Creative Writing, General, Poetry, Writing

Our Mark

Ugly the scar

We leave upon this earth

As we puncture

And drill, and frack and crack

A long, searing scar

If this is what marks

The passage of our lives

What then will mark

Our passing?

Image from Pixabay
Stock Market Graphs
Creative Writing, Poetry, Politics, Writing

The New God

By Scott Bailey © 2018

There was
This civilisation
That worshipped
A God
A new God
Not a water god
Nor a sun god
Not a god of the earth at all
But like all gods
Before
This one promised
Safety and security
In return
For absolute
Fealty
When times were hard
Lives were demanded
And lives were given
Though tears were shed
It was accepted
And the God was given a name
To ease the pain
And make the people
Forget
They were enslaved
Made them think
They were a part
Of something bigger
They called this new God
The Economy
Stock Market Graphs
Image from Pixabay

Seemed appropriate for today – after all keeping the schools open demonstrate’s exactly this thinking.

Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

The Forest of Dreams

By Scott Bailey 2015

Dark, thick between the trees
No light shines off
The dull black armour
Of the horseman as he rides
Slow through the forest of dreams.

Pale the winding path
The black knight follows
His weary steed plods steadfast
As it’s burden heavy grows
Head hung low

This quest was not the glory
He dreamed of in his youth
Like the birds that flew this morning
On dreams that seemed to be
A promise of life and growth

He followed the flighty birds
As they danced upon his dreams
Into this tree locked realm
And the winding path so thin
They drew him deeper in

And the vines of need reached out
With curled dependency
Wrapped around his limbs, his heart
Sinking deep their thorns
The pain shook him from his dreams

To the vines he must cling
To keep his dreams at bay
Though they drag him deeper down
And hamper his faltering way
They are a part of him

He no longer sees the birds
Riding on his dreams
Now he knows the awful truth
That only dragons truly fly
The dragons he should slay

He could unsheath his sword
These vines to cut
Roar fire and leap to the sky
Instead he forges onward
To endure until he dies

Image from Pixabay
Family, General, Poetry, Writing

Intentions

By Scott Bailey © 2015

“It was just a bit of fun”

To the broken hearts and home

“I meant no offence”

To the victims of riot and guns

“I was just following my dreams”

To the crushing weight of debt

“I will never do it again”

To the frightened wife and child

“I was trying to save some cash”

To the shattered future lost

“I thought I knew best”

To the chances that are gone

“My intentions were good”

To the consequences of action

 

Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Writing

Moments

By Scott Bailey © 2015

The world clashes with me
Or I with it
Its movie reel passes before me
And I watch
Observe
But I am not of it
Occasionally
It brushes me
Pricks me
Interrupts my view
My observations
And the things I should enjoy
I don’t
Until I can observe them
Again one day
My moments pass
Slipping
I can never seem
To be in them

Image from Pexels
General, Poetry, Writing

Heavy Hands

By Scott Bailey © 2014

The blood of a million children
Is heavy in my hands
Slipping through my fingers
Like eternal sands

Not the consequence of acting
But the consequence of not
A stain upon my conscience
And ever-growing blot

So I consume and I create
And so I spend and save
Consumer and producer
But I never gave

The hand that should have proffered
Is stained with guilty red
The reproaching cry from beyond
Of the wasted dead

So my heart is heavy
With echoes of that cry
If you believe of guilt you’re free
Look me in the eye

Image from Pixabay
Friars
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

The Execution

By Scott Bailey © 2014

“My patience is almost spent.”

“I apologise Mr. Dickens. The situation is complicated.”

“I have been hearing that for two weeks now! And have been given nothing! No answers! I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what has happened to me. Everyone talks strange and treats me like some kind of alien or freak show. And where are my fucking family!”

For a second the Doctor looked horrified. Then he quickly composed himself.

“Again I can only apologise.  But I will explain now. When I do you will understand our … reticence. “

“About time..”, muttered Henry.The Doctor gave him a look of pity.

