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.
Showing posts with label illness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label illness. Show all posts

Saturday, 21 December 2013

"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.

Thursday, 12 September 2013

"She Kept Her Eyes Shut" (Entry 435)

She kept her eyes shut,
As nurse went about her busy-ness. 
She kept her eyes shut,
Wanting to be left awhile longer. 
To linger in dreams before the din. Monotonous routine of day screamed in. 

She kept her eyes shut,
To stave off the relentless chatter
the nurse would rattle as soon as knew she was awake. 
She kept her eyes shut,
And listened to metal clatter on metal,
Dull clank of glass to ceramic grazed.  
The judder and jar of her bed as the head was raised. 

Cover blown! Eyes open. Banter began,
As sheets were shed to be replace by crisper and cleaner. 
Along with flurry of washcloths and water,
Made her cleaner too. 
She shut her eyes against the blush. 
That rose in cheeks, before
Night gown replaced and smoothed. 
Teeth brushed and then her hair,
With daily compliment about colour so fair. 

She kept her eyes shut. 
As she was pulled forward to have pillows plumped. 
She lay against the nurse's own plump lavender scented pillows 
Which nestled beneath starched white uniform. 
Laid back in place to catch, 
by cough in throat, 
the whiff of peppermint toothpaste and chewing gum,
Fighting with tobacco base note. 

She turned her eyes and fixed their gaze 
on open windows, curtains caught a breeze. 
Detection of the world out there,
To be seen in and to see,
Experience and be part of,
But that wasn't her place to be. 

She shut her eyes. 
Her life was these four buttermilk glossy walls, white ceiling fan,
The starched smoky nurse 
And the open windows, now fully draped.
She kept her eyes shut. 
Yet, the tears escaped. 

"Lethal Comes Life" (Entry 433)

Hushed tones. Not a gasp of breath. 
Botanist balletic grace,
Point and stretch to raise the prize,
In pot within its air-locked climate. 

Steady glove coax pollen (of deathly scent)
from Irisium Reptoria to
Hybrid Irisium Mortum (leaves poison to touch.)
Their bid?

Hid from all,
A heady mix of hope. 
To nurture nature and produce 
Universal Paxa Illiquisa - panacea. 
Cure all diseases.
From death comes life. 
Lethal to longevity. 
Noble reason. 

"What am I to do?" (Entry 428)

In bed. 
Unwell. 
Fed up. 
What to do?

Radio's annoying. 
Telly's too boring. 
Cat is snoring. 
Help me! (imploring)

What am I to do?

Can't read, 
Words jump upon the page. 
Can't write,
Energy low, can't engage. 

What am I to do?

Body's buzzing. 
Head's all fuzzy. 
In a quandary,
In a tizzy!

What am I to do?

Take a drink. 
Think! Think!
Eyes blink, blink. 
On pillow, I sink. 

(Yawn!) What am I to do?

Feeling poorly. A sorry weep. 
Relax, recover. Let calmness creep. 
Recuperation into cells seep. 
I know what to do. Sleep, sleep, sleep!

Thursday, 1 August 2013

"A Dose of Notes" (Entry 396)

Scales of method come to me. 
Finding nature's melody. 
I play the note as it will be. 
Lost in music, ill's remedy.

Tuesday, 26 February 2013

"Mad Moments" (Entry 238)

Twitch. Itch. Snitch.
Flinch the inch and clinch.
Out with clout,
the lout of madness, sadness, badness
that lies in the fibbing bed
to curse and worse -
it drains the brain.
Now train it!
Lock away despair 
and let out with flair... YOU!

Friday, 21 December 2012

"Vicious Viscous Vapour" (Entry 174)

Steam rising.
Mist surprising.
Smog envelopes.
Fog develops.
Vapour dwells.
Gas swells.
Cigarette smokes
to cancerous chokes.

Thursday, 22 November 2012

"Waste of a Life" (Entry 145)

Awake. Too late. Can't move with aches.
Left to fester in sweat and vile.
Count the hours - here awhile.
Attempt to rise, to brush and wash.
This is my life. What a loss!