world had faired.
Communications collapsed.
So we prepared, worried, joked, mourned and waited.
We waited.

"Prelude to a Fantasy Life" (Entry 536)

He stood on parapet,
staring out at verdant rolling meadows.
Farm workers plower fields, the start of the season.

He sighed as he turned to look beyond the cliffs
to see the sparkling surging sea.
Glistening azure as the sun rose on this day.

He love this country.
His country.
Commanded all he could view and beyond
to the green deep oceans that lapped his island.
A jewel which would have never existed,
if he hadn’t been born.

"Roll End Credits" (Entry 535)

Darkness enveloping behind my eyes, 
rolling in the credits - starring Me - produced by This Day - directed by The Fates. 

It's so late. 

Leaden arms try to heave the carcass up the stairs.
Am I wearing concrete boots?
I don’t remember.
Stare down to bare feet on bedroom carpet,
wearily peeling layers away.
Top layer cardigan worn to stave off the cold.

Try to unbutton a shirt with fingers
that feel as useful as balloon animals.
I wonder if, these are the same that 
deftly moved across the keyboard in rhythmic dance all day?

Eventually, I move to unzip jeans that appear
a size or two smaller than the ones
I jumped into this morning.

Bosom heaved from bra to breathe 
an expanding sigh of relief.
I lie on the bed and do
a horizontal twist 
to remove the last scrap of material from bum and hips.

Snuggle behind the quilt to sleep.
To sleep, with dreams. 
What bliss is this!

Credits roll on to The End. 

"Wise of Old" (Entry 534)

Savage sages,
adept men of ages.
Wizards of magic.
Dark art tragic.
Learned teachers,
haggard features.
Mage of old.
Philosopher bold.
Who are the wise ones?
What do they know?
Are there still bonds?
Where do they go?

"Muddy Shapes in Fog" (Entry 533)

Travelling all night
Reach forest end.
Slow going 
on motorbikes,
dodging the main,
opting for dirt.
Tracks thick with mud,
this time of year.

Riders wearing most of it.
Them and the bikes.
Ears and mouth and guards
full of mud.
Taste of sodden soil, 
wet grass and worse.
Drink from water bottles.
Don’t wash.
Don’t waste.

Mist, their companion.
Throughout the night
lay heavier within the enveloping trees.
Ancient wood stretching out,
deeper than sight could see,
or mind imagine.

Fog swirled around headlamps.
The only bright disturbing the black.
Snapping sound.
Handlebars swung to focus light
to the forest.
Shape in the fog.
Their nightmares became real.

"storms end" (Entry 532)

torrential it falls
raining waves on and on and
until grey storms end

"Never Does" (Entry 531)

The rattle never tolls.
The bell never rolls.
The light never screams.
The ice never beams.

"Evil Things" (Entry 530)

Throw the tray upon the floor.
What you see, no longer adore.
Soaked screams not what it seems.
For sometimes life brings the evil things.

"Real Thing or Emperor's New Machine?" (Entry 529)

Gigantic machine throbbed and gleamed in the man-made cave.
Deep underground away from curious eyes.
They’d hoped it meant out of sight, out of mind.
Didn’t want what they were trying to achieve to come into question.

Given out statements to the scrutinised and selected media
using enough techno-babble to confound and impress.
Wanted to make it vague enough but seem as simple as possible 
than none would want to embarrass themselves
by asking what they were really doing.
The Emperor’s new clothes for intelligence. 
No one wants that belittled.

Numbers aligned.
Now they were ready to stare into the face of tomorrow.
Now they were ready to time travel.

"The Single Bed" (Entry 528)

Mechanical single bed
behind a curtain.
Immaculate mod-con manufactured 
for comfort with restraint.
Starched linen. Hospital corners,
tucked in at the edge of the oversubscribed ward.

Need to be a VIP to get in here.
Have that special something.
Called Cancer.
Wasn’t as exclusive as it once was.
They seem to be letting anyone in now.

She had her space -
sacred single bed and 
wooden cabinet
to store the part of her life 
she was allowed to bring with her.

