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 loneliness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label loneliness. Show all posts

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! 

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.

Friday, 20 December 2013

"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.

Thursday, 31 October 2013

"The You Forecast" (Entry 475)

There were rainbows once. 
Blue skies too. 
Now all is stormy. 
Without you. 

Tuesday, 15 October 2013

"Empty Space" (Entry 462)

Where have you been?
Where do you go?
Missed from my life. 
Where? I didn't know. 
An empty place 
To my right. 
It felt all wrong. 
Alone in the night.
But now you're back. 
Where you should be. 
So 'fraid. I'll never ask. 
Trapped by my absentee. 

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. 

"House Unloved" (Entry 432)

Uninviting,
No welcome mat before
Great rusted iron doors. 
Decades decay,
Peeling pea green paint,
Sticky splintered structure,
ancient. 
Derelict dire darkness. 
Place for dead?
Not yet. 
Unloved. Unwanted. 
A house that forgot it was once a home.

"It wasn't your fault" (Entry 429)

Goodbye, my love. 
It wasn't you. 
I know it'll be the first thought you have. 
I tell you, it wasn't your fault. 
No guilt. No blame. 
When there's speculation in the air, 
You'll want sympathy, love, compassion. 
There! There!

It wasn't your fault
You forgot to notice when I was down. 
It wasn't your fault
You didn't hear my walls tumble down. 
It wasn't your fault
That a slight peck became your love. 
It wasn't your fault
That in my life, it was never enough. 

Remember, my love
As I say, goodbye. 
It wasn't your fault
That I choose to die. 

Wednesday, 31 July 2013

"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?"

Tuesday, 25 June 2013

"Lone Telephone" (Entry 357)

Telephone. 
Alone. 
Nicotine yellowed rotary on 
Slab of fake mahogany 
In hotel room. 

Cacophony of tinny bells ring loud. 
Vibrates against paper-thin viral-stained walls
Within the sparse space. 
An old-fashioned sound in an undefined place. 
Its call persists. 

Brrring!-Brring! 
Brrring!-Brring!
Plastic thing sings
Metallic.
Brring!-Brring! 
Pity there's no one there to answer it. 
It rings no more.

Thursday, 23 May 2013

"Stale Smell" (Entry 325)

Half-full scent bottle lay unused. 
Unloved, discarded, and refused. 
It's owner never found the need. 
Love had gone, only time succeed.
No longer sprayed, inhaled, perfumed. 
Just the stale smell of a life doomed. 
No reason left to have a care. 
Both left forgotten, gone off, beware!

Thursday, 28 February 2013

"Deserted" (Entry 243)

There is no sand or desert.
Mirage.
There is no tented sheik
havin' it large.
There are no camels
or dancers of belly.
But I've been deserted,
just me and the telly.

Monday, 11 February 2013

"Where Loneliness Lives" (Entry 223)

Some people say their loneliness stalks,
Others say it enters and walks
Upon their lives, until
Friendship drives to kill
The despair
But I share
My life with lonely forever.
In fact, we live together.