“Brace yourself. “

Henry suddenly felt cold. The Doctor went on.

“Our records show that you were in a cycling accident.”

He pronounced cycling as if he didn’t know what the word meant.

“You suffered severe brain injuries. You were put into a coma to try to protect your higher brain functions. When the swelling had subsided the medical team tried to revive you. They failed. You remained in a coma.”

Henry shifted in his chair. His voice was broken as he spoke.

“How long?”

“Ten years.”

“I have been out for ten years?”

“It’s more complicated. While you were under the world around you changed. It got worse, a lot worse. Your wife… well it seems she was a sharp woman. She saw things clearer than most. For one thing she left us plenty of notes. That’s why we know so much.”

Henry felt a growing sense of dread. But he kept silent.

“Because she saw things clearly she prepared, took action.  What I am going to tell you will be hard for you to hear. But bear in mind that with the benefit of hindsight we can see that what she did was for her family. For your children. She took steps to protect them.”

“Protect them?” His heart was racing.  “Protect them from what?”

“From war.”

“There was a fucking war?” The Doctor flinched again, but he went on.

“Yes. It was a dark time.”

“World War Three?”

“Not quite. I mean that’s what people expected.  What your wife thought was coming. But it was not and all-encompassing war like that. No one side against the other. No. What transpired was a series of many many, small wars between countries.”

He shuddered and continued.

“You might think that would have been better than a world war, but it was not.  It was far worse. With just about every country in the world caught up in their own conflicts there was nobody to coordinate any kind of peace deal. No one to talk to anyway if there had have been. So the wars dragged on, for years,  decades.”

“Decades? I thought you said ..” the Doctor stilled him with a look.

“Your wife saw the dark times coming. She took steps to protect her family.  The first of which was she remarried. “

“She… what? She..”

“She married into immense wealth. And she used the money to protect her children and you. We know she did this well as we know they survived the dark times.”

“They are alive! I can see them!”

“No. You cannot.  They are…. let me finish.”

A lump of dread was threatening to strangle him.

“She also tried to protect you. With all the resources of her great wealth she threw everything they had at the time towards reviving you. Nothing worked. Finally, when it looked darkest and there was no guarantee that anyone would survive she threw you one last desperate lifeline. An experimental treatment.”

The Doctor paused, looked him deep in the eye.

“She put you into suspended animation.”

Henry felt chilled to the bone.

“So no, you cannot see your wife and children. They have been dead for over two hundred years. We have only just been able to awaken you.”

“No. No, this can’t be. It’s some sort of sick joke isn’t it? There’s cameras in here. Well it’s not funny! I want to see my family!”

“Please Mr Dickens, please calm down. I know this is a lot to take in and I am sorry. But there is more. There is something else you need to know.”

“Calm down? Calm the fuck down? I want my family in this room! Here and now! Don’t give me any more bullshit.”

The doctor nodded very slightly, subtly, but Henry noticed.

It was too late.hands he didn’t see took a firm hold of his arms. Held him steadfastly. He felt a cold disc of metal against the skin of his neck, there was a hiss, then he fell swirling into darkness.

 


 

“You want me to what!?”

Henry looked at the panel before him, twelve men and women, with utter disbelief.

“Mr Dickens. We understand that you have a lot to take in over the last few weeks.”

“A lot!” Henry stared. How could they possibly understand. He has lost everything. His family, his love, his world. He had seen very little of this world but he had seen enough to know that it was not his. He was an alien here.

And now this.

“We understand that you have lost a lot. You have to understand that the world has lost a lot too.”

“I have heard all about your wars. Lots of people died. Yes.”

“They were not our wars, “ said the chairman of the panel, his voice calm and cold. “And I don’t think you have an appreciation of just how many people died, or what that meant.”

Henry didn’t see what any of it had to do with him. The chairman continued anyway.

