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.

Sunday, 5 January 2014

"Jim's Tale" (Entry 553)

This is the tattered tale of a cat called Jim. 
He was ragged and scared and painfully thin. 
It started when his owners bought a kitten that year. 
Soon Jim was forgotten, unwanted, thrown out on torn ear. 
Spent his time, touring bins, but they offer a little picking. 
If seen by the humans, he cowered away from a kicking. 

Shaken and frozen, famished day and night. 
Poor moggy Jim lived out his plight. 
Then one fateful eve, when this destitute kitty was near his end. 
He limped to a warm spot for this time to spend. 
Upon a warm grate, he curled up his scrawny lot,
And drifted into dreams right there on the spot. 

He dreamt of smiling faces and cuddles and bowls of fish,
He dreamt of strokes, a fully warm belly, and his own milk dish. 
He dreamt of being lifted and floating in the air,
He dreamt of loud music, coloured lights and an red armchair. 
On and on, as he slept, the perfect dream persisted,
Then Jim realised he was awake, this wondrous place existed!

For he had found rest beside the stage door,
The theatre caretaker taking him in as rain began to pour. 
Slowly, he nursed Jim back to life,
Fed him, cleaned him, no more strife. 
"It's good to see you alert, ma old fella,
It was touch and go there, I'll tells ya!"

"This is your home now. You'll be safe, warm and fed." Frank the caretaker told him. 
"Anyone who finds their way to our door, will never be out on a limb."
"But you'll need to earn yourself a wage. 
By greeting people, and keeping rats from the stage."
Frank smiled and stroked the furry face. "What you think on that?"
Jim blinked and purred. A whole new start. He was now a Theatre Cat! 

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