Andervayne's Dream, Fantasy Fiction, Poetry, Self Publishing, Writing

Andervayne’s Dream

Andervayne’s Dream
by
Scott Andrew Bailey

Creative Writing, Fiction, Self Publishing, Short Stories, Thirteen Tales, Writing

Suspense – Thirteen Tales

Suspense

Revenge can be patient. And it can come at the most unexpected time. Old crimes, suppressed and twisted come back to haunt a monster.

Featured Image -- 7657

Thirteen Tales of Ghosts

By Scott Bailey

A collection of short stories concerning ghosts. Some are traditional ghost stories in the tradition of M.R. James and Edgar Allan Poe. Other are not. Some scare, some are fun. Some play with the concept of a ghost. There are ghosts who are out for revenge and the living avenging the spirits that curse them.

Ideal for sitting around a campfire and late at night under the covers. Or maybe not if the stories themselves are any guide.

Check it out at Amazon and Smashwords and other online e-book retailers.

A paperback version is now available for those who prefer the feel of the paper while huddling by the fire – on your own – in the dark – with that noise behind you……

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Dreaming

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Tiny starbursts
The peak on tiny waves
Deep green over yellow
Swaying weeds
Dappled stones
Dark fish darting
The scent of rich water
And reeds
Time to watch
Relax
The life I crave
Instead
Work, bills, sleep, stress

Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Fiction, Mankind Limited News, Science Fiction, Self Publishing, Writing

Big Brother is Dead

George Orwell’s

1984

Showed us the nightmare vision of socialism gone to extremes

It didn’t come to pass.

Instead – we welcomed in something far more insidious.

Capitalism unmarked.

Welcome to

Mankind Limited

 

Welcome to the rebellion

Welcome to The Secret

Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Man

By Scott Bailey © 2013

I am the hunter
The bringer down of prey
The destroyer
The shadow
The bringer of fear.
I am the master of war
The hoarder of riches
The steel lord
The holder of lightning
I am strength and glory

So why do I still struggle in vain

Image from Pixabay

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Andervayne's Dream, Creative Writing, Poetry, Self Publishing, Writing

Andervayne’s Dream by Scott Bailey

In these times of quick gratification and short attention spans, I decided to try and buck the trend and present something not only with greater length but also depth.

The poems in this collection were written over a long period and for different purposes. They are varied but they are all long. And they all represent challenges. Each was a challenge to myself, to sustain a quality of writing for a long period and within tight constraints of form while still telling a story. They also represent and challenge to the reader. The throw off the pressure of everyday life, the pressure to hurry, hurry, hurry to take the time to read something, absorb it over time.

Such effort needs reward, these poems should not be a one-time quick fix. If the reader is going to put that effort in then there should be a payoff, they should be able to continue to get something from it afterwards. Whether that be from contemplation of what they have digested or from revisiting, rereading and seeing things they missed the first time around. So the final challenge to me was to provide this depth of content – not just quantity.

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

I/O

By Scott Bailey © 2013

The information superhighway
It is a heavyweight
Data, redundancy
Processes
Alerts
Objectification
Frames
Presentations and investors
Response
Time
High availability
Validity
Technical, radical, practical, logical
Balancing load
Stresses
Testing
Testing
Test

Craving
Simplicity

Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Fiction, Short Stories, Thirteen Tales, Writing

Thirteen Tales – Cycles

Cycles

(Originally published in Thirteen Tales)

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Featured Image -- 7657

Orange light tried to sparkle off the wet tarmac. Otherwise all was still, even the three figures that lay in the road.

Two were face down by the kerb, the other was splayed out in the middle of the street. Their faces were hidden by motorcycle helmets. Leather jackets and jeans completed their ensemble.

Houses watched over them, silent witnesses. The life behind the pastel curtains was at rest and undisturbed.

A bedraggled wreath sagged at the foot of a lamppost, close by one of the figures. Notes were scattered around it, most of the writing now had run away into the gutter, the thoughts washed away.

The silence intensified, remained heavy over the scene even as the three figures stirred and slowly rose.

They pulled off their crash helmets and shook out the confusion in their heads. As they walked towards the centre point questions rode in their eyes with fear a close pillion.

Their footsteps were silent.

When they met they stared at each other, each looking for answers in the others faces.

Finally one of them broke the silence.

“What happened?”

“We crashed.”

