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.

Saturday 21 December 2013

"'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.
Nothing.
Pressure demanding their use of a vice 
on his brain oozing any knowledge 
to dribble out of his ears
leaving mush.
Nothing.

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, 
remoulded,
reappeared.
The questions washing away the mud,
memory flooding in.
Another ‘A’ this day!

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