She last slept in anything 
but a double bed since she was 19.
She hadn’t slept alone since that day
when she became his wife over 40 years ago.

A single bed for a singular life 
with a singular disease.
She prayed she’d go home to that double bed,
and not to sleep on her own forever.

"It's Cyn for a Bridesmaid" (Entry 527)

Cynthia smoothed the bridesmaid’s dress front.
Neon orange taffeta with shit brown velvet ribbon sash,
designed to look good on nobody, except the bride,
who wore a dazzling array of crystals and net in 
‘hasn’t-been-a-virgin-since-the-ninth-grade’ white.

“I won’t wear it! I won’t!” 
Cynthia screamed in the privacy of her own thoughts.
It was the only place 
she was going to find decent conversation tonight,
in this cacophony of chavs, 
otherwise known as The Bridal Party.
“Thia! This!”
Someone called her in her least favourite nickname.
“Thia! I was just telling Jade that it’s your fifth time.
As they say, Always a Bridesmaid…”
“Never A Bride!” 

The others joined in, howls of laughter.
Five tango’d 
fake tanned 
fake personality 
harpies hooting and ganging up.
Holler after shriek, after pointing after snarl.

This was the pinnacle,
Or was she just being cynical?
She had to do it, didn’t she?
They deserved it.
They bullied her.
In fact, it was self-defence.
She couldn’t wear that dress
or put up with them.
She had to do it.

The last words they heard was her call.
She was still telling the police as they led her away
from the bloodbath and carnage of the bridal party.
"My name is Cyn! I’m Cyn!
Do you hear me? I’m Cyn!”

"Don't Pry!" (Entry 526)

Prying eyes.
It was a surprise,
but someone peeped,
when they should be asleep.

Oh, dear! Why, oh, why?
Fun lost! Don't spy. 

"'A' Testing Time" (Entry 525)

He stared at the back of the exam paper.
Three years culmination.
Ends here.
Or starts here.
Studied and revised.
Always studied and revised.
Every test and assignment
rewarded an ‘A’.
Top of class with confidence.

Why now was memory
as thick as mud.
Brain cells dead.
A zombie in Gap jeans.
Nothing but mash between the ears.

Gulping oxygen and panic,
he straightened the lone pencil above
the glaring black back sheet on
worn wooden square slab.

Progress checked on examiner who
place the same items on other victims desk
in echoing gym.
Step - paper slap - pencil tap - 
step - slap - tap - 
step - slap - tap.
The anxious and the eager sliently acknowledging the delivery.

He remembered nothing.
Pressure demanding their use of a vice 
on his brain oozing any knowledge 
to dribble out of his ears
leaving mush.

Examiner finished his dance and shuffled to the front,
checked his watch
until allotted time.
No stay of execution this day.
“You may begin.”

He turned over the page,
information reformed, 
The questions washing away the mud,
memory flooding in.
Another ‘A’ this day!

"Neon Sign" (Entry 524)

Neon slime green sign
oozed its request 
into the auditorium darkness of
the theatre.
The only light.
Unable to switch off.
Battery back up in case.
This was its time.
Even when it hit,
the earthquake,
the health and safety request shone out.
“Emergency Exit” it shrieked
as the audience screamed,
as walls crumbled and 
the roof and curtain came down
for the last time.


Note: Written before the awful tragedy at the Apollo Theatre, London - http://nimaxtheatres.com on 19 December 2013. My thoughts and warmest wishes go out to everyone involved in the accident. 

"Unlock the Day Dream" (Entry 523)

First class flight to exotic lands.
In a spa, pampered by many hands.
Designer stores, buy clothes.
Picking out shoes, these and those.
On a stage to rapturous applause.
In a mansion, with staff for chores.
A fancy life is not what it seems,
for all of this is just day dreams.
Instead, I’m living the life I love,
and where I want to be.
It is with you, to have you by my side,
that is the key!

"A Bridge of Choice" (Entry 522)

A choice.
A bridge.
Old stone.
Made by craftsmen eons ago.

