Each day holds a new dream, a new emotion, and a new perspective in “A Spring of Dreams.” Join Scott Andrew Bailey on a poetic journey that spans a year and encapsulates the essence of life’s varied experiences. #PoetryForLife
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.
Unless he went made it through today. Found the strength from somewhere. Put aside his pain.
The trauma his son had suffered had not been at his hands. Logically there was no responsibility for it on his shoulders.
Logic was a weak fence against raw emotion. Emotion that told him that he had failed as a father, that the protection he was supposed to give had been lacking, just that once.
Nobody agreed with him.
That made no difference.
So, he would not compound failure with failure. This was his last chance. He would take it.
He had tried all other avenues. Therapy, prayer, medication. Nothing worked, Yet what it had done was show him the way. It had made clear the path he needed to tread.
So he took a deep breath and rose from his seat. He nodded to the doctor signalling his readiness. The doctor frowned but kept his piece. He opened the door and let him enter his son’s room.
The room was sparse, clinical. His son lay curled on top of the bedsheets, motionless. Awake but unresponsive. He did not look up or acknowledge his father’s entrance.
There was a small bedside table to the left of the bed on which sat a plastic beaker of water. The bed was positioned by the window. Sunlight tried to make an impression on the coldness of the room but failed. The only other furniture was a white chest of drawers and some empty white bookshelves.
Then there were the books.
The books, many many books, that should have rested on the shelves or strewn on the floor. An impressive collection for one so young.
They hung impossibly in the air.
He sighed. He knew what came next. It had all become familiar to him. This time though he did not avoid it. He did not flinch or try to defend himself. This time he smiled at his son.
The books flew at him. As if thrown by immense strength and anger. The hard spines whacked into his flesh like dull nails. Again and again and again. Raining pain upon his body. The books that hit him fell to the ground limply, twitched like dying flies, then were suddenly whisked up and flung again.
There was no let-up.
He could feel his body being pummelled into a bloody bruised mess. But he took it. Stood calmly, raised his arms towards his son and kept smiling. Gave all he had left to him – gave him his unconditional love. Took the punishment not meant for him.
The books whirled faster as the rage grew. Like a tornado of leather and card, they descended on him, pounded him. The pain passed over what was bearable to no longer being processable – so he no longer felt it. He knew he would not last much longer – if this continued his body would fail him. Darkness crept inwards along the edges of his eyes. He kept smiling, locked his legs and stood, arms out.
The whirl became a darkness that was trying to beat his flesh from his bones. He felt like the bones themselves were splintering beneath.
Then it stopped.
Suddenly all the books fell to the floor. Sunlight sprang into the room as if a lock had burst.
His son looked up and held out his arms for his father.
Swords and bows
Chivalry and Justice
Robbing to rich
To pay the poor
King’s who were not above the law
And magic
Ancient lore
These were the stories
That filled my head before bed
What happened to those times?
Life these days
Sometimes it seems
Those who profess
To lead our countries
Are nothing but a menagerie of animals
But animals do not seek war
Or wealth
Life these days
Seems impossible
We have to remember
These obstacles
These weights and walls
Were made by us
We just have to find the strength
To remove them
You fly the yellow and blue flag
You welcome them with open arms
This is all good
It is the least we can do
But you
Left children to drown in terror
Because they did not look like us
Their bones
Will contend you
Fires rage
But not here
Bombs fall
But not here
People starve
But not here
Only when this comfort zone
Is breached
Will we really act
But our ability to do so
Will be inadeqaute
Adrift Lost Floating Free No goals No direction No chains Just reflection Sparkling stars Burning sun Gentle waves Life undone Free Floating Lost Adrift
Always descending, never ascending. Moving downwards, moving down. I can’t get used to this feeling Moving downwards, moving down. Is it really like this? What are we doing? Do we really want this? Is this the thing to be? The chains that pull the valves and the levers, That drive the steam through pipes of dreams.
Dream worlds falling, morning calling, Pull the chains on, shoulder the yoke. Down to business. Down to labour. Moving downwards, moving down. I don’t like this, what am I doing? I don’t really want this, what is to be? Enter the shaft that takes us downwards. The light is dimming as our dreams descend
“Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.” – the White Queen, Alice in Wonderland. What are the six impossible things you believe in? (If you can only manage one or two, that’s also okay.)
Pick a contentious issue about which you care deeply — it could be the same-sex marriage debate, or just a disagreement you’re having with a friend. Write a post defending the opposite position, and then reflect on what it was like to do that.
Look into the eyes of the dragon and despair. The beast is released. They thought it tame Thought it was a game Now It's free And they will pay the consequences Of their fear
Image from Pixabay
The quote, the first line of the poem, is from my favourite film, Excalibur by John Boorman, spoken by Merlin.
The story of the impossible
The impossible climb
Save the last dance for me
While the world burns around us
I’m a believer
But I cannot believe what I see
Walk away
Never really a choice
Nights in white satin
But no knights to defend
Ignoring the suggestion again and instead, I am taking the first five random songs from a mix that my music player gave me – which is a mix of my own chosen songs and others it suggests I might like. So the five titles I interspersed with my thoughts.
Scott Andrew Bailey - Author 