By Scott Bailey © 2013

(A triolet)

Hand in hand we all walk tonight
Mother, Father and loving son
Watching darkness bursting with light
Hand in hand we all walk tonight
Sky flowers blooming burn our sight
This time of year is always fun
Hand in hand we all walk tonight
Mother, Father and loving son

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams


By Scott Bailey © 2015

Life gives us all gifts
Wonderful, tearful, joyful
Death gathers them back

Image from Pixabay

Food Chain

By Scott Bailey © 2018

The carnivores
Among the vegetarians
Only the toughest
Weeds will survive

Image from Pixabay


By Scott Bailey © 2013

Trick or treating
With our son
For the first time
Wishing the other
Were here
As the demons cavort
and dance
Gathering their loot
Doing their worst
Other flesh freezes
Starved of food and hope
Is one man’s fun
Another’s murder?

Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

To the Bone

By Scott Bailey © 2013

A pounding headache
The fruit of today’s labour
Now going to sleep

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

Dancing Waves

By Scott Bailey © 2018

The warming rays of the sun
Making the waves dance

Image from Pixabay



By Scott Bailey © 2013

Time for the flowers to bloom again
Like blood
That was shed
A century ago
And every day since
One day
They will be white

Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

Stick in the Mud

By Scott Bailey © 2018

If I am a student
Of life
The lessons
Are lost
On me
As I can change
In the proverbial

Image from Pixabay


By Scott Bailey © 2013

Passing the parcel
Noisy musical statues
Children’s birthday joy

Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams


By Scott Bailey © 2018

Tyrant storm rages
Lashes the land in fury
Still, the flood brings hope

Image from Pixabay


By Scott Bailey © 2018

Age lends hindsight depth
Wisdom accrued painfully
It still doesn’t help

Image from Pixabay


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

Those Who Wait

By Scott Bailey © 2018

There was a white fleck on that dark skin. Tiny and mysterious. Despite his situation, despite his thirst and an undetermined, lurking threat Dan was drawn to that fleck.

It sat on his captor’s left cheek, just beneath the deep well of his eye. Neither the man’s sweat or occasional movements seemed to shake it.

What was it? A fleck of stone? A crumb? It did not belong there and it was starting to annoy Dan.

His captor did not appear to notice it.

That annoyed him even more and he did not understand why.

Was it correct to think of the man as his captor? He was not preventing Dan from leaving.

He was not helping him either. That was the point. Without help, he would die out here in the bush. He was spent. He did not even have the energy to struggle any more.

He had lost his way in his arrogance, thinking he could travel the outback like those explorers he loved to read about.

He was no explorer. He should have stayed behind his desk. But he had wanted to see something of the land he had been helping to administer for so long. He had wanted to see the fruits of his work.

He had wanted to feel first-hand the pride of taming this uncivilized wilderness.

That was what had drawn him over the wide seas to the other side of the world. The promise of adventure. The chance to relive the dreams of a young schoolboy. The final chance to push the last frontier. To achieve man’s mastery of the world and complete the map.

His dreams had outstripped his abilities. He realised that now. If he had not been so dry he would have shed tears.

At some level, he supposed he had always known this. That’s why he had spent his life here behind his desk. Dispensing mastery through letters and paperwork. Bringing the world to order, bringing knowledge to the dark places of the earth.

His stare once more returned to the man before him and his fleck of white. He sat on his rock, waiting patiently.

What was he waiting for?

He had arrived yesterday. Dan had already been collapsed where he was for several hours at that point. Already resigned to defeat. He had walked in calmly and sat down. He had not acknowledged Dan in any way.

Dan should have felt relief, a renewal of hope. Yet he had not. He felt no surprise, no hope, nothing but a vague sense of threat.

He could not explain why he felt that.

The stranger was an aborigine. He was barely clothed, barefooted and dusty from his travels.

Dan had clothed himself with the very best outdoor gear he could get. He also had every travelling device you could ask for. Compass, knives, maps, glasses and much more.

In little more than a loincloth, the stranger looked infinitely more comfortable than he ever would.

He had sat there for a day and a half and still looked as composed as when he arrived.

Dan had stared at him for what felt like hours. He had no idea how long it had really been. Finally, he had summoned the energy to speak. He dragged a word from his throat as if regurgitating sandpaper.


The man stared back at him now. He had deep, dark irises on yellow pools. His face was wide and gentle.

Yet Dan still felt the threat peeking over his shoulder.

He seemed to study Dan for a long moment. Then he spoke.

“Where are you going?”

Dan had frowned. What was that supposed to mean? He was going nowhere right now.

He had swallowed hard and gathered his strength.

“How far?” It was all he could manage. He had wanted to ask where the nearest town was. The nearest house would have been enough!

The stranger stared again for a longer time. He had seemed to understand though and eventually, he said.

“It is four days walk.”

They had fallen silent then as Dan absorbed this. He would not survive a four-day walk. Not without help.

This stranger did not appear to be inclined towards aid.

There was another long silence. The stranger appeared relaxed as if he were sitting in his living room on a Sunday afternoon, reading.

Dan doubted he could read, doubted he had a living room.

Now he thought about it he didn’t even know where these people lived. In caves? In hovels?

He should really know that he had enough dealings with them. With their children at least. But they were always brought to him, he received them into civilisation.