Walkway rubbed smooth,
Strangely gleaming clean,
by many feet.
A well trodden route.

A pathway used by all.

Can’t make out.
Hazy shapes in unknown shades.
There, but not quite.
Step on the bridge,
then the other side to see.

A choice.
Make a choice.
Cross the bridge… or not?

Friday, 20 December 2013

"A Spot of Turbulence" (Entry 521)

Flying on for eight hours now.
London to Los Angeles.
Plenty of miles to go.
Captain made this trip a hundred times.
His bus in the sky.

No problem.
A snitch.
Auto pilot one.
Meal on lap,
when the crosswind hit.

More than turbulence.
Passengers petrified.
Screams seeping through 
the security non-terrorist door.

This was a hijacker of another kind.
Mother Nature’s wraith. 
Don’t doubt the danger of this woman’s scorn.

Actions in natural reaction.
He was the pilot on auto taking control.
Pulling his bus out of swerve and skid,
to smooth out on gentler winds.

He lifted the microphone, 
in caressing tones eased travellers fears.
Then switching the intercom to private and
spoke to one of his delicious but rattled cabin crew.

“Amanda, I’m awfully sorry. 
I’ve been a terrible dolt.
Any chance of a new meal.
I dropped my tray in that tiny jolt.”

"Release" (Entry 520)

Take the quiet.
Feel the calm.
Let go of stress
and the harm.

Still the silence.
There is no catch.
Release the bliss
of the safety hatch.

"Angels Brilliance" (Entry 519)

Angels fly around.
Energies brilliance abound.
Trust in their hope and authority.
Hold out your hands to what’s meant to be.

"Granny's Closet" (Entry 518)

“It’s in the closet.”
His granny said.
“Go fetch it. Go on! Don’t dally, my silly Ally”

Alistair gulped.
Granny’s closet.
Ally scared.

Each step on brown faded floral carpet took him nearer.
Hand on rail, 
where paint worn down by years of use,
he heaved himself up the stairs,
like a mountaineer tackling Everest.

He heard his nan bustle into the hall behind him,
tying her beige silk scarf around her neck.
“Ally! Don’t dally! We’ll be late!…

He scuttled to the top,
Nan’s bedroom door, wide open, in front of him
and through that door, he could see

Big and wooden and hide and carved and ancient and evil.

Trainers step by trained trainered step,
the closet looming ever larger before him.
His nose now no more than nineteen centimetres away 
from its deplorable doors.

Alistair reached out and
turned the blackened iron key.

"Nowhere's Journey" (Entry 517)

Drunken road
staggers through
vanquished land.
Abandoned track.
A trail without place,
where even the discarded
won’t go.
Journey to and from no-one
through nowhere’s acreage.
Unseen trace - the invisible space.

"Together" (Entry 516)

Do not split,
or take away
yourself from me.
Together forever,
Our place
to be.

"The Drop" (Entry 515)

Head raced.
Packet hidden.
Pace towards exit.
Too late?
Clock glanced!
Not too late!
No choice. No choice?
Fingernails dug to palms.
Hankie retrieved.
Face wiped.
Keep calm! Keep calm!
You'll get there!
Head down.
Shoulders raised.
Hands shaking,
shoved into pockets.
Right touched parcel,
Adder sting of evidence.
Remembrance of 
what must be done.
Door reached.
‘Miss! Miss!”
Pace quickened.
Heavy hand on shoulder.
Spun round.
Heart pound.
Face to face
Security Guard with
guarded smirk.
“Sorry, Miss.
You didn’t hear me.
I think you dropped this.”
A glance down to 
Her hankie!

(Gratefully retrieved. 
Out of the exit. 
She'd make the birthday party
after all!)

"Little Things" (Entry 514)

What can be delight?
Energy in flight?
The day’s dawn light?
Wind under kite?
Panoramic mountain’s height?
What a sight!
To know what’s right?
Be bright and delight
in the little things,
with all your might.