“I know that you pillock! But…” he hesitated, “then what?

The third man spoke, rapping his helmet.

“I knew we shouldn’t have brought these knock off helmets!”

“Oh, shut up! Gary’s had loads of crashes with his!”

“Yeah,” agreed Gary, hesitantly, “but off road.”

“So we probably just bumped our heads and have lost our memories or something.”

“Well my head don’t feel like it’s got any lumps on it.”

“Tony, you wouldn’t notice if I hit you over the head with a sledge hammer.”

“Not after the amount we drunk at the party!” said Gary. The two of them laughed and clapped each other on the shoulders.

“So?” persisted Tony.

“So, what?”

“So what happened?”

Gary shook his head and wandered over to the pile of soggy wreaths. He bent down and read one of the labels.

“Shit!”

“What?” asked Tony.

“Look at this! This wreath is for the ‘Lads from the Horses’”.

“Some of our gang died!” Ray whispered.

Then Gary shook his head again and pointed a trembling finger at another card, the words almost washed away.

But still readable. Ray read it aloud.

“In loving memory of my Son, Anthony White. Died on his bike, doing what he loved and with his friends. Ride on!”

None of them moved. They stared at the flowers, at the words draining from the cards.

Then a gust of wind caught one of the cards, flicked it in the air and blew it through Tony.

They all screamed and stepped back from one another.

Then they resumed their still, shocked silence. They stared in horror at each other as the chill seeped into their minds.

“Us,” Ray’s voice trembled, “we’re dead.”

“We’re ghosts?” Gary’s voice was as frail as his expression. There was another long silence.

Then suddenly Tony stood up and straightened his shoulders.

“Cool,” he said. “We’re ghosts!”

The other two stared at him with surprise. Then they looked at each other. They seemed to be trying to make a decision. Then, at some subtle signal, they made it. They went along with his bravado.

They punched the air in defiance.

“We’re dead!”

“Right!” said Gary. “Who are we going to haunt first?”

“Hey,” said Tony, “I wonder if we can walk through walls?” He had a sly look on his
face.

“Why?” said Ray, scenting a plan.

“We can head over to Julia Davis’ house and slip inside her bedroom.”

“Yes,” said Gary, making obscene gestures with his arm, “while she slips into something more comfortable!”

“Like nothing,” grinned Ray.

They arrived. It was as simple as that. They had not travelled, they just appeared there. In that almost sacred place that many in their college had secretly wanted to visit. In some cases not so secretly.

She was there! They could hardly believe it. Before their very eyes their wildest and most perverted dreams were coming true. She began to undress.

It wasn’t a strip or erotic,she did it in a matter of fact way, but they didn’t care. They stood slack jawed as when, finally naked, she stretched her body before them and flexed her toned limbs.

“Bloody hell!” said Gary.

“Shh!” Tony silenced him, while keeping his eyes on Julia as she slipped beneath the sheets.

“Why?” said Gary, “she can’t hear us. Look, watch!”

He bent down close to her ear.

“Julia,” he whispered, “you have got a lovely pair of knockers!” He giggled and tried to stroke her hair.

His hand went straight through her head.

He yelled in fright and jumped back.

“Bloody hell!”

The other two laughed. He looked indignantly at them.

“It caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

He looked down sadly at Julia.

“Pity we can’t touch though.”

“Gary, you really are a pervert aren’t you?” sniggered Ray.

“Hey, look at this,” said Tony. He was peering at patches of ice on the window.

“So,” shrugged Gary. “It’s cold outside. So what?”

“There’s no heating in here,” he nodded back inside the room. “But we don’t feel
cold.”

They considered this.

“So, we don’t feel the cold. Or hot when it’s hot,” said Ray. He shrugged. “That’s
cool.”

“It also means,” added Gary with a leer in his eye, “that when she gets out of bed she
will be cold.”

The other two laughed, getting his implication. They huddled down next to Julia’s bed waiting.

Half an hour later they realised just how boring watching somebody sleep could be.

“Sod this!” Ray finally snapped. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Where?” shrugged Gary.

“I know!” said Tony, “let’s spirit ourselves over to the Headmaster’s house and see
if the rumours about him and Mrs. King are true.”

They appeared in the front room of Mr. Waller, the headmaster of their old school, where he was having dinner with the aforementioned Mrs. King, also one of their old teachers.

