By Scott Bailey © 2018

Determining the will
Of their god
Which lives will be sacrificed
To keep it from failing
And flailing its limbs in a frenzy
That will crash and smash
The mighty of the land
So the weak are thrown
To its lack of mercy
To spend their blood
At the will of the priests
Known as

Image from Pixabay


By Scott Bailey © 2014

Dusty grey pigeon
Battered by the wind
Ruffled feathers, frantic wings
To stay true to course
A struggle

A tall ship sitting silent
In the harbour on
Still calm seas
Regal, proud and ancient
Going nowhere now

A queen strutting her stuff
Colours on parade
While those who earned the medals
Into memory
Slowly fade

Image from Pixabay

Black and White

By Scott Bailey © 2014

A black and white film
About black and white issues
With grey morals on display
In our multicoloured 3D world
What has really changed
Injustice still looks the same

By Moni3 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

The News

By Scott Bailey © 2013

What’s behind the story
What is the reason for that news
Who gets the benefit, the prize
The envelope with the bread
The law successfully passed
The company tracked greased
Somebody’s life made easier
At the cost of somebody else

Image from Pixabay

Cable Ties

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Cables tie us
Hold us tight
To one spot
Even invisible ones
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

The World in a Book

By Scott Bailey © 2013

The world in a book
For my son
To show him the places
Across the seas
That he dreams of.
The colours,
The creatures,
The cultures and the clashes.
The world in a book in his hands
As one day
The world will be in his hands.


By Scott Bailey © 2018

Background contempt
Background fear
Background doubt
Background shame
It’s there
In the everyday babble
To keep us down
Find the right song
To drown it out
And live
A better

Image from Pixabay


By Scott Bailey © 2013

Swirling in the mists of history
Mystic figures whirl
Dark silhouettes of dangerous men
Stride along with pride.

A flash of a sword, the chord of a song
the clash of a shield, the beat of a drum.
The roar of a fire in a welcome hearth.
The hearty sound of the comrades’ laugh.

The scent of a feast, the warmth of the soup.
The strength of the beams over the hall
The smoke rising up into the straw
All of this and still there’s more.

A cold wind blows, the mist rolls back,
To show the cold hard facts.

Image from Pixabay

In response to my daily prompt Archive

#DailyPrompt, #amwriting, #postaday

A Holiday for the Mind

Modern life is frantic – filled with demands and crammed with stress.

We forget to tend to the mind – the part of us that has to deal with it all – balance all the spinning plates.

What if we could take a holiday each day – just a short one – a few minutes, half an hour – whatever it takes. Everyday.

Well, there’s a way.

Read a poem, absorb it – explore it, let it take you somewhere else. Think about other thoughts for a while.

And I have some – 365 in fact – one for each day for a whole year.

A Spring of Dreams

Check it out – give it a go and give your mind some R&R

Short and Sweet

A Spring of Dreams

Some poems
Short and sweet
Unlike me


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

The Coalman

By Scott Bailey © 1999

With his faithful tartan cap, its bobble flicking black dust into the air.
Holding in that tousled and already greying hair.
With half hundred weight of coal to deliver down the street.
With his smiling green lorry, tiny windows at his feet.
Walking up the narrow path, a smile upon his face.
Care worn lines deep with dust, crisscrossed like living lace.
Bringing warmth to many homes and our own.

Now the coal has gone but the lines remain beneath silver hair.
Hands hard and black with oil and years of toil and loyal care.
Has no wealth and all wealth one could want within his soft brick walls.
Always ready to respond to our lost and stranded calls.
Tall as a tree and as strong against every withering storm.
A mere spanner in his hands his wonders to perform.
Humble, with every reason to be mighty proud.
With pride these words should be read to all aloud.