Mare Nostrum
We don’t support it
They said
So it is gone
In other words
Let them die
Stopping people dying
Might encourage them to live
And after all
What are they
But the victims of war
And rape and torture
Who wants them cluttering up the place?
A fitting epitaph
Perhaps
For the West
From butterflies in spiders webs
To wandering dogs down country roads
These are just some of the deeds
Of rescue
She has done
And of course
She rescued my heart
From certain single life
And ensconced it in
A loving family home
A Spring of Dreams
365 poems of different forms and moods. A poem a day for a year.
The wolf pack is firm
In a superior class
Hunting the weaker
There is an ancient market square
Where we all spend our lives
And round and round the stalls we pass
Consuming precious time
The gates are closed to hold us in
While hawkers hawk their wares
Criers cry of doom beyond
The solid steadfast walls
In their towers high above
Lords and ladies gaze
Down upon the writhing mass
And counting out their pay
Where’s the farmer in his field
Where the traveller strange
Where’s the road beyond the gates
Or the key to let us out
So on and on forevermore
We circle round the square
In trenches deep from shambling feet
Beneath the icy stare
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 the half-light
The magic time
Deep blue light
Fresh born stars
Tales weaving
In expectant air
Firelight dimming
Shadows creep
Tales weaving
Dreams conceived
Past is close
The dead draw near
To hear
Tales weaving
With living breath
Driving home
Fun is done
Sleepy heads
Happy ones
Bed beckons
Satisfied sleep
This is the peace
The turmoil
Aims for
Wood cracks with a flash
Sparks dance in the air, falling
Down to cooling ash
Five syllables here
But seven on the next line
A breakdown of thought
Red pulse
Beating hard
One day
Will blow apart
Until then
Keep on spinning
All in its well
Safe for now
For now
Trees on the horizon
Fingers accusing the sunset
Shimmering waters deep
The soul of man divided
A fear that never speaks
Darkness encroaches deep
Thunder in the morning
Lightning cracks on high
Rolling sound so deep
Division rends asunder
Lands that had known peace
Now their daughters sleep
A warm summer breeze
Teases scent across the plains
Tight the wolf pack runs
All around me
The walls of my life
Are tumbling down
In slow mo
I am watching
In slow mo
Wondering if
I will survive
Console myself with a
Whisky and a West Wing
Here it comes
The bluster and lies
Sugar coated
Mustard
Wonder which
Turning was wrong
All those choices
Drawing me downward
Further and Further
Darkness beyond
Wonder if
There in an exit
Will it end
If I am still
Silent and still
What use is will
When it is still
I pause at the door
Look down
At the mess on the floor
Think wryly
Don’t trip on my shoes
I don’t want to go
Believe me in that
Some things just cannot be
I hope you find
Happiness one day
I could not say goodbye
I am sorry
The chance was gone
Give the kids
A big hug from me
And cry, if you can
Hate me, if it helps
Feel the shape of the hole
I have blasted
In your heart
And fill it to the brim
And overflowing
With new loves and laughter
The heal and hold
You in his arms
My time is over
I turn away
Compelled
Walking through this door
Unable to refuse the finger of death
My lips are parched
For the wine
Promised on the air
Where is my wine
To dull the pain
Of waiting
Promises undelivered
From on high
So what now?