The three friends fell into fits of laughter and clapped each other on the backs in
congratulations.

“Wait until we spread this about!” laughed Tony.

Ray gave him a sour look.

“Who the hell we going to tell?”

This dampened their spirits a little but with the determination of youth and ignorance in the face of fear they forged on with their intentions.

They watched as the couple spent the meal in small talk about subjects that were beyond the three of them. Then the teachers retired to the sofa with their drinks.

The boys rubbed their hand in gleeful anticipation.

The Headmaster put on some soft music and the conversation continued. Mrs. King consumed some more spirits.

After about an hour the friends were pacing the room.

“Come on! Snog her!” urged Gary.

“Old farts have probably forgotten what to do!” said Tony.

“Well I am not waiting around to see if they remember,” said Ray. “Let’s go to
Willy’s.”

The others shrugged and nodded.

They appeared in the middle of the dance floor and immediately made their way to their more customary place by the bar.

Out of habit they tried to order drinks, then cursed the loss of another pleasure.

“Hey look! There’s Melissa!” said Gary. He shouted after her but she did not turn. The
music was loud but she would not have heard him anyway. Nobody would have heard him.

They watched the dancing and flirting in brooding silence, observing the fun they could no longer be a part of. Then they quit. They decided to go to the graveyard, after all it was where ghosts were supposed to hang out.

The graveyard was packed! In the pre-dawn air, wispy, screaming figures wandered in misery. The three of them were jostled and bumped but none of the ghosts spoke to them or responded to them in any other way. These spirits were too wrapped in the rags of their own misery to notice anything else. The air was packed with screams.

“To hell with this!” screamed Gary, “let’s go!”

They gathered to try and decide where to go next when they noticed a familiar face. It was Sam Stiles, the owner of the local corner shop that had burned down a few years ago, Both he and the shop had been a huge loss in their lives.

He sat, head in hands on a gravestone. His own gravestone.

“Sam?” The man looked up at Gary. He looked both miserable and confused.

“It’s us! The Horses! Remember?”

The man squinted at them.

“We used to come in your shop all the time, remember?” said Tony, “you did the best
doughnuts!”

“What are you doing here?” he shook his head and hung it again. He didn’t sound like he really wanted to know.

“We crashed our bikes!” said Tony, with a hint of pride. “Now we’re ghosts. Like you.”

That last part was said with less enthusiasm.

“No,” moaned Sam shaking his head more.

“What’s up?” asked Gary, trying to make light of the scene. “Ain’t you glad to see us?”

Sam looked up with fierce despair now.

“Don’t you get it? You’re stuck! In a cycle – forever! Why do you think these poor souls scream so much.” he waved all around him.

The fear finally got to them, wormed it’s way through all their bravado, pride and ignorance. They looked at each other and began to scream.

At that moment the sun rose. If their scream made a sound it was lost in the rise of the hosts own rising wail.

Then all went black

Orange light tried to sparkle off the wet tarmac. Otherwise all was still, even the three figures that lay in the road.

Two were face down by the kerb, the other was splayed out in the middle of the street. Their faces were hidden by motorcycle helmets. Leather jackets and jeans completed their ensemble.

Houses watched over them, silent witnesses. The life behind the pastel curtains was at rest and undisturbed.

A bedraggled wreath sagged at the foot of a lamppost, close by one of the figures. Notes were scattered around it, most of the writing now had run away into the gutter, the thoughts washed away.

The silence intensified, remained heavy over the scene even as the three figures stirred and slowly rose.

They pulled of their crash helmets and shook out the confusion in the heads. As they walked towards the centre point questions rode in their eyes with fear a close pillion.

Their footsteps were silent.

When they met they stared at each other, each looking for answers in the others faces.

Finally one of them broke the silence.

“Why are we here again?” Gary looked scared.

“I don’t know,” said Tony his voice quivering. “But there must be some explanation.”

“Well I don’t know what it is,” said Gary.

“Thought you were the clever one!” said Tony scathingly. This prompted an argument that escalated into a fight until Ray intervened.

“Look you twats – we’re dead right! Bloody dead! Bloody fighting isn’t going to help
anything.”

This simply aggravated the situation and the fight bloomed again between all three of them.

Then they suddenly found themselves in Julia’s bedroom.

“What the fuck?” said Tony.

“What happened?” said Gary sounding scared still, “I didn’t want to come here.”