"Colder Days" (Entry 513)

Winter’s chill takes on 
an edge. Wrap warm, be happy.
Enjoy colder days.

"Me Ol' China" (Entry 512)

Everyone needs their own mug,
or if you prefer a cup.
To take the brew, your beverage of choice.
To savour and to sup.

"Supple Spine" (Entry 511)

Fingers travel along the spine.
A caress and gasp of passions breath.
Massage skin in every space.
Then open the cover, 
to read,
a book is a special place.

"Cracked" (Entry 510)

He shouldn’t have taken it.
It was the craic, wasn’t it?
The crack.
Drug of choice.
Thing to do.

Everyone seemed to be having so much fun.
In that bathroom, that stank of urine, vomit and worse.
His life in the toilet, that’s for sure.
Didn’t want to be there.
In the mould, peeling paints, 
and tiptoeing through 
puddles of pathologists future samples.

Stuck in that space,
as a threesome got at it in one cubicle,
a guy heaved up his insides in the next,
and powder and syringes scattered the tiles.
His night on the tiles.

He wanted to be accepted.
Be hip with the in-crowd.
The beautiful people lapped on entrance,
sliding out of staff exits on stinking alleys.
Not so beautiful now.

He dreamt of the moment of acceptance,
drinking champagne in VIP roped areas,
while kissing a gorgeous IT girl,
hiding faces from flash of celebrity snapper.
Why was he feeling ropey as the ‘IT’ knelt in shit.

He never imagined his initiation would be like this,
they urged him to join them, 
whole evening, bouncing off ceramic sink.
The craic of crack on the cracked tarnished mirrors 
taken by the cracked.

Beneath strip lighting, without filters and photo-tweaking,
cosmetics melting, fillers and botox dissolving,
lives stripped bare,
the glaring ugly people.

He’d come too far,
even though he could see their inner reflections
against the hand mirror they held out.
He delved in, divulging his true face,
as everything became shadows around him.

"Day to Night" (Entry 509)

Cemetery by day
Is pleasant, in it’s own way.
Cemetery by night.
Full of darkness and fright.

"Broken into the Past" (Entry 508)

The casket broke.
Unknown space behind 
oak panel slid open.

Documents and treasures spilled to floor,
running secrets of hot lava, 
sorching plans.

The past finally breathe
the air while those 
around gasped.

All but one.
Quicker than age with belie,
bent to grasp.

Dull brooch with diamond chips,
and a story not, this day, 
to be broached.

"See On" (Entry 507)

You see! You see!
The truth of judgements.
Who are you to see, you see?
No idea. Think on and think some more.
Take a moment, and look again.
You’ll see.

Thursday, 19 December 2013

"A Fella's Character" (Entry 506)

Poor, poor fella.
Smart but dumb.
What a life!
What a bum!
Try looking deeper
until you find,
the real hero,
hidden behind.

"Up... Again!" (Entry 505)

Up! Up! Up again.
What comes next?
And then? And then? And again?

505 poems completed... Only 50 to go!

"Celebration Time" (Entry 504)

Celebration a life that’s lived.
Celebrate, enjoy, all it gives.
Be thankful for what you’ve got.
Look! Notice! It’s more than you know,
it’s quite a lot.
Give a smile, a grin and laughter.
This is your time, now and the ever after.

"Off The Hook!" (Entry 503)

Hang up on what’s gone before.
When it rings back, just ignore it.
Walk away, start new and adore it.

"Bring and Show" (Entry 502)

Bring the crazy
Bring the pain
Bring the laughter 
Bring the rain
Bring the hope
Bring the woes
Show the new
Show the lows
Show the next
Show the real
Show the comfort
Show what you feel

"A Black Day" (Entry 501)

Black mac.
Black cap.
Black suit.
Black shoes.

White shirt.
Great hair.
Ashen face.
Roses red.

Black umbrellas.
Black car.
Black skies.
Black mood.

Green grass.
Gold handles.
Oak coffin.
Somebody’s dead.

"Half a Mile" (Entry 500)

Reach the turning.
Stop, gather ravaged thought.
Car horn blared.
Lights ferocious flash.
Forced to pull the turn.

