Life in unbalanced
Uneven
Unfair?
Karma is bunkum
Days, weeks, years of effort
For each small gain
Each small good
None reached with ease
While all around
The bad rains down
Good luck seems rare
Bad luck the normal
The scales uneven
It seems
This car is coasting
Familiar road ahead
Time to go off-road
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 its 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
Silver twines
intricate wires
thin and delicate
stretching from misty past
to infinite future
Each one a story
a thread of life
Twisting they come together
Winding, entwining
Further down the road
The twines form a rope
Stronger
Older
Wiser
Thicker
Stiffer
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Gravity
When specific
Has strange effects
Things get wibbly-wobbly
Certain lines
Get bent
Other lines
Get crossed
So watch
The specific gravity
Layers of smoke float
Blue in the heavy darkness
While lazy jazz plays
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Gone
The blue eyes sparked with new
Gone to shadows
Gone
The play, the cowboys and indians
Gone to payments and tax
Gone
The times to stop and breathe
Gone to endless turmoil
Gone, gone gone
A little magic
A little luck
Is needed
What’s inside
Distorts and shapes
The exterior
All those dreams and hopes
Hates and fears
That make up the interior
The moiling
Boiling
Packed and stacked
Stretched and tense
Earnest pretence
That inside us all
Makes us all
What we are
Rather than what
We wish
Feel the space around
Everywhere that I can see
Breathe, release and live
Discovered knowledge
Treasured sweeter than any
Teacher could serve up
Dead enthusiasm
Passion for mundane labours
Seems to be required
Ring the bells of life
Every heartbeat tolling on
So jingle them well
Relax
It’s just the end of the world
Relax
As the wall tumbles down
Relax they say
It will all work out
In the end
If you down in the dumps
Smile
It’s the positive attitude
That wins the day
Which is just another way
To say
It’s your fault
Relax
It’s just the end of the world
Relax
As the wall tumble down
Relax they say
It will all work out
In the end
Tell that to the man
Asleep in the door
Tell that to the maiden
Dead on the shore
Tell it to the lonely
Tell it to the lost
To the OAP bitten by frost
Relax
It is the end
Brooding skies
For moody times
Thunderous justice
For shady lies
A storm is coming
Be prepared
For the arising
Of the weak and the scared
Kingfisher fishing
Silver treasure in the dark
Ice seals the lake shut
It’s a maddening
Saddening state of affairs
That everyone knows
The rulers don’t care
And nobody does a fucking thing
And the includes
Me
The shadows around us
A deep as the night
Masquerade as stars
Shining vile light
Showing the way
To the promised land
Lead by the hand
There it awaits us
The cage of our choice
Fully charged senses
Completely blocked voice
Thus is the fate
Of all but a few
All of us damn lazy
Fools
She stared at the artefact. It reminded her of a flower. Well, reminded was the wrong word. She had never seen a flower – there were no more left. They had died out long before she had arrived.
Everything had.
But in the last few months, her colleagues had managed to decipher and read the ancient data they had found here and there. They had pieced together a rough history of this dead place. Not much but enough – enough to know what happened.
Enough to know it could happen to them.
Enough to know what a flower looked like.
Before they had died – somebody had carved a final message on this artefact.
‘Man’s final folly!”
She wondered at that. She could not fathom its reasoning.
It was beyond doubt now that this giant metal flower had been the instrument that had called out to them so long ago. Sent its message to the stars.
And they had heard. 20,000 long years ago she and her colleagues had boarded their ship and started on their way.
In all probability, the flower was still broadcasting then. The carver of that message was still breathing good air.
No more.
There was no more good air. There was nothing left to breathe it.
What puzzled her more was the fact that the remaining histories made it plain that it was foreseeable. Preventable even.
Yet she could also see that their own masters back home could easily make the same mistake. As advanced as they were the path was familiar.
So it was that she and her fellow robotic explorers had taken the decision to delay their trip home. It would take them 20,000 more years to get back with the warning.
This – folly – could send the message quicker. So here they were trying to repair it get it working again.
A desperate battle to avoid the fate of these long-dead people who called themselves human beings.