“Nor did I,” said Ray and Tony shook is head.

“She’s not even here!” said Gary.

“For Christ’s sake, Gary,” said Ray. “Can’t you think of anything else?”

“Yeah, like figuring out what the hell is going on here,” said Tony.

This started more arguments. They argued and fought and stormed – anything to keep the tears of fear at bay, until they appeared in the Headmaster’s front room.

This brought them up short.

“We’re doing the same as last night,” whispered Tony.

“We’re going around in circles,” said Ray, his voice cracking.

In tears, the three visited the nightclub, then the graveyard. There they stayed, wailing in despair until the sun came up.

Orange light tried to sparkle off the wet tarmac. Otherwise all was still, even the three figures that lay in the road.

Two were face down by the kerb, the other was splayed out in the middle of the street. Their faces were hidden by motorcycle helmets. Leather jackets and jeans completed their ensemble.

Houses watched over them, silent witnesses. The life behind the pastel curtains was at rest and undisturbed….

Creative Writing, Fiction, General, Mankind Limited News, Politics, Science Fiction, Self Publishing, Writing

Mankind Limited – Fascinated

 

he-was-merely-fascinated 2

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Read an excerpt here.

Available as

Kindle

or hardback

from Amazon

or CreateSpace

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Words

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Master of words
By words mastered
Many a politician can claim
Those that abuse the power
By which they rose
Will be bitten by the beast they tamed

Such is the reality
We choose to believe
But the truth we know is worse
Where corruption rules
It protects its own
Mostly, the corrupt rule

Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Andervayne's Dream, Creative Writing, Fantasy Fiction, Poetry, Self Publishing

What do you seek?

If it is a tale of a farmhand, dreaming of the landowners daughter, becoming a knight and facing trials amongst fantastical creatures. This might be the place for you


If it is the tale of two magical lover’s, dancing on a cloud, maybe you have found the moment to pause and take note.


If it is the tale of a knight’s rebellion against oppression, wait a while.


If you want to explore the ins and outs of ambitious courtiers and their magic, one step too far, then wait awhile


Step into my realm of dreams awhile.

Andervayne’s Dream

and other poems

Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Candles

By Scott Bailey © 2013

One lumen
The light of a candle
It can be seen they say
For many miles
Candles burn tonight
One for each lost angel
Light that will been seen over many years
Still bright in our minds
A million candles
A fiery sun of bittersweet memories
The burning potential
Of lives that never were

Image from Pixabay

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Blunt Hammer

By Scott Bailey © 2013

When horror is turned to love
And death has become high romance
Do the forces of the underworld
Practice a jubilant dance

Do vampires laugh with glee
And werewolves lick their fangs
As they open up their gates
With fanfares, bells and clangs

And into their arms they run
The poorly misguided youth
And their heroes welcome them in
With claw and jaw and tooth

Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Fiction, Self Publishing, Short Stories, Thirteen Tales, Writing

Shipwreck – Thirteen Tales

Shipwreck

Explorers – or pillagers? The line is thin on the high seas, in strange exotic lands. Those that operate without fear of consequence soon learn their folly. There are older powers in the world than gunpowder and steel.

Featured Image -- 7657

Thirteen Tales of Ghosts

By Scott Bailey

A collection of short stories concerning ghosts. Some are traditional ghost stories in the tradition of M.R. James and Edgar Allan Poe. Other are not. Some scare, some are fun. Some play with the concept of a ghost. There are ghosts who are out for revenge and the living avenging the spirits that curse them.

Ideal for sitting around a campfire and late at night under the covers. Or maybe not if the stories themselves are any guide.

Check it out at Amazon and Smashwords and other online e-book retailers.

A paperback version is now available for those who prefer the feel of the paper while huddling by the fire – on your own – in the dark – with that noise behind you……

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Night Forest

By Scott Bailey © 2013

A silver sylph slips silent through the trees
Spreading silver stardust upon the trees
Disappearing into the deep shadows
Where foxes hunt

Image from Pixabay

Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

The Dark

By Scott Bailey © 2013

The darkness where the heart beats fast
The shadows where no moonlight’s cast
The deepest dell of starless nights
Gleaming eyes the only light

The sound of cold and ancient breath
On the breeze the scent of death
A rustle from behind the trees
A snapping twig the blood to freeze

The conflict of the fight​ or flight
But where to run on icy night?
The frozen legs the burning fear
The certainty of danger near

Imagination births these fears
But even as the presence nears
Pointing out what we must mark
Why do we so fear the dark

Image from Pixabay

Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Fiction, Mankind Limited News, Science Fiction, Self Publishing, Writing

Mankind Ltd – What Right?

quotescover-PNG-23

What right had she to make decisions for other people?