“The population of the earth was cut by 75%. You have no idea what that did to us. There were very few people left to run things. Very few who knew how to keep things running. Power stations failed. Oil wells stopped pumping. Machines broke down. Nobody knew how to rule, how to respond to the disasters. All that had been wiped away in war after war.

“The times after the wars were darker than the actual wars. The world came close to slipping into barbarism. In many places it did.”

“And you came along and saved it,” said Henry sourly.

“We survived. We were not involved – because we were overlooked. We had no wealth, no strategic value. Largely we were forgotten up in the mountains.”

He paused, letting Henry take in his words. Henry said nothing so he continued.

“We don’t really know what triggered many of the wars, people say it was largely financial – but those are theories, based on times gone by. What we do know is that as things got more and more desperate the terms of the conflicts changed. They became more ideological. In many cases fiercely religious. This was why many of them could not be stopped, there came a point where reason stopped being any part of the fighting.

“It was another reason we were not drawn into it. As Buddhists we eschewed all the arguments for fighting. But we were also no threat to anyone. Those that were bent on converting the world, well – most had forgotten us, or were just leaving us to last.

“So in the end, we survived just by being the last ones standing. We were the only thing left close to being a coherent nation.

“And we were used to living frugally. We were in a unique position to fill the niche so to speak.

“So people flocked to us. They saw our way of life working. Saw it as a light in the dark, a hope.”

“And you made them all convert!” Henry spat.

“Not at first,” replied the chairman. “That was not our way, never had been. But it was a disaster. Trying to accommodate everyone’s views, conflicting ways of doing things. Trying to keep on top of all the old tensions, historical hatreds and prejudices. Well it almost tore us apart. And we were so fragile then, we still are.”

The chairman leaned forward.

“You have to understand something. The earth is damaged. It’s worn out, and depleted. It will never recover, not in the ways we would want it to. The comforts and luxuries of generations past have gone. If we are to survive we must change our ways. And some of those ways might seem extreme to you. They are – but so is our situation.”

“So I have to convert to Buddhism! No choice!”

“That is correct. and it has to be genuine. You must live by our ways.”

“What do you do check up on me? Monitor me? Give me exams every month or something.”

“We do not need to. The way our society is structured, if you do not follow our ways, it would be obvious. If your thoughts do not flow with those around you  – it will be grossly evident to all around you.”

“So I am not even allowed to think outside of your precious bloody ways.”

“As I said, the ways are extreme, and your manner does not fit – at the moment.”

Henry snorted in derision. Did they really think he was going to take this.

“And if I refuse?”

“We cannot allow the possibility of disruption to the balance. You will be executed.”

Henry stared open-mouthed.

“You are kidding! That doesn’t sound very like the Buddhism that was around in my time.”

“Maybe not – we have had to make our sacrifices too. But we are humane.”

“How can killing someone be humane?”

“You would die happy and fulfilled. We have our ways”

“Well hoo – fucking – ray!”

 


 

“Are you sure that you do not want to change your mind?” said the monk. Henry assumed it was a monk. He looked like the Buddhist monks from his own era but he just didn’t know any more.

He wasn’t sure he cared either.

“Why would I do that?”

“So you can live,” said the monk with surprise.

“What for? My life is gone. Everything I knew is gone. My life would be as a stranger in a cage of rules I don’t want and don’t understand. I can’t live like that.”

“You haven’t given it a chance. You have no idea the peace and joy of our lives. You are judging us by your primitive standards. You…

“Enough!” A voice of authority barked from a hidden source. The monk started and looked guilty and continued preparing the elaborate machine Henry was embedded into.

Joy indeed! Henry snorted to himself. Get on with it, he thought.

The monk appeared to comply. He stepped back, nodded at the back wall and left.

The machine hummed and enclosed further around Henry like some futuristic iron maiden. A needle swung into his vision, poised at his neck and then stopped.

The voice spoke again.

“It saddens us to do this friend. But our society, mankind, must survive.”

“Yes, yes. I can imagine the tears you are shedding.”