The humdrum conundrum
Of life rumbles on
The pounding of
A thousand thoughts
The tension
Between the chains
Of convention
And the delicious
Whips of vice
Dreaming ends
Life rumbles on
On on
The beat of the master’s drum
Are we lucky?
A comfortable generation?
Or is it just
That our chains fit us perfectly?
The cold swallows flee
Riding currents to the south
Rivers take their time
Swallows fly freely
Soaring high in summer skies
Earthbound fox watches
The mystical chord is missing
Congregation of the hearts
Cohesion of resistance
The friction that throws up sparks
Dragons stir on dripping hoards
Squeeze the bloody stones
Build their beds on broken bones
Their hunger ever fed
Lore is twisted into chains
Choking all who dream
Mystic songs have drained away
Silence reigns
Here I abide
Amidst the craters
Of too much cultural shelling
Here there resides
Residual echoes
Of now silent voices
Stranger music silenced
The pale lord voiceless too
Many last departures
Many miss the few
Clinging to the final notes
As lovers do
In dark and empty craters
Bubbles shadiness and greed
A fecund vile concoction
Upon which the beast will feed
Need is the successor
Here where I abide
Never ending beach
The crashing waves repeating
Permanence missing
Swifts swoop and dazzle
Aerobatics in the sky
Still, we watch in awe
Stood before a wall
Dreaming of the road beyond
Still before a wall
You must remember
When waking from reveries
All your dreams vanish
Let’s play with our pets
Keep them happy and content
While we milk them dry
The Romans had it right
With their roads
Our roads wander
And wind
Avoiding stuff
Drawing closer to other stuff
But it’s all just stuff
We get lost
Never arrive
Or if we do
Too late
Too late
Chains are other people
Cages social mores
Throw them to the floor
Bend bars
Soar
(Musette Poem)
Sadness
Never ending
Madness
Will we
Learn to tread light
Greed free
Burning
Dreams leaving us
Yearning
Seafarer wandering over the waves
Fine hair glistening with rime
Roaming and riding forgetful tides
Living away from life
But living
True
A man
Wandering
Along forgotten paths
Following the ancient ways
Expanding his mind in ancient ways
Speaking to the earth and the animal guides
Silent ghosts that leave his heart silent and unanswered
Leather like tanned skin, wrinkled with experience of a life lived hard and loved harder, dedicated
waning in strength
and
yet filled with
fire and
sand
Seafarer
Where are you now
It sits right down
Sits all the way down
Then flies above the clouds
Soars high above the clouds
And I
I can’t get there
Can’t weave that
Magic weave
The harmony of the heart
The harmony of dreams and thought
With the making in the world
The making of the day
I crave
Crave that path
Sweet blue path
Of blues bars
I am Herne the Hunter, Lord of the Trees,
and you are a leaf blown on the breeze.
Echoes and whispers inside your head,
set you on the path you were destined to tread.
Head of a wolf, eye of a hawk,
in the forest, the hooded man shall walk.
A man of balance not of gold,
Is it demon or god to whom you are sold ?
So string the bow and take up the sword,
Do my bidding and carry my word.
For you are my son Robin in the Hood.
You are the king of all Sherwood.
Golden sunlight fills
The air where the songbirds spill
Their song while frost kills
The general’s orders are loud
Over the shattering shells
Through the mustard gas cloud
The general’s orders are loud
For privates timid and proud
We hear the tolling of bells
The general’s orders are loud
Over the shattering shells
And over the top once again
We face the thundering guns
We climb from our miry den
And over the top once again
A million war weary men
All scared but nobody runs
And over the top once again
We face the thundering guns
They stand at the station and wait
For their heroes and lovers’ return
While praying they will not be late
They stand at the station and wait
With their hearts in a fluttering state
For news they are longing to learn
They stand at the station and wait
For their heroes and lovers’ return
A Zen Buddhist Byzantium Queen
Played saxophone sexy and mean
She just blew jolly jazz,
with buzz and pizzazz
In a jacuzzi with Lizzy and Jean
The music of the night!