No more time to consider.
No more time to cry.
Front wheels hit gravel road,
crunching, spitting out stones.
Half a mile on grinding track.

Half a mile until…

"Dating Difficulties" (Entry 499)

Organised to freakish end,
but still missed dates with a friend.
Written down and overlooked.
Are you sure we had something booked?

I always write it in the diary.
The plans made by you, I and we.
I’m so sorry, let’s synchronise agendas.
I don’t wanna do more to offend ya!

"Roads Travelled" (Entry 498)

It’s pedestrian to think about the roads.
Or access in the commuters way.
A lane less travelled takes the loads.
A dead-end means to die this day.

"Ship to Soul" (Entry 497)

Gentle lap against iron side.
Lost of gentle roll.
A busman’s holiday off shore,
to sea where lies his soul.

"Disco Beat Death" (Entry 496)

1 - 2 - 3 - 4
The disco beat bounced through his head.
BeeGees with sledge hammers.
That infernal tune on internal loop.

That bloody adverts fault,
meant to save lives.
First aid,
chest compressions to the rhythm of ‘Stayin’ Alive.’

now the victim was Forever Dead.

He’d been there, willing them along,
counting his breaths, 
trusting they would keep the patient going,
as they attempted to stop the blood from literally 

Going down the drain.

He didn’t see the car hit,
but from what he was looking at now,
it must have been a head-on.
Over the bonnet and thrown into the gutter,

Like the rest of the unwanted discarded detritus.

He stared at the body,it looked empty.
A shell, some call it,
like you could hold it to your ear and
still listen to its past life, like

The distant roar of the ocean.

No, that mass of meat was nothing but compost, or ash, now.
He should know,
it was his body he viewed through
non-existant non-corporeal eyes.

He knew he should be reviewing his life,
or regretting what he should or shouldn’t have down.
Trouble was, he couldn’t stop thinking about that fucking tune,
“Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Stayin’ Alive!”

He prayed it wouldn’t last into eternity.

"Here is the Mood Forecast" (Entry 495)

A drop of inspiration,
or a wet puddle of self doubt?
Splash of colour,
or drenched in drab?
A rainbow after the storm,
or just more grey skies?
Sun to follow 
or always downcast?
What’s the forecast to be?

"Dream Time Far" (Entry 494)

The dream developed
far beyond where details
and thrust upon the 
newest of times gone by,
the yesterday.

"The Mass of Mound" (Entry 493)

Woman slept as belly writhed. 
Attempt unconscious to manoeuvre bulk.
A grunt of discomfort before giving up.
Still mass beneath rolled and quivered.

Movement never-ending.
Surprise now, and from the beginning.
Unplanned, from one night stand.
Not unusual ‘round here.

Celebrations, congratulations.
A visit to the social.
Though no one noticed her late of medical checks,
or that bump grew at alarming rate.

Did anyone else crave sunflower oil?
Gallons and gallons, she drank.
Plastic bottles, and metal cans,
lay empty and glistening beside her bed.

No one seemed to think this strange,
or think about it at all.
A block in their vision, their processes.
She whimpered, greasy mouth wiped.

Lay a hand on undulating mound.
Movements intensified. Pushing up, fighting. 
She screamed once, as the unknown ‘un-baby’
began to eat its way out.

"Hip Twist" (Entry 492)

Hip to hop.
Hop to drop.
Drop to twist.
A dance like this.

"Kiss,Kiss and Kiss Again" (Entry 491)

Kiss, kiss and kiss again.
For my love, you kiss away my pain.
From darkened eyes, which is my ache,
You dry my tears, and let me wake
from nightmares even in the day.
Then you hold on me, and drive it away.

"Hope's Fight" (Entry 490)

High hope will come to pass
If naught this day, it will be last.
To fight on and hope heart,
then all will be true and never part.

"World or One" (Entry 489)

The dreams of the world
will be the nightmares of the one.
To think to feel to hope to drive
through imagination.