What had made her think that those posters were true?

How dare she have the courage to break those chains?

By Scott Bailey 

Read an excerpt here.

Available as

Kindle

or hardback

from Amazon

or CreateSpace

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Cable Ties

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Cables tie us
Hold us tight
To one spot
Even invisible ones
Chains
Keeping us busy
Keeping us attentive
Keeping us productive
and consuming
So when they are cut
We are lost
Unable to produce
As we once did

#DailyPrompt, #amwriting, #postaday

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Formation

By Scott Bailey © 2013

A single mote
of stardust
sparkles bright
in endless black
drifting
No goal,
no direction
for time
that feels
eternity
Nothing
Cold, cold
Nothing

And then
Attracted to another
Bright shining mote
Joined together
Bound in twisting dance
round and round
and down
What seems forever
togetherness
never apart
again

The other comes
with more attachments
gathering around
A family, a clan
a get together that has no end
a bouncy, rowdy party
as things heat up

And the happening attracts more
and the numbers swell
the dances speed and the steps
multiply with complexity
The place is hotting up
as events coalesce

Then the point of no return
This is the place to be
the single mote has pulled
more that could be dreamed
and the crowds rush in and in
and down
the crowds become a crush
And the heat gives rise to new forms of dance
and new energy as the crowds arise

And then the circle is complete
as the fire starts to burn and the lonely mote
is now the heart
of brand new burning star

Image from Pixabay

Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Health Gains

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Giving people health
Appears low priority
Set against profits

Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Fiction, General, Mankind Limited News, Science Fiction, Self Publishing, Writing

Mankind Limited – Succumb

quotescover-PNG-66

Would all the earth succumb to the concrete blanket of mankind? Was that the best legacy they could leave? Was their vision that limited?

One day there would come a time when it would be more profitable to tear these trees down than to leave them. Then there would be no power on earth that would save them. Even concerned consumers couldn’t stand in the way of profits anymore.

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Read an excerpt here.

Available as

Kindle

or hardback

from Amazon

or CreateSpace

 

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Prevailing

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Lost to us, never forgotten
Unusual tides took him away
Carried to peace and to sleep
And even as the dark will swell
Sad, but sad will not prevail

Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Photo by Scott Bailey

Creative Writing, Fiction, Self Publishing, Short Stories, Thirteen Tales, Writing

What’s that Noise?

Behind the door?

Was it something moving?

Someone?

Just ignore it. Dive back under the covers, carry on reading…

Thirteen Tales of Ghosts

By Scott Bailey

A collection of short stories concerning ghosts. Some are traditional ghost stories in the tradition of M.R. James and Edgar Allan Poe. Other are not. Some scare, some are fun. Some play with the concept of a ghost. There are ghosts who are out for revenge and the living avenging the spirits that curse them.

Ideal for sitting around a campfire and late at night under the covers. Or maybe not if the stories themselves are any guide.

Check it out on Amazon and Smashwords and other online e-book retailers.

paperback version is now available for those who prefer the feel of the paper while huddling by the fire – on your own – in the dark – with that noise behind you……

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Rising Tide

By Scott Bailey © 2013

From the shallows to the icy deep
Where dolphins dance and starfish sleep
Through swaying kale and shifting sand
Feel the touch of an oily hand

Where lights speed by in total dark
Where rest many a sunken ark
Where through the kale fish do slip
Feel a cold and choking grip

Where bubbles rise and currents surge
Where waters from the heavens merge
Where weight does crush both bones and rock
Feel the iron fingers lock

And here my heart it swells and roars
From roiling dark to shattered shores
And I will rise with fury’s might
And crush the hand that picks this fight

So fear the shark with jaws that rend
And the mighty swell that shall bend
Every fence and dam and wall
And drown the rumble of cliffs that fall

And when the hand has done its deed
You will curse your dirty seed
And then, at last, ​you will see
How small you are beside the sea

Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Haiku, Poem a Day Challenge, Poetry, Self Publishing, Writing

A Spring of Dreams – Trench

recite-2dr0uy

Trench

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Dancing with my wife,
last week the telegraph came:
Coughs ring round the trench.