“You will not change your mind?”

“You will not let me live among you without converting?” Henry countered.

“No.”

“Not even for a limited time – say a month, to see if you can change my mind?” The sarcasm in his voice told them all he did not expect any reasonable answer to that.

“No.”

“Then get on with it!”

“Very well. Judge! Carry out the execution.”

Henry didn’t even take a breath. He’d had enough, reached his limit. He wanted it ended.

Nothing happened. He looked up, the needle stayed poised, he could almost see the poison dripping from it.

“Judge! What is happening? Carry out the execution.”

“No.” The new voice was quietly defiant.

“What? Judge, carry out your task, execute him.”

“No!” What Henry presumed was the Judge’s voice was louder and firmer this time. “I will not. He is right. We should give him time amongst us.”

“This is not acceptable, Judge, do your job!”

“What does it say about our society if we do not trust it to be good enough to sway him? If we are scared that it so weak that a single man can topple it? We need to start our own healing, and it should start with him. We will give him his time. One month. If he is still not convinced, I will carry out the sentence.”

“This is not acceptable, Judge!”

Something stirred in Henry. Suddenly, out of nowhere he wanted what the Judge was offering him. A chance. A chance to live.

“You will accept it. I am the only one in this world who can carry out this sentence and I will not.”

“Your apprentice…”

“Will not be able to carry it out. I have already locked him out of all the processes. Only I can release the locks. He will have his time.”

 


 

“Next up, we are talking to the sensation of the age. The man who was frozen in time and has awoken to join us in the future. The man who escaped death twice and who is shaking the world. The man the leaders fear, the man who asks questions.

“Well today, we hope, he will be answering some of our questions.”

The interviewer turned to Henry while the applause of the audience died down. Henry squirmed uncomfortably. Of all the damn things to survive into this century it had to be talk shows! And he was the fucking subject.

He had to remember not to swear too. He had learnt it was considered way more offensive in these times than his own.

“Mr Dickens, thank you for joining us, let us begin with the biggest question.

“OK.” said Henry.

“We have all heard your remarkable story, it has tugged at all our hearts, we all grieve for your losses. The question we have is, why did you refuse conversion when offered at first? Why, as it appears did you choose death?”

Henry was suddenly overwhelmed with emotions that he struggled to keep under wraps. Grieve for my losses? What could they possibly understand about his losses! The very stupidity of the question betrayed how little they could understand.

How could he answer that?

The audience did not let him. A voice shouted out.

“Why didn’t you just convert!? What’s wrong with our way of life?”

Henry couldn’t see the source of the voice. He sounded like a fanatic, a tone not uncommon in this new world he had discovered.

“I knew nothing about it, you expected I would just convert, without questioning what I was getting into.”

“What’s to question? This way of life has saved us, saved humanity.”

People clapped and cheered the questioner.

“Has it? Or has it turned you all into cattle? Sheep that blindly follow ‘the way’.”

The audience booed and jeered at him, he was a little surprised. His opinions were not exactly secret, they had been broadcast around the world for the two weeks since his stay of execution.

He was the biggest news story of the time.

Hardly surprising as very little else seemed to be happening in the world.

They had peace OK. And it was boring.

“Let him speak!” another voice rang out above the protests.

The audience quietened down, shocked that someone, one of their own appeared to be supporting him.

“Let us hear what he has to say. If our society is so perfect then what possible threat could he be?”

Henry was surprised himself to hear a small ripple of applause supporting this new stance.

He spoke.

“Sure, you have peace. Your society is a model of sustainability and balance. I admire it in many ways. But it is frozen, you are so scared to upset the balance you allow no change. You have stopped growing. You might survive for now, but when change comes – when it is thrust upon you, you won’t know how to deal with it, how to adapt.

“You are like a rose, frozen in liquid nitrogen. Beautiful, preserved for all time, but dead. And easily shattered with a single blow.”

“Why didn’t you just pretend? Just convert and be quiet?” said the original voice.

