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 social. Show all posts
Showing posts with label social. 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! 

Thursday, 2 January 2014

"Tranquil after the Tempest" (Entry 551)

Tranquil after the tempest.  
Clear and distant. 
World in focus.
Crows call and crowd on cobbled beach. 
Pebbles tumbled like peanuts in a forlorn drunk's bar bowl. 
Ducks fly in haphazard formation,
To smack onto mucky water.
Squadron permission to land - dive into arrival, flap, slap, splash then rest. 
Starlings flit, too many to count
Are they really there?
As they skim sea's surface,
Playing havoc with the eyes,
Dark specks above white wave flecks,
Seeming to exist in numerous realms. 
Spectral dots in spacial dimension. 
Lone seagull fights for territory 
On surf and turf. He can hold his own. 
Calm after the storm?
No fear!
Life goes on, even here. 


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.

Saturday, 21 December 2013

"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.

"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. 
Ahhhhhhh,
What bliss is this!

Credits roll on to The End. 

"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.

"'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!

"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. 
(http://m.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-25459567)

Friday, 20 December 2013

"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!)




"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.

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.

"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

Thursday, 31 October 2013

"Blue Over Sky Box Setting" (Entry 484)

Dark nights schedules
Bringing forth
Many tears, drama 
And mirth. 
What to choose
and record? 
So much that I
Want to hoard. 
Problem is Sky Plus 
Almost full. 
What to red button?
What to pull?
Increase percentage,
Get on and watch. 
Can't delete programmes,
All top notch. 
Need to make the provision. 
Arrrggghhh! Now, there's a collision!
Change the times, what's my decision?
Of all this good stuff on the television. 

Tuesday, 15 October 2013

"Social and Content or Social Content?" (Entry 463)

Too content
To make my own content. 
Read than write. 
That can't be right. 
Can it?

Let's see what others think on Twitter,
YouTube, Facebook, Instagram and...
Oh, the nosedive my talent took!
Get creative. Social?
Time to ban it!



Then again maybe not... ;-)

Saturday, 5 October 2013

"Dance Encore!" (Entry 458)

Listen to the score. 
You don't dance anymore. 
I beseech and implore. 
Take to the floor
And not the door. 
Rhythmic galore!
Three step or four. 
Spin 'til feet are so sore. 
You know what's in store. 
The beat's never a chore. 
A new dance or times yore. 
Street moves or folklore. 
That sway all adore. 
It's my life and your 
if you only let it soar. 
From the oath which you roar. 
Let go, live, enjoy and pour
Out what's kept at soul's core. 
Call out dance encore! Encore!
More! More! More!

"Dreep Dinkly" (Entry 457)

Drink! Drink deeply!
Dreep Dinkly!
Drink! Drunk!
With joy. 
Deserve the nectar
In this moment. 
Feel the warmth it gives
And the light that shines
Within
And from your smile. 
It only appears once in ale while. 

Thursday, 26 September 2013

"Bring Disco Back!" (Entry 451)

I have the flair. 
I have the knack. 
It's time to bring
Disco back!

Grab a partner. 
Move those muscles. 
Bop to the groove. 
Let's do the hustle!

Side-close-side. 
Point and hop. 
Give a twirl. 
Do the Bus Stop!

Take a step. 
Keep on smiling. 
Feel the beat.
Now you're free styling!

We have the flair. 
We have the knack. 
It's time to bring
Disco back!

"Loaf About" (Entry 450)

I loafed about. 
Rolled outta bed.  
So didn't get that rise. 
I just earn my bread.

Not much dough in it.
A crumby job, time to move.
It's all gone sour. 
I've got nothing to prove. 

"Her Matters!" (Entry 449)

I shouldn't have asked what was the matter. 
For she went on and on and on, fermata! 
Oh, for that shrill voice to stop. 
Then she was gone. Peace, pause and rest.