Civilisation! The thought of it brought back memories that made him thirst, made his throat burn. He found himself involuntarily moaning – though it sounded more like a rasp.

The stranger stirred.

“What do you do?”

Dan did not understand. The man’s accent was thick but he understood the words, not the meaning.

“I am thirsty,” was the best reply he could manage.

The man looked at him with a measuring stare. Then he stood and strode to a nearby bush. With a flash of sunlight, he whipped out a knife and slashed off a thick, fleshy leaf.

It dripped with green liquid.

Any other time he would have been repulsed by anything other than tea or water. Now, this was nectar to him.

The man brought the leaf to his mouth and squeezed.

The taste was acrid and perhaps would have made him sick if he hadn’t been so desperately dry.

He swallowed and it gave him respite. His throat felt slick again and he could talk.

But he knew it was not enough – not enough to let him walk out of here and back home.

“More,” he pleaded.

The man simply sat back down calmly.

He repeated his question.

“What do you do?”

Confusion swirled around in his mind. Why did he not help him? Why didn’t he give him more of that liquid? It was a big bush – surely there was more in there.

What was he asking him? Did he want to know what his job was?

He should keep the man talking. Gain his trust, maybe then he would help.

In faltering sentences, he tried to describe his role in the education system to this native. He tried to keep it simple, in terms he might understand.

He wasn’t sure he succeeded. The man gave no reaction as he spoke. Eventually, Dan trailed into silence, exhausted by the effort.

After a short silence, the man said,

“You are a teacher man.”

It was not a question but Dan nodded.

Then the man spoke again.

“You take our children.”

It was spoken in the same calm tone he had spoken since he arrived. There was no anger or threat in them.

But Dan felt a chill nevertheless.

“We educate them, give them a better future.” He protested.

“They are not with their mothers.”

“But they are given knowledge they would not get otherwise. They will be greater for it. In my country – we do it too.”

“Did you miss your mother?”

That struck him, dredging up memories he thought he had buried long ago. Pain that he had considered childish and worthy of contempt.

“Mothers cannot teach what we know,” he said angrily.

The man gave him that measuring gaze again. Then he nodded.

Dan turned his head, not without some pain.

Nearby he saw a deer. It appeared to be completely unaware of their presence.

There was a younger one by its side. The older one nudged the younger to a bush where it proceeded to nibble.

Dan snorted. Did this savage think things were that simple?

“The world is changing. Your children need to know things, to be prepared.”

The man sat silently, calmly.

“The world is changing – you can’t stop it. There’s nothing you can do about that. Civilisation is coming.”

The man sighed. He picked the white fleck from his cheek, casually, and flicked it away.

“We can wait,” he said.

Image from Pixabay


By Scott Bailey © 2013

The information superhighway
It is a heavyweight
Data, redundancy
Presentations and investors
High availability
Technical, radical, practical, logical
Balancing load


Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams


By Scott Bailey © 2018

A spokesperson
That one who speaks
Has their own agenda
And will render
Your will
To theirs
A truth
To ponder


By Scott Bailey © 2018

A little more give
And a lot less just taking
More uplifting hands
If we just stop competing
Ivory towers will fall

Image from Pixabay


By Scott Bailey © 2018

In life’s tournament
There are Kings and Queens
For whom the suffering and pain
Is entertainment
There are fighters
There are spectators
There are hawkers of wares
There are thieves
But most of us
Are picking up
The horses shit

Photo by Scott Bailey


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 Wild is Calling

By Scott Bailey © 2018

The wild is calling
Feel the breeze
The scent of trees
The hunt!
Feel the ground
Rise and fall
Feel heart pound
Heed the call

But tomorrow
I will sit again
At my desk
And fear
Mistakes and failure
Do my best
Do the right thing

And the wild will still call
I answer

Image from Pixabay


By Scott Bailey © 2018

A girl called midnight
A fighter
A lover
A spy
Danced free and deep in the valleys
Beneath a dark starry sky

She hailed from the lands
Of our fathers
With hair as dark as the night
And eyes a grey as the water
Where the bones of her enemies

No knight would come to her rescue
The dragon she rode upon high
Would burn every dreamy lover
With the glance of a fiery eye

What became of
The girl called midnight
Led by her passion and hate
Some say that still, she is dancing
In the icy heart of the lake

Image from Pixabay


By Scott Bailey © 2018

Silently waiting
Mighty weapons
Hushed death
But who will deter
The stupidity
That made them

Image from Pixabay


By Scott Bailey © 2018

Brave Brandybuck
Bringing sense to his friends
Finding honour in Rohan’s ranks
Small knight



By Scott Bailey © 2018

Wanes while years pass
Becomes something finer
Matured, refined, rich with wisdom
Do not be fooled by its calmness
Maturity and depth
Do not weaken

Image from Pixabay

#Cinquain #Butterfly-Cinquain

Broken Eggs

By Scott Bailey © 2017

A new clutch of chicks
Awaken to a cold dawn
The fox scents a chance

Image from Pixabay

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

Life and Death

By Scott Bailey © 2016

Potential new life
Excitement when waters break
New life brings us cheer

Six forever hours
Caressing a fading pulse
All cheer drains away

Image from Pixabay

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