Henry stood angrily now.

“I spent the whole of my old life dreaming of being someone. Of making my mark on the world. Leaving behind a legacy beyond just my genes. But I didn’t, I was nothing. I worked, I existed, I supported my family, I loved. But nothing more than what every other person was doing around me. I always dreamed one day, one day – but that day was never to be.

“And now – you expect me to just shut up and become just another cog in the machine again. With even less freedom and liberty than before? Well fuck you all if that’s what you think.”

“Savage!” a woman screamed.

“No! He is right! Why can’t we question things? Why can’t we change things?”

“Do you want war to return? Do you want our blood?”

“We can question without conflict!”

Suddenly the audience erupted. Everyone was on their feet, trying to shout down each other. Henry thought it looked evenly split but it looked messy.

The aggression was rising.

The flabbergasted host turned to his assistants.

“Get him out of here!”

Hands grabbed in and he was whisked away.

 


 

Two days later he was back in the machine. He was not afraid, or angry any more. He just felt resigned.

He couldn’t resist a dig though.

“What happened to one month?”

“The situation has become critical,” said the hidden voice. “As feared your presence amongst us has caused much disruption.”

So he had heard. It seemed the feeling of that show audience reflected that of society at large. It has sparked great debate. Even some protests he had been told.

Well, maybe that was something.

“So Judge?” Henry asked wryly. “Changed your tune too?”

“The Judge is not present,” said the original voice. “His apprentice will carry out the execution.”

“Oh? Worked out a way past the safeguards and locks then?”

“Unfortunately no. We have been forced to take more drastic measures. This injection is more direct, more painful I am sorry to say.”

“What happened to your humanity then?” smiled Henry. He felt slightly manic now, he could almost laugh at his own imminent death.

There was a sudden bang, and he thought he could hear shouts in the distance. He looked up surprised. It felt suddenly like something unplanned was happening.

“Please continue,” said the voice. It sounded hurried, unsure.

The machine hummed into life, the needle bore down on him.

Well this was it, he had tried, in this his second life, to make a difference. It was a shame he would never know if it had worked.

There was a louder bang and suddenly glass broke. Henry turned his head to see the room being broken into. People were storming the place.

He seemed to suddenly see very clearly what was happening. They were trying to save him, but they were doing more than that.

They were leading a revolution.

Maybe they would bring conflict back to their society, maybe they would tear it down, but he was sure they would build something better.

As the crowd tried to surge past the security trying in vain to hold them back the needle pierced his skin.

They were too late. Even as they broke through he felt the darkness descending.

But he was happy and fulfilled.

Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Cold Hard Hate

By Scott Bailey © 2014

Cold hearted calls
Behind cold stone walls
Directed at a late great clown
Filled with such hate
And vitriol great
Delivered with thunderous frown

But they do not see
That we are free
From what they term belief
But hatred and fear
Will never come near
To dimming the laughter and grief

So go back to your knave
To the submission you crave
Kneel with the weight of your hate
Lower your head
Grovel with dread
But you will never ever create

Image from Pixabay
General, Poetry, Writing

Vampires

By Scott Bailey © 2014

Killers
Cold and ruthless
Hungry
For blood
Hot vibrant blood

Stepping out
Of dark and mists
Striking
From dark paths
And winding ways

Wearing fear
Like flowing cloaks
Chilling hearts that see
Stilling life
Unseen

Now
They walk by day
Woo us with tragedy
Shake our hands
Enamour us with
Their smiles

Drain us
As we admire their teeth

Image from Pixabay

Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

The Voice

By Scott Bailey © 2014

There’s a voice I know
From way down deep
Fuelled by wars
That never sleep
It’s warm but still will be
Ever lonely

It sings of thoughts
And curses old
Soothes the weak
And beats the bold
Finds us in our weeping
And our fury

It moves our walls
And wayward paths
Offends our truths
With staggered hearts
Weaves its way into our
Very grieving

I wonder now
At all the cost
And when at last
No wars are lost
Will the voice still find its way
Towards us

Or will it fall
In silence then
The broken harp
The dried up pen
Or will we hear the whispered
Hallelujah

Hallelujah

Image from Pixabay

General, Poetry, Writing

The Ripple Effect

By Scott Bailey © 2006

Six flashes of gold beneath the mirrored air.
Ripples reach out to my feet.
Blurred images pass here and there.
Their intrusion indiscreet.

