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
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
The beginning
And the end
Where we start
Into the web
Where we end
A story
If you are stuck for ideas – here are a few. They are original and different – plus being ebooks they have the advantage of not being hindered by delivery issues 🙂
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.
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.
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.
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 to the reader. The challenge 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.
I was perusing my poetry collection with the intention of putting together a collection of new, largely unpublished poems. This collection is not that. As I was going through all my poems I noticed that I have a tendency to use colours in the titles, and even when I do not the poem is often rooted in the idea of colour.
So, I decided to do a second collection while I was at it. A collection of poems bound together by the theme of colour. A spectrum of thoughts and moments reflecting the infinite colour and variety of the universe in which we dwell.
This collection is presented here.
Being a middle-aged aged man – I do middle-aged man things. Sometimes. One is meeting with my middle-aged friend and getting nostalgic over a pint or two of beer.
Like many others.
We contemplate how things were better, how the youth of today are missing out on what he had.
Out of these conversations came a realisation, one that we found was articulated with frightening clarity by Mark Fisher in “Capitalist Realism, Is there No Alternative”. He makes the observation that we are of a generation that was sold a dream, a dream that did not come true. We were told that if we worked hard, and dedicated ourselves we would do well.
Well we did, work hard, for many years. Blood sweat and tears making our employees successful, generating profit and success.
But not for us. We still struggle in the day to day reality. We fight the rising cost of living and the shadow that were a few bad weeks away from homelessness or worse.
The dreams was a lie. And there is nothing left we can do about it.
This collection of poems is a reflection of my thoughts about this and other darker aspects of modern life. In my other collections I like to balance this side of my ruminations with more optimistic explorations. This did not seem appropriate here. This is my equivalent of a grunge phase.
It also contains largely previously unpublished works that have not appeared anywhere else.
So, stick on those goth tunes and wallow in the well of sunken dreams.
Is it too late for
Tears and grief to rise again
I can’t hold them back
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Sit
And write
In response
To the prompt
Sit
If only
I could find the time
To just sit
And think
And write
Instead of fighting
Life
I enjoy revisiting old favourites. Especially music. Bands, songs, albums that have lain dormant for ages – years sometimes. Neglected and forgotten about. Legends!
For the car recently I created a new playlist – a bit more mellow that normal. Instead of picking songs I just added all the songs I have from four different artists. These were Clannad, Enya, Pink Floyd and Leonard Cohen.
As I listened there was a song that I have probably heard many many times before Leonard Cohen’s The Window. It passed me by, in the background – I liked it but didn’t really notice. This time it was different. This time it was one of those occasions when suddenly – for inexplicable reasons the lyric reached out and plucked at me, played me, struck me as beautiful, strange and haunting – just how they are sung. They were.
Oh chosen love, Oh frozen love
Oh tangle of matter and ghost
Oh darling of angels, demons and saints
And the whole broken-hearted host
Gentle this soul
I wonder why. I wonder what it is that made me hear those lyrics properly for the first time after I don’t know how many times before.
One of the mysteries and wonders of really good music.
Handicap
A word defunct
As we remember
Difference
Is strength
Not
Inferiority
In an unremarkable flat
Next to a noisy tapas bar
Is where, perhaps, Hawkins might die
Folded in his chair
It will not be remembered
Unlike his remarkable mind
Such are the vagaries of life and death
Both ridiculous and sublime
Read more in A Spring of Dreams
Softly fear creeps – more chilling than any scream.
Get further under the covers and turn another page – if you dare
For those who have followed my blog for any length of time will. know that I have stepped back a bit from it. I wanted to concentrate on doing some actual writing rather than writing about doing some writing.
Well, life always has other plans and that hasn’t worked out perfectly. I have managed t o do some more writing but nowhere near as much as I wanted.
However, had I been maintaining this blog and my author website then I would not have even done that, so, small victories.
Then it came time to renew my author websites hosting. It was expensive to renew and money is tight these days. But I wanted to to still have an author presence – my bog was jus that – a blog. IIt was on the basic (free) WordPress plan and did not have the necessary tools to allow me to track traffic etc properly.
On the other hand – the blog has years of content and thousands of blog posts!
Ideally I wanted to combine them. I had started trying this by having a plugin on the author site to pull ini the posts from the blog, but the formatting was always iffy.
So I started to investigate the other possibilities and came up with. solution. I have upgraded my WordPress.com plan to allow me to create a site that has the best of both words. I recreated the limited content from my author site while keeping all the blog posts I have worked for years on. At the same time I have given the whole site a refresh.
The upgraded plan allows me to track traffic properly but does not allow me to add any plugins as I used to be able to on the old author site. This was the compromise but one that is worth I believe.
So https://thehouseofbailey.wordpress.com and https://www.scottandrewbailey.uk have combined and become https://scottandrewbailey.com/
Hopefully this will also refresh my views and sales!