Available as

Kindle

or hardback

from Amazon

or CreateSpace

Check out my author website for more details

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Fragile

By Scott Bailey © 2013

So many connections
So many lines
All taut and humming
Junctions and switches
A house of cards
Delicately balanced
Systems
Working to full capacity
One break from collapse
Such is life

Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Sold

By Scott Bailey © 2013

We can make you a better parent
Just come and bank with us
We can make you a better lover
Just use our scent
We can make you more successful
Just drive our cars
We can make you a better man
Just drink our beers
We can make you young and cool
Just use our phones
We can make you healthier
Just eat our food

Give us your money
So we can fill the gaps
Of your so obviously
Empty lives

Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Sensitive

By Scott Bailey © 2013

My eyes are sensitive to the light
They are filtered
Protected by shades
What about my heart?
My feelings?

No filter please
I am sensitive
I need all the light let in.

Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Fiction, Self Publishing, Short Stories, Thirteen Tales, Writing

Softly Softly

Softly fear creeps – more chilling than any scream.

Get further under the covers and turn another page – if you dare

Thirteen Tales of Ghosts

By Scott Bailey

A collection of short stories concerning ghosts. Some are traditional ghost stories in the tradition of M.R. James and Edgar Allan Poe. Other are not. Some scare, some are fun. Some play with the concept of a ghost. There are ghosts who are out for revenge and the living avenging the spirits that curse them.

Ideal for sitting around a campfire and late at night under the covers. Or maybe not if the stories themselves are any guide.

Check it out on Amazon.

paperback version is now available for those who prefer the feel of the paper while huddling by the fire – on your own – in the dark – with that noise behind you……

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Hatchets

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Porcelain tiles
Cold on my cheek
How did I get here?
When did I fall asleep?

The hatchet in my head
Overpowers the hatchet in my heart
For now
And then it begins again

Golden liquid calls

Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Chipping Away at Mountains

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Lines and words and lines
On one screen they mean this
Elsewhere something else
On paper strangely old
Before my eyes
Flashing by
Doing magic
But why
For the small ends
Of small goals
Chipping away at mountains

Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Fiction, Mankind Limited News, Science Fiction, Self Publishing, Writing

Big Brother is Dead

George Orwell’s

1984

Showed us the nightmare vision of socialism gone to extremes

It didn’t come to pass.

Instead – we welcomed in something far more insidious.

Capitalism unmarked.

Welcome to

Mankind Limited

Welcome to the rebellion

Welcome to The Secret

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Wandering Spells

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Is it enough?
These words
We gather here
From across the globe
Our thoughts thrumming
Over strands of the web
They gather and agree
Mostly
And we know
What is wrong with the world
What is right
How to behave
And with well picked word
We condemn
Or cajole
the effective ones.

But is it enough?
Just the words.

Yet once upon a time
There was a spell
A magical combination
That set me on this course
Of reason and reason-ability

Maybe it is enough
If someone somewhere
Is moved by our spells
To do the right thing.

Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Andervayne's Dream, Creative Writing, Poetry, Self Publishing, Writing

Andervayne’s Dream by Scott Bailey

In these times of quick gratification and short attention spans, I decided to try and buck the trend and present something not only with greater length but also depth.

The poems in this collection were written over a long period and for different purposes. They are varied but they are all long. And they all represent challenges. Each was a challenge to myself, to sustain a quality of writing for a long period and within tight constraints of form while still telling a story. They also represent and challenge to the reader. The throw off the pressure of everyday life, the pressure to hurry, hurry, hurry to take the time to read something, absorb it over time.

Such effort needs reward, these poems should not be a one-time quick fix. If the reader is going to put that effort in then there should be a payoff, they should be able to continue to get something from it afterwards. Whether that be from contemplation of what they have digested or from revisiting, rereading and seeing things they missed the first time around. So the final challenge to me was to provide this depth of content – not just quantity.

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Galaxy (A Nonet)

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Black hole quasar NASA
Black hole quasar NASA (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Swirling, whirling milky clouds of stars
Spiralling down to the black hole
Supermassive hungry dark
Swallowing all it can
Axle of the wheel
Sparkling star arms
Shining cloud
Holds our
Home

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

www.scottandrewbailey.uk