The casters of these images,
against their prison rail.
Disgust contorts their visages.
Behind a lacy veil.

What is true they scorn and spurn.
Blurred figures in a shaky land.
To look up! They will never learn.
And see the clear truth at hand.

Image from Pixabay
General, Poetry, Writing

The Piranha

By Scott Bailey © 2002

The flesh-eating Piranha fish
Is not as rare as you think
Much more common than one would wish
The flesh-eating piranha fish
Beware, you may be their next dish
If into the water you sink
The flesh-eating piranha fish
Is not as rare as you think

Image from Pixabay
General, Poetry, Writing

Only Us

By Scott Bailey © 2014

We don’t understand
The fight between them and us
There is only us

(Inspired by the Peter Gabriel song of the same name.)

General, Short Stories, Writing

The Jellyfish That Froze

By Scott Bailey © 2014

The jellyfish sighed, in a jellyfish way. It wobbled awake.

Another day after another rough night.

The little jellies were disturbed, heavy currents last night. They had needed lots of comfort. He had wrapped himself around them and rocked them to sleep against the waves. Mrs Jellyfish had bumped up against him, squishing his comfort and rumbled fitfully. Bad dreams, turbulent waters.

He stretched out, taking in as much of the early morning sunbeams as he could, building up energy for the coming onslaught…

The jellyfish swore. Riding the busy jet stream he had just missed crashing into a hard-shell and getting himself shredded.  He had survived the morning scramble, the sleepy then crazed, energised little ones. The rush, the noise.  Now he was squeezing and twisting himself in and out of the flow. Avoiding the less considerate travellers. Collapsing himself sliding like and eel. Rolling up like a ball to barrel through the wake of those speeding by way too fast. One day his shifting and gyrating would not be enough. He would get hit.

The jellyfish quivered. He shook himself more awake and aware. Had to concentrate more or mistakes would be made. The others didn’t help. The one who needed to be high up to avoid the sand. The one by his side who couldn’t help bumping him with every list and move. The on behind who kept expanding and contracting. He was only here because he could adapt, shift his shape to accommodate.

Another day. And tomorrow yet another. And the day after.

The suddenly the alarm. Shark! Here! that was new. It was almost exciting, but he had all the other jellies to think of, to return to, to bear up and settle down. He could not enjoy this. Not without guilt.

They scattered. All of a sudden he was alone. Alone in the deep. No shark, no one.

Sunbeams drifted down through the undulating waves. Debris floated gently on the eddies and sway. It was silent for once. Peaceful

He basked in the peace and dreamed. This he could enjoy.

There was a sudden surge of cold. A surprise current swept in and took him. He curled up and rode it but he was at its mercy. No control.

He pulsed with, fear. And excitement.

This was out of his comfort zone, out of the everyday routine and out of his volition. Therefore he was not responsible.

He let go – he could enjoy this.

The water got colder, He suddenly noticed looming, dark shapes above him. Icebergs. He has heard of them, never seen one. They looked imposing. Hard. Unyielding.

He watched them for a while as they crashed through everything in their path.

And then he made his decision.

He froze. It was a simple act of will. He became as rigid as the icebergs. Shaped himself how he wanted and never shifted his outline again.

He returned to his home. Now, everyone had to shift their stances, adjust their positions and accommodate his new shape. They had to as it was crowded with sharp points and hard corners. He was not comfortable to be near.

Now the world was shaped around him instead of the world shaping him.

He was pleased. So please he did not notice how far everyone drifted from him.