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 to 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.
That kind of sums up my approach to 2020, particularly to writing.
2019 was not overly productive for me. I curated and edited some old work into a new collection – Andervayne’s Dream. I also continued to try and market my existing books, Mankind Limited, A Spring of Dreams and Thirteen Tales of Ghosts. Not to much success.
All this has mean that along with the demands of life, many family illness and dealing with a son with Autism, I have not had much time to actually write anything new. I have kept my blog alive by reposting old work daily.
I tried NaNoWriMo, but again, due to life commitments and stress, did not complete it – though I did come out of it with five drafts of short stories.
So. New years resolutions!
Firstly, it should be noted I have 100% failure rate on these. I can make goals and get there, just not new years resolutions. I think this is because I tend to try and make big life changing ones.
So this year I am going to do two things. One, I am making them public, here and now. Hopefully that will give me kick up the backside to actually complete them. Secondly, I am making them a bit more modest.
So this is my plan for 2020.
One poem a week.
One short story a month
Enter one competition or submit to one publication per month.
These are reasonable and well within my capabilities. 52 poems and 12 short stories. I have done far more that that in a shorter time before.
The other big difference will be that I will not be posting them on my blog. I am keeping them unpublished so I can use them to submit to competitions and publications.
Which means, this blog will be a lot quieter this year.
Less noise, more action.
Unknown search terms – ten
Wonder what they were after
That brought them to me
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
In golden age where steel was king
Rich voices of great bards there ring
The rising pride of knights there swells
Around the ring where justice dwells
Behind the throne where power lies
The dark intent deep in his eyes
The ancient druid gathers spells
Around the ring where justice dwells
The jealous son holds his dark ire
Until it rises to a fire
Bells of doom ring their deathly knells
Around the ring where justice dwells
And so the cracks came from within
Mens’ convictions so very thin
Shattered by those doom laden bells
Around the ring where justice dwells
Another spirit lost
Awash in the swell and foam
Anguished over lost love
Anger dealt him the blow
Arising from the sea
Alighting on the air
A bright bird arises
Snoring on my chest
Warmth and love resting at peace
An early night in
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
If it is a tale of a farmhand, dreaming of the landowners daughter, becoming a knight and facing trials amongst fantastical creatures. This might be the place for you
If it is the tale of two magical lover’s, dancing on a cloud, maybe you have found the moment to pause and take note.
If it is the tale of a knight’s rebellion against oppression, wait a while.
If you want to explore the ins and outs of ambitious courtiers and their magic, one step too far, then wait awhile
Step into my realm of dreams awhile.
A single mote
of stardust
sparkles bright
in endless black
drifting
No goal,
no direction
for time
that feels
eternity
Nothing
Cold, cold
Nothing
And then
Attracted to another
Bright shining mote
Joined together
Bound in twisting dance
round and round
and down
What seems forever
togetherness
never apart
again
The other comes
with more attachments
gathering around
A family, a clan
a get together that has no end
a bouncy, rowdy party
as things heat up
And the happening attracts more
and the numbers swell
the dances speed and the steps
multiply with complexity
The place is hotting up
as events coalesce
Then the point of no return
This is the place to be
the single mote has pulled
more that could be dreamed
and the crowds rush in and in
and down
the crowds become a crush
And the heat gives rise to new forms of dance
and new energy as the crowds arise
And then the circle is complete
as the fire starts to burn and the lonely mote
is now the heart
of brand new burning star
Image from Pixabay
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Giving people health
Appears low priority
Set against profits
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Corrupt. Wealthy. Safe.
Wallowing in filthy loot
And laughing at us
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Lost to us, never forgotten
Unusual tides took him away
Carried to peace and to sleep
And even as the dark will swell
Sad, but sad will not prevail
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Behind the door?
Was it something moving?
Someone?
Just ignore it. Dive back under the covers, carry on reading…
A collection of short stories concerning ghosts. Some are traditional ghost stories in the tradition of M.R. James and Edgar Allan Poe. Others 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 and other online e-book retailers.
A 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……
My eyes are sensitive to the light
They are filtered
Protected by shades
What about my heart?
My feelings?
No filter please
I am sensitive
I need all the light let in.
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Porcelain tiles
Cold on my cheek
How did I get here?
When did I fall asleep?
The hatchet in my head
Overpowers the hatchet in my heart
For now
And then it begins again
Golden liquid calls
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Lines and words and lines
On one screen they mean this
Elsewhere something else
On paper strangely old
Before my eyes
Flashing by
Doing magic
But why
For the small ends
Of small goals
Chipping away at mountains
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Is it enough?
These words
We gather here
From across the globe
Our thoughts thrumming
Over strands of the web
They gather and agree
Mostly
And we know
What is wrong with the world
What is right
How to behave
And with well picked word
We condemn
Or cajole
the effective ones.
