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.
Slip away for a few hours, into other worlds – away from all the troubles of this one.
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.
Another allegory in the form of a 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.
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.
Mankind Limited
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.
In a world obsessed with measurement and success four rebels question everything – including themselves.
Andervayne’s Dream
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
Thirteen Tales (of Ghosts)
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.
Ideal for sitting around a campfire and late at night under the covers. Or maybe not if the stories themselves are any guide.
A Spring of Dreams
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.
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.
Image from Pixabay
The Golden Man
Part 1
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.
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.
What lies within that deep dark world? That immensity of green threat Where lies the leviathan of doom In that swelling encompassing brine Where plankton swirl through tentacles That writhe and sway and curl and wave And small fish dart discreet? The leviathan’s milky domain! Filled with cries of beasts the creature eats Where crescendos rise and pull the heart with sighs. The leviathan shifts with a thrashing fit A rumble excites the waves. And gulls drop and chop their prey and hop from surf to spray to cloud to rock. The whole sea moves with a great heart’s beat Where will its great thoughts lead? Will it be content to nibble and gnaw Or rise with a tumultuous roar? A great green wall with weight of stone While here, nearby, and all alone I Stand On the sand Unsure
If I Cease to exist Will my heart and soul dissolve in the air? If I Breathe my last breath Will my Golden thoughts shine anywhere? If I unbind from this earth And Sail the sun right out to the stars. Will I Find my way back? Or Roam forever that celestial park?
If I Cease to exist Will my Precious dreams chase after my soul? If I breathe my last breath Will my Endless hopes continue to roll? If I Fly up from the earth And Spiral up to the bright dancing stars Will I Find my way back Or Make my home where galaxies are?
Hard to exist Back to back to the hammer of flesh. Gasping for breath Tried escape from this strangling mesh. Tied hard to the earth Brought to ground by invisible hands. If I Find my way back Will I Find my house fallen in sands?
Shout to exist Drink the sun and swallow the air! Savour the breath Turn the corner and take up the dare! Stand firm on the earth And Walk the roads under the stars. We’ll find our way back While our dreams fly where galaxies are.
“Not quite yet but we will very soon, the momentum has built and it will hit critical mass in a few days. It needs no further intervention on my part.”
“We have all the channels covered?”
“Everything! From the popular to the obscure. From hard copy books to online articles. From political diatribes to Twitter. From old newspapers to blogs and click-bait articles.”
“And we have hooked everyone in – no matter their passion, no matter their inclinations?”
“We have everything – we have erotica, geological patterns in the earth’s crust, astronomy, astrology. We have Game of Thrones and Star Trek. We have novels from established authors and fan fiction. Hell, we have fanfiction erotica stories about the Star Wars characters crash landing in Narnia! There’s no angle we haven’t covered.
His boss laughed.
“Ok, Ok. I get the idea.”
He paused
“And the subliminal messages?”
“So subtle not one has been detected.”
“They are taking effect?”
“They have done their job. The population is yours to command – or will be in a few more days. I would say probably enough to make no difference already.”
“Good. And no one else knows?”
“Just me and you.”
His boss smiled. A warm smile – full of sunshine and hope that he rarely graced on anyone. It made him feel pride in a job well done.
“Good,” his boss repeated, “now, just step through this door.”
Enamoured By the glamour Of the eighties We stuck our heads In the nineties sands The new century Is one of denial Our time has peaked There’s only decline Left
William considers himself the only true revolutionary there has been. Living a life of utter destitution below the city, he leads a community of people the rest of the world sees as outcasts and losers.
His is the long game. He know’s the aim, he knows what he is fighting for.
He also knows that he will probably never see the results in his lifetime.
So when the chance to act, the chance to make a difference presents itself will he forget his principles and give up his long-term plan, or stay resolute to his goal?
Looking forward to a night out tomorrow Where, no doubt, I will be looking forward to getting home For a cup of tea It’s an age thing I have always tried to look forward Trouble is I miss the now
Tradition is the echo of oppression
The long shadow of old power
The dark night of the poor
A back drop for wealth’s fireworks
Yet its the poor who cling
Fast to slow-moving tradition
As the controllers far above
Play their fears like violin strings
Jane is a rebel. Of sorts. She engages in rebellious activity and she is good at it. If anyone had tracked her exploits they might say she was a genius. Because that was correct no one had ever tracked her.
But the truth was that so far in her life she had been a follower, not a rebel. She had followed her brother into rebellion and lent her genius to his to fight whatever foe he chose next.
She knew nothing else. It had been her life. And she did not realise that her heart was not in it. Not until the right catalyst lights up her passion and her anger. Then her genius is given the chance to really shine.
Marc is a model citizen, devoted to the ideals of modern society. Moderately successful in his career, climbing the ladder with a beautiful partner by his side.
So why is he plagued by nightmares? Why is he so disaffected? What is the truth that he can feel trying to poke its way through the noise of his everyday thoughts?
And where will it lead if he finally listens to that truth?
A ring of solid light Hovers just above the ground Spinning with infinity Casts glamour all around This is Where the white wolves dance
It is said the be the child Of the seed of forbidden fruit Born from secret knowledge Found on a hidden a hidden route Around it The white wolves still dance
The colour pulses wild Blue, silver and pure white Dragging hearts round and round Beneath the starlit night And so On the white wolves dance
In a time-worn trench, they dance Circling below the light So deep the light they cannot see The circle is out of sight Yet still On the white wolves dance
The circle has been burnt Into their very eyes So while the dark wolf dreams And while the dear time flies Onwards The white wolves dance.
So high upon their mountain On an island on a lake Isolated and secure from The world they do forsake This is Where the white wolves dance
In the few idle moments of the day The few The very few I think I dream Big plans And small How I can achieve my goals How I will relax tonight A film? A beer? Finish my masterpiece Find fame and fortune And then the moment’s gone Reality bites Decisions are taken away And I am the whim of everyone else again Maybe I should stop thinking Stop dreaming So my dreams Are no longer buried In disappointment
The caper is up The plot has escaped From all those lords and ladies In their ermine capes We know their game Time for revolution Is that what we’ll do? Or just carry on the same?
Scott Andrew Bailey - Author 