He was frozen and would stay so.

No one had ever told him that even icebergs melt.

Image from Pixabay
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……

Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Feel

By Scott Bailey © 2018

When was the last time
You really felt
The weave of a really
Good fabric
Wool or tweed?
Or the tickling temptation
Of lace
Over smooth, warm skin.
Or shivered in the dark
Back against the rough
Hard bark of a trunk?
The screen steals our eyes
And the other senses
Wither

Image from Pixabay
General, Poetry, Writing

Where the Red Fox Roams

Where the Red Fox Roams

By Scott Bailey © 2014

Image from Pixabay

The timid beasties scatter
With tiny racing hearts
The scent of blood approaches
The herd all ways it parts
For here
The red fox roams

The scent of fear it rises
And fans the fox’s fire
Into enslaving passion
To raise the killer higher
Thus
The red fox roams

Filled with hate and ire of
Where the white wolves dance
The dance the fox desires
Denied its golden chance
Everywhere
The red fox roams

The world has grown accustomed
To fear of tooth and claw
The world has grown so weary
Of lives lived short and raw
Still
The red fox roams

The timid beasties scatter
Will never make a stand
They’ll not accept the secret
To gain the upper hand
So proud
The red fox roams

No one knows the course
Where the fox’s road is heading
All they see is darkness
The cast of all the spreading
Death
Where the red fox roams

Creative Writing, General, Poetry, Writing

Where the Grey Wolves Grieve

By Scott Bailey © 2014

Image from Pixabay

On a barren plain
Where food and joy are sparse
The desolate packs wander
Watching slow time pass
Here
The grey wolves grieve

With rose stained eyes
Patrolling their border wide
Preserving what is left
Of what they hold inside
It’s why
The grey wolves grieve

They gaze across the delta
To far off distant times
Where game and ease were plenty
Than in these austere climes
And so
The grey wolves grieve

Disgusted by the carnage
Where the red fox roams
On guard for rebel spirits
Keeping safe their homes
Where
The grey wolves grieve

Yet what they seek in earnest
Deep within their hearts
They know is far beyond them
Beyond their stilted arts
Endless
The grey wolves grieve

The packs struggle onwards
Huddled in their gloom
Their hearts so full of anguish
For hope there is no room
In this land
Where the grey wolves grieve

General, Poetry, Writing

Where the Dark Wolf Dreams

By Scott Bailey © 2014

Image from Pixabay

A deep and dark filled cave
Upon a mountain high
Where no light dares enter
And no echo finds reply
Shallow
The dark wolf dreams

A rumble from within
Deep in the dark wolves throat
The echo of the growl
The terrifying note
Fitfully
The dark wolf dreams

Strong appear the chains
That bind him in his sleep
But stronger still the anger
That grows within him deep
Brooding
The dark wolf dreams

Bitter is the dark wolf’s heart
Long his memory too
Some will be spared his wrath
But they are counted few
Grim
The dark wolf dreams

Terrible his waking hours
Thus the grey wolves grieve
Any heart with secrets dark
Had better rise and leave
Briefly
The dark wolf dreams

So do not be deceived
By the mumbling and the snoring
Born of rage and constriction
Of rending and of roaring
And of waking
The dark wolf dreams

Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Where the White Wolves Dance

By Scott Bailey © 2014

A ring of solid light
Hovers just above the ground
Spinning with infinity
Casts glamour all around
This is
Where the white wolves dance

It is said the be the child
Of the seed of forbidden fruit
Born from secret knowledge
Found on a hidden a hidden route
Around it
The white wolves still dance

The colour pulses wild
Blue, silver and pure white
Dragging hearts round and round
Beneath the starlit night
And so
On the white wolves dance

In a time-worn trench, they dance
Circling below the light
So deep the light they cannot see
The circle is out of sight
Yet still
On the white wolves dance

The circle has been burnt
Into their very eyes
So while the dark wolf dreams
And while the dear time flies
Onwards
The white wolves dance.