But is it enough?
Just the words.
Yet once upon a time
There was a spell
A magical combination
That set me on this course
Of reason and reason-ability
Maybe it is enough
If someone somewhere
Is moved by our spells
To do the right thing.
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Swirling, whirling milky clouds of stars
Spiralling down to the black hole
Supermassive hungry dark
Swallowing all it can
Axle of the wheel
Sparkling star arms
Shining cloud
Holds our
Home
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Worn wooden floor
Distant, ancient scent
Tobacco long gone
Beer, deep red in thick glass
Salt and vinegar crisps
Pickled eggs
Pickled patrons
Warmth and welcome
Long gone like the smoke
One missed
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Mistakes seep into
Our minds through repetition
Habitual truth’s born
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
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
Taking my son to my old school
Following the bus I used to take
Still the same number
Basically the same model
The same smell of classrooms
And I wonder
Is this it?
Are we destined
To repeat lives?
It is not enough
I want more
More for my children
Than was there for me
No fear
More doors
No prejudice
More joy in knowledge
Is that too much to ask?
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Clouds piling up dark
Lightning flashing – sky to ground
Rumbling all around
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
I am a mirror
Distorted
Even cracked
But a reflection still
I share with you my fear
And passion
My fear is blue
Deep dark blue
All sharp angles
Like shark fins
And knives
Fear that turns me
As white as a clown.
Alas, my fear is my passion
My love
I seek it out
To taste the thrill
Of the fear and the chase
And I share it out
While I play my games
with the orphan
the fear
the dark, dark blue
that bears
the sign of the bat
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
No reality.
That’s what attracts them
No history, no baggage
Only dreams of the night
That’s the attraction of the mistresses,
the hookers and the one night stands.
No reality.
Better to live in real love
Than empty dreams
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Imagine
Me
I kill without discrimination
for race, for age, for sex or sexuality
I take saints and sinners
I take your loved ones
in return
I deal you pain
without explanation
when asked
the answer is
that you cannot hope to understand me
As a man
you would lock me up
revile me
or label me insane
But I am divine
So that’s OK then
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Our voices are simply the shadows
Cast by our dreams and our thought
If the shadows become ineffectual
Then our voices will end up as naught
Yet shadows can give us the outline
Of what is looming above
If we take note of the darkness
We can give those dreams a shove
One thing we must yet remember
To give those shadows a shape
Sunlight is needed behind it
From brightness, the dreams will escape
Winter’s wind blows fierce
through silk and wood it does pierce
a lonely howling
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Sir Richard Francis Burton
For who life was so certain
He was a master of disguise
Caught Mecca by surprise
Primary colours or simple fruit
Clickety click click and point.
Open the way to a blind deluge
Illuminate the mind
Bright blinding highway – superfast.
On a never-ending roll
Swallow it all until we drown
Where is the straw of truth?
Turn upon turn upon turn upon turn
Green upon green upon green upon green
Tracks and tracks and shining silver
Decision-making machine
Can it take the pressures
Of expectations on board
Will I
Laughter echoes
In rarefied halls
Between clinks from glasses
Raised in champagne toasts
While expensive soles
Walk heavy
On broken dreams and despair
Another one lost
Too short, too precious, and gone
Little heart flown high
The vessel is cracked
Still holds the sacred blooms
Still revered
Though the blooms are without root
Rootless. Dying.
Still revered.
Water though refreshed,
Still stagnates
Dead blooms replaced
With freshly cut.
Repetition
Builds a patina of respect
Authority
Habit.
The vessel is cracked
Empty of life
Yet forever filled
and revered.
Bug me, drug me
You’ll never touch my mind
Not that you want to
Afraid of what you’ll find
Afraid of the secrets
of someone in the know
Afraid of the exposure
of your elaborate show
So go on with your programme
Sticking to the script
Until the day you are aware
You’re playing in a crypt
Brushed by death today
Twice.
Metal boxes speeding
Too fast, too near me
Driven on by the wrong thoughts
Or expensive wanderings
Starlight is silent
Waves crash and roar on the shore
Then there is matter
The new can’t replace the should have been
The should have been haunts us forever
Though the new will be a healer
And receive all our love just the same.
It’s pointless being angry at fate
But that doesn’t stop the burn
The frisson on top of everyday stress
For the should have been we always yearn.
The new will have its own should have been.
So maybe we will understand.
And make a happier life will be.
At least that is the plan.
Coloured bricks
Red, blue, yellow, white
and many more.
Many shapes
Many sizes
No limits
Many surprises.
Build a fire engine,
A house, a school,
A lake, a park, a city, a town.
A space station and spaceships and an alien host.
A castle, a bridge a knight and a ghost!
All this and more build it all
And never ever build up your wall.
Published in A Spring of Dreams
#RebuildTheWorld
Scott Andrew Bailey - Author 