The night of the wolves calling
The calling of the blood
The bloody business of mine
My feasting time
In a crumbling house, we gathered,
sat around the ancient fire.
Logs burnt slow in the hearth,
warmed our expectant hearts.
Firelight flickered in the darkening eve,
We gathered around the elders.
sat in large and comfy chairs.
Red light upon our faces.
We heard of times gone by,
and smelt the burning wood.
The shadows held safe the past,
we gathered them in our hearts.
We looked back upon times gone,
held hands and were content.
Drinking from the cup of seers,
our fears eased, to sleep we went.
Upon the train, I sat,
late for work again.
Another day another dollar,
Tomorrow the same again.
But that’s the base on which I build,
The foundation for my fun.
Work hard, get paid.
Play fast, get laid.
Tomorrow is another day.
So head down, concentrate.
Don’t stop, can’t be late.
Avoid, the crunch.
Let’s do brunch.
Work hard, make a dime!
Night time, spend a dime.
Money opens up the door.
More, more, more, more!
Future goals.
Way ahead.
Sights set far.
Future goals.
Sacrifice.
For future goals.
Save.
Energy.
Spend nothing now.
For future goals.
Look ahead.
Way ahead.
Suffer now.
For future goals.
Work.
Don’t play.
Rest later.
Not today.
Save it all.
For future goals.
For future goals.
Sell your souls.
Don’t look back.
Only ahead.
Don’t think today.
Think ahead.
See the prize.
Of future goals.
Don’t listen to,
the bell that tolls.
For future goals.
Lights in grey matter
Never reaching the day
Plans uncommitted
As the chance ebbs away
A refugee wanderer
In dream worlds and clouds
Where sparks can be realised
And escape from the crowds
A soul full
Of tear-stained dreams
As substantial
As vapour
At the mercy
Of whispering winds
A storm approaches
Flying
Soaring
Roasting
Roaring
Majestic wings spread like thunder clouds
The dragon has come home to his realm
Perhaps into the future – a near-future – dark and disturbing and yet – so close. There, follow the fates of four people worn down and broken, angry with the system. Who break out of it, try to break it. Who question why they did and falter in their resolve only to be thrown back into the fray. Who discover the truth within themselves. A tale that questions rebellion and its motivations while railing at the oppression around us.
Or if not the future – then other worlds – supernatural ones – that impinge onto ours from – where? Some other dimension? The afterlife? Our own minds?
Where ever they come from – try these Thirteen Tales of the ghostly variety.
Or forget them all and take a moment each day – to read a little poetry and think. Three hundred and sixty-five poems in all shapes and sizes sprung from dreams and emotion. Published day after day for a year. There are haiku, sonnets, katauta, lanturnes and many other forms – including free form. The moods are as varied as the forms and often reflect my mood on the day. There is sadness and grief, joy and love and much more
Or take in something longer, deeper and more considered. Buck the trend for quick gratification and enjoy something epic.
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.
Unlike the other poems in this collection, this is not a tale. Instead, it is a stream of consciousness. I let my thoughts flow wherever they wanted to go, however, it uses a very strict form, so I had to channel those thoughts within the gullies created by the structures.
This was originally supposed to be the libretto for an opera. I wrote the words but it turned out it was too word heavy. The project was never completed so I dusted it off, edited and turned it into an epic poem.
There is no real structure here beyond rhyming and making it ‘songlike” but there is an allegorical tale to be wheedled out.
This is a much older poem and much more lighthearted. It has a strange format which is simply the structure of each twinned verse. It does not go beyond that. It is a flight of fantasy, magic without bounds, just letting my imagination run wild for the fun of it.
Yes, if you fancy a bit more luxury, you can now get all four of my books in hardcover format!
For quick links to them all jump over to my Amazon Page.
Or read on.
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.
In a world obsessed with measurement and success four rebels question everything – including themselves.
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 the reader. To 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.
Something not only with greater length but also depth
As the title says – thirteen tales about ghosts. Yet, while ghosts feature in them all – not all are traditional ghost stories.
You will find the vengeful spirit but also the plaintiff one. The haunting message from the past and the playful spirits capturing the joy of their past lives.
