The lights on the corners of the boxes of steel
Are giving me a pain in the head
Like the fools who drive slowly in the outside lane
They are driving but their brains are dead
They have a purpose those lights you see
And I expect them to flash
Maybe that is my big mistake
Forgetting people are so rash
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Glistening silver
A delicate spider web
Fallen tree around
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Splashing on the beach
Throwing pebbles in the surf
With red sun sinking
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
I am a tolerant man no more
Intolerant of inequality
And all who promote it
Intolerant of injustice
And all those who peddle it
Time to make the world
The way it should be
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Is society
Tension on the webs between
Elites and masses
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
As a race
We should step up
To eliminate the gap
Between the haves and the have-nots
Between the singers with their bling and the slaves on the line
Between the bankers with their blank cheques and the children in poverty
For most of history most men women and children
Lived in misery, died hungry.
We are a disgrace
As a race
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Back from the shore
Into my arms.
After an explore
In a world of charms
A world full of wonder
Mystery and fun
Of beaches and crabs
And space to run
Breathing salty air
Hearing laughter ring
Dancing without a care
Of what tomorrow may bring
So dance some more my son
Enjoy the sun and sea
When the day is done
Run back home to me
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Another one lost
Too short, too precious, and gone
Little heart flown high
Autumn golden brown
covers the hard icy ground
a leafy carpet
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Bird sings by the pool
in the spring in a soft cool breeze
her voice a sweet sound
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Starlight is silent
Waves crash and roar on the shore
Then there is matter
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
You people don’t understand.
It’s tradition.
It’s sport.
It’s in our genes.
Blood.
Jobs are created
By the sport we choose.
By the blood we shed.
Surely that’s enough.
Of course
The same can’t be said
For you
And your cock fights.
Shining argent in sunlight or silver sheen in the rain
Letter, rings, lions.
Phoenix or tiny names
Even flying angels and leaping fluid cats.
Bright, alluring but for many
The last thing they will see.
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Motes of dust
So we have been described
Floating in the vastness of time and space
Small, inconsequential.
Dust motes made of dust from ancient dead stars.
Yet.
So far.
Amongst all we see,
the starfields of diamond dust,
the ancient piercing light,
the glowing, magical, wispy nebulae,
the rainbow rings of Saturn,
the storms of Jupiter,
the blinding light of supernova,
the singular dark of black hole,
world after world
galaxy after galaxy.
Nowhere have we found
yet
Anything that compares
to the complexity, the wonder, the intricacy,
the magic
of
the thoughts of you and I
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
A sad shadow falls
Casting gloom over our dreams:
Sparks dispel the dark!
Originally published in A Spring of Dream
Yet another wall
How many before we’re home?
Prevaricating
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Silky dress caress
Swishing – lighting my desire
For your loving touch
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Flesh and bones and genes.
Is that me?
Shirt and tie and jeans
Is that me?
The places I have been.
Is that me?
The words of praise, the blame that cuts
Is that me?
The songs I loved, the books I have read,
The colours I paint, what I like in my bread.
Are these me?
The friends I love and miss,
That is me
The taste of beer and chat,
That is me
The love for my wife and sons,
That is me.
The song bursting in my lungs,
That is me
The stories in my head
That is me
The place where I grew up,
where I was wed,
where one son was named, the other laid to rest
That is me
My dreams that are out of reach
That is me.
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
A white wedge
Spotted in the corner
Of a run-down shop
Off the track
Joyful memories swell
And from the past
I hear the clattering
Of a metal bowl
Filling with a quarter pound
Of sherbet lemons
Available as
or hardback
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or CreateSpace
Splosh
And a little erosion
Helped on
By little hands
Joy is free
Available as
or hardback
from Amazon
or CreateSpace
“This book should be a movie. Somewhere in Hollywood right now there are actors waiting for their agents to deliver this story in script format to them. The makings of all action-packed adventure films is here. I can see the film in my mind’s eye.
But this one is different.
It’s not fast-paced for the thrill of it alone. It needs to be to get the message across. Mankind could be on the threshold of just such a future. Time is racing.
This one could be us.
Maybe a few years down the line yet, maybe already almost there in some similar format. Change a few details. Replace one group for another. Look behind the motives in politics and corporations. Stretch the reality just a little. Ask ourselves questions looking through the light of a different lens.