Carry on and on
Knowing no other roads
No junctions left
My lips are parched
Where
Did I lose my wings
Only for you
Do I shoulder the collar
I pull the plough and furrow
Only for you
Do I labour all day
To bring the bread and water
Only for you
Do I toil my days
Until my limbs are broken
Only for you
Do I endure the whip
The cursing and the shouting
I could roam free
Over hill and dale
Run through deep green grass
And let the wind blow
Through my mane
And drink fresh mountain tarns
I could follow my dreams
Into the clouds
And fly with birds on high
But I curb my dreams
Relent freedoms sweetness
Shrug the reins back on
But only for you
Only for you
Oh, give me time, oh, give me time, give me time in my life
So I can dream and I can find an escape from this strife
So I can soar in the sky where only freedom abounds
Where we can dare to be ourselves and death does not his rounds
But these are dreams that slip away, drained by vampire bites
So we watch every day as they fade like spent candle lights
Sucked away by the days and by the burdens of our lives
Yet in this turmoil of life is where most creation thrives
So, give me time, oh, give me time, give me time in my life
I was born in fire
In the fiercest whitest heart
I was flung in dying throes
Out into the dark
And through the dark I travelled
Over time you cannot dream
You cannot comprehend
The scales of things I’ve seen
The birth of stars from dust
From cold to burning fire
And then to bloated giants
And back to dust again
The start that swirl together
In hordes you will never count
Swallowed into nothing
Never to get out
Bright white young ones burning
Fast and bright and blue
Until they burst with energy
Too bright for me and you
And clouds like angels wings
Or swirling demons eyes
And flighty comets dying
With sparkling icy cries
All this and much much more
I cannot tell you all
Many many of your lives
Would pass before my tale
But now my time is dwindling
Now my tale must die
I have reached my end
I have reached your eye
You work hard
I struggle by
In the dark
You’re a hard-working family
To pay my bills
A silent dark
You deserve more
To keep my job
Shattered by
Respect and remuneration
My family safe
A scream so stark
Higher wage
Bills accrue
A sister torn
More tax
No breaks in sight
A mother too
Security
I am undermined
And then my turn
Here they come
By cheaper crews
To be their tool
To take your jobs
And labour pools
Alone I lived
We try to stop them
Let down by those
My family died
But the law demands
For who we fought a war
Alone I ran
Freedoms we ill afford
Belts pulled tight
Alone to hide
So we must let them in
Doors shut tight
Far away
We need your fear
As our land
Where wars don’t rage
So let us pass
Slips away
Across the sea
Stronger laws
Dreams of the past
Into a cage
And take your cash
Of golden days
And forms and forms
For a better way
Seem far away
And questions long
Altogether now
Every man for himself
And looks of scorn
Watch your backs
Seems the only way
And acts of wrong
Strengthen our national pride
So I must take a stand
Drowning in
Defend our ways
Against the tide
A stinking sea
Our traditions
That seems to me
I cry
Like class division
To rise and rise
No one pities me
And stay an island proud
To drown our island’s pride
No one pities me
As the rumour mill start to grind again, I will simply repeat my observation that Peter Dinkalge should be the new Doctor Who.
Maybe someone out there connected to casting my see it? Maybe it will get passed on to the right people? Maybe it might come true.
Maybe?
<a title="Gage Skidmore from Peoria, AZ, United States of America, CC BY-SA 2.0 , via Wikimedia Commons” href=”https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Peter_Dinklage_(9350751692).jpg”>
Renowned Harvey Milk
His life anything but smooth
His legacy shines
An allegory in the form the tale of a knight. This is the shortest of the poems but still long at over 1200 words. The story is similar to Andervayne’s dream but with a simpler message.
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
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
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
Fantastical clouds today
Rolling over the land
Like a giant wave
Does Thor ride that tube?
To Odin’s disapproving frown
Joy’s deficit
The cost of swings and roundabouts
What am I? A stat? A pawn in political games? The means to fast gains? Am I to be educated? Or protected? Am I a spreader? A killer of the old? Vulnerable? Nobody has asked me. About my heart. My lungs! My emotion! My whole life, Is in the hands of the greedy and corrupt.
One is a mother – caring and fierce
Two is a wife, with perceptions that pierce
Three is a woman, kind and strong
Four is a friend to help me along
Five is the lover, tender and sweet
All are in one perfect – petite
One beautiful and loving wife
The five with whom I will spend my life
We saw clearly
In the year 2020
Saw what was important
And who was not
Saw who lied
Saw who cared
Greed and corruption
Laid bare
For all to see
What will we do
With our 2020 vision?
The race to power
Is won with fear and fury
While inert we watch
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?
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
Seemed appropriate for today – after all keeping the schools open demonstrate’s exactly this thinking.
Finally drowned
Subsumed
The pressure of the deep
Too much
Tried to scream
It all rushed in
The life that was me
Swallowed in the sea
That is life
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
Rusty
Is the spring in my step
Lost its purpose
Lacking oil
And energy
Waiting
Coiled
Will it bounce again?
One can hope
This is my air
Laying like lazy smoke
On the course of a slow current
Tendrils reaching out
To you.
Yours is the harmony
The melody
The purple scent
To compliment
The air
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
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
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.
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
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.
The day follows night
Repeating the witching hour
Except, the mayfly
#haiku
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
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
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
These areas
Our neighbourhoods
Will become districts
Classified by wealth
Worth
Class
And faceless systems
Will place us
Where they see fit
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
Yellow is the sand
That slips and tumbles in the glass
Sifting through our fingers
Yellowed is the ancient paper
Where ancient text resides
And the finger that glides
Tracing shaky wisdom
Priests
Determining the will
Of their god
Deciding
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
Economists
Scott Andrew Bailey - Author 
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