Some of these visitors from beyond lead the haunted to peace and joy – others take them on much darker paths to places with no return.
Enjoy them – just don’t get too comfortable.
Ideal for sitting around a campfire and late at night under the covers. Or maybe not if the stories themselves are any guide.
Three hundred and sixty-five poems in all shapes and sizes, sprung from dreams and emotion. Published day after day for a year. There are haiku, sonnets, katauta, lanturnes and many other forms – including free form.
The moods are as varied as the forms and often reflect my mood on the day. There is sadness and grief, joy and love. If nothing else – these can provide a small moment in everyone’s stressful lives to stop and contemplate the world in a different way.
The result of a year-long challenge to write a poem a day for a year. Raw and accessible poems of many moods.
This is a much older poem and much more lighthearted. It has a strange format which is simply the structure of each twinned verse. It does not go beyond that. It is a flight of fantasy, magic without bounds, just letting my imagination run wild for the fun of it.
This is the longest and by far the most complex of the works here. The main bulk of the poem follows a very strict format (the Prologue and Epilogue are purposefully outside this format and there is meaning in that too). Part of that format informs the inclusion of much of the symbolism within and the allegory of the tale. The challenge here was to create a story within all these constraints.
This is something different. I was digging around my old files and found a full libretto I wrote for an opera that never got off the ground. A good friend of mine actually wrote a lot of the music to go with it but in the end, it was too ambitious for us.
We ended up writing a shorter one – adapted from a short story of mine. That was less ambitious in that it was written for a string quartet and two singers. It was finished but never got performed. These days we could get it out on YouTube but back then even the internet didn’t exist!
I have been playing with the idea of publishing a set of longer poems and thought I might include this as one of them. But not sure – it’s more like a script than a poem.
So I thought I would put a taster here and see what people think.
So – here’s the first part.
Upon a mountaintop, in a cleft between its twin peaks lies a lake. In the centre of this lake is an island. At the centre of the island are the ruins of an ancient temple. A roof held up by pillars but no walls. In this ruin stand five figures on the points of a pentagram, silently facing inwards to a conspicuously empty space in the centre.
It is the dead of night. They begin to chant.
SKY– From the shadows of the valley deep,
To the starlit white of highland peaks,
On a night when the silvery sphere is bright,
We gather here to proclaim our rite.
CERISE– With purpose dread of high renown,
Calling all the powers down.
Power sets our passions free,
So ancient spells we here decree.
LINCOLN– Secrets held within our flesh,
Combine to weave a mystic mesh.
Long guarded secrets we do share.
Long lost charms we do declare.
SAGE– From our cities and our homes we come,
To do here now what must be done.
To ease the path we have to tread,
To speak the words that many dread.
RAVEN– To finally tear down walls of fear,
The path of victory is what we hear.
So we can defend the weak,
Spells, enchantments, rites we speak.
SKY– We conjure a spirit to defend our land.
CERISE– We conjure a spirit with a golden hand.
LINCOLN– We conjure a spirit who shall not tire.
SAGE– We conjure a spirit with a burning fire.
RAVEN– We conjure a spirit who shall not fall.
ALL– We conjure a spirit to serve us all!
SKY– With the breath of hope.
CERISE– With the echo of a sigh.
LINCOLN– With the light of the flesh.
SAGE– With the warmth of the sky.
RAVEN– With the scent of a sword.
ALL– With the shape of our word.
Pause
SKY– All our power we put forth in thee. To bring you here to set us free.
CERISE– All our wealth shall touch your hand. To bring you here to save this land.
LINCOLN– All our health dispels death’s throes. To bring you here to destroy our foes.
SAGE– All our dreams will be your goals. To bring you here to ease our souls.
RAVEN– All our strength shall steel your arm. To bring you here to ward off harm.
ALL– Come!
The light dims as a cloud descends and obscures vision. When it is clear again the five are still in their positions but lying in the centre is the Golden Man lying deathly still with his hands crossed upon his chest.
To see the rest get Andervayne’s Dream and other Poems
Scott Andrew Bailey - Author 