So high upon their mountain
On an island on a lake
Isolated and secure from
The world they do forsake
This is
Where the white wolves dance

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Wolf in Snow

By Scott Bailey © 2015

Hard the mud did cake
Matted fur, red blood flowing
On snow-covered wolf

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Districts

By Scott Bailey © 2018

These areas
Our neighbourhoods
Will become districts
Classified by wealth
Worth
Class
And faceless systems
Will place us
Where they see fit

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Purple Eye

By Scott Bailey © 2014

From the purple eye of death
The last exhaled breath
Comes an aweful doom
And darkness starts to loom

It dims the roads once bright
Quenches golden light
Sends tremors through the land
Like my trembling hand

Trembling on the key
That sets the danger free
Releasing purging fire
Born from grief and ire

Fear will bring the dark
And there is no lighted ark
So hide your fears away
Until the final day

Cinquain, Creative Writing, Etheree, Haiku, Nonet, Poem a Day Challenge, Poetry, Self Publishing, Senryu, Tanka, Writing

A Spring of Dreams

365 poems of different forms and moods. A poem a day for a year.

Read in a Spring of Dreams now.

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

This Isle

By Scott Bailey © 2014

Red the blood
That flooded the plains
Of the green valleys and hills
Where children still lay

White the bleached bones
Of warriors old
Who died for their lords
Defending high homes

Blue is the blood
Of those who command
With wires of constraint
And tradition’s grey chains

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Poetry, Self Publishing, Writing

Giants

By Scott Bailey © 2014

I have seen giants
Striding over the land
Power on their shoulders
Stern and strong their hand

Never do they falter
Never seen one stumble or fall
Always do their duty
Always answer the call

Through storm and wind and rain
The carry their burden true
Though other links may burn out
The giants stride on through

So remember this and tremble
Even the giants will pass
Fall into dust and rusty ruin
Scattered in untamed grass

One day their burden will dissipate
Their purpose will disappear
And the duty they discharged so well
A memory dimmed with time

Image from Pixabay
Mankind Limited
Creative Writing, Fiction, Mankind Limited News, Science Fiction, Self Publishing, Writing

A Dark Future Vision – Or is it Already Here

This book shows the how society could evolve if capitalism were allowed to follow through to its extremes. It’s a dark shadow of this world. Or is it? Is this the world that we already live in?

Enter a world of pressure and release – rebellion and doubt and the rediscovery of a simple Secret the rulers of the world would rather you not know.

Mankind Limited

Marc trudged on with life, marching in line with his fellow workers. Weighed down by the everyday burdens of life, the pressure to conform, to succeed or face destitution.

Yet he knew, in his heart that it was all wrong, the questions squirmed like fiery dragons in the pit of his heart, beneath his deepest darkest doubts.

Until they grew and burst his sanity, set him on a path of defiance and rebellion. A path that would cross three others – all like him seeking answers.

A path of danger and adventure that would see him marked as a terrorist and fleeing for his life. It would see him find love and heartbreak, hope and despair, Most of all, it would open his eye to the possibility of an ancient and powerful secret that might answer all his doubts and fears.

If he survived.

Trapped. In a world where everything is measured and control pervades every area of life, four people begin to break down. Instead, they break through the walls of deceit and propaganda and into a world of revolution.

Each, in their way, vow to overthrow the established order. They embark on a journey against the forces arraigned against them, forces of state and self-doubt.

Ultimately their paths converge on a dangerous road and the discovery of an ancient secret.

One one level this is a story about how different people react the ever growing and relentless pressure of everyday oppression. It explores their journeys as they are broken and rebuilt and investigates their modes and motivations for rebelling.

At another level, it is a critique on the darker side of capitalism and free markets and how that has driven us further and further away from the evolutionary advantage that gave us supremacy in the first place. It questions whether the human race has doomed itself or whether we still have the capacity to wrench ourselves from the track we have so tightly committed our society upon.