It feels like us, it acts like us, it may very well come…”
“Great concept to write a poem a day for a year and provides an insight into coping with difficult family circumstances – a recommended read for anyone who has struggled in such situations. Some poems were obviously more personal than others (my favourites were those when the writer cherishes the ‘small moments’ in life such as going to a fireworks display with his wife and son) but he also branches out into more political territory. Look out for the funny poems scattered throughout the book too, one in particular made me laugh out loud! A good read and Scott Bailey shows talent as a poet. Recommended.”
Made of crystal
So clear
It can hardly be seen
The breadth of seven men
The height of the clouds
The top unseen
Inside
Sparking and crackling
Impossible
Bright and pure
It is filled with
Starfire
For miles around
The land knows no dark
Ever
The question might be asked
Why it was built
Were there anyone around
To ask it
Available as
or hardback
from Amazon
or CreateSpace
Sparrow, sparrow in my way.
Briefly tell your tale today.
Tell me if my love is dead.
Do I waste the tears I shed?
Briefly now I’ll tell my tale.
Pray your courage does not fail.
You do not waste the tears you shed.
Alas I say, your love is dead.
A sharp, cold sword did spill her blood.
She tried to stem an angry flood.
But peace that day she could not win.
So fearful war will begin.
Thank you bird for being true.
Nothing’s left for me to do.
To take up arms and pursue strife.
Slay the spoilers of my life.
I bid you sir, think awhile.
Turn from this dark path so vile.
Listen to my humble song.
Step not where your lover’s gone.
Just a simple bird am I
But far above this land I fly.
And see its beauty spread below.
See ahead, where you might go.
Lay down your sword with forgiving heart.
Do not tear your land apart.
Still your rage and vengeance cease.
Follow rather a path of peace.
Humble bird I hear your song.
But my love is dead and gone.
So I raise my sword today.
And will make those killers pay.
The enemies that broke my heart.
And now have torn the land apart.
Upon their heads is all this blood.
For I must release the flood.
Then sir, I shall shed a tear.
For the future I do not fear.
Yet for now I swiftly go.
To make way for the crow.
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 one for my Poetry Collection!
“Great concept to write a poem a day for a year and provides an insight into copying with difficult family circumstances – a recommended read for anyone who has struggled in such situations. Some poems were obviously more personal than others (my favourites were those when the writer cherishes the ‘small moments’ in life such as going to a fireworks display with his wife and son) but he also branches out into more political territory. Look out for the funny poems scattered through-out the book too, one in particular made me laugh out loud! A good read and Scott Bailey shows talent as a poet. Recommended.”
Check out the original here!
Wherever words roam
Over fantastical lands
The heart rests at home.
Another blue birthday
Like his eyes
Two years as if yesterday
The memories of watching
Blue fading to darkness
Unlike his eyes
My memories will never fade
Watching dressing up
A mini ninja dancing
Whirling all in black
Tarns tributaries tumble down
heather cloaked hills
red-brown tufts twitching in the wind
Cold water, cold air, eagle riding the high winds
Wolves range over moors
Sheep shiver, shepherds huddle
Fire crackles, broth steams
Tarns tributaries tumble down
heather cloaked hills
I am the hunter
The bringer down of prey
The destroyer
The shadow
The bringer of fear.
I am the master of war
The hoarder of riches
The steel lord
The holder of lightning
I am strength and glory
So why do I still struggle in vain
From the shallows to the icy deep
Where dolphins dance and starfish sleep
Through swaying kale and shifting sand
Feel the touch of an oily hand
Where lights speed by in total dark
Where rest many a sunken ark
Where through the kale fish do slip
Feel a cold and choking grip
Where bubbles rise and currents surge
Where waters from the heavens merge
Where weight does crush both bones and rock
Feel the iron fingers lock
And here my heart it swells and roars
From roiling dark to shattered shores
And I will rise with fury’s might
And crush the hand that picks this fight
So fear the shark with jaws that rend
And the mighty swell that shall bend
Every fence and dam and wall
And drown the rumble of cliffs that fall
And when the hand has done its deed
You will curse your dirty seed
And then, at last, you will see
How small you are beside the sea
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
Wandering the shore
Through new lands everyday
Ancient fishermen
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.
Do not lightly discard them
with tales of the foolish bold.
They sat for weeks, for months, for years
in trenches freezing cold.
Sometimes feet simply mouldered
in the sucking mud.
And now and then they’d rise and run
and spill their loyal blood.
Do not belittle the suffering
of soldiers now long dead.
With nothing but talk and songs and bombs
bursting in their head.
Bound together with chains of love
shattered by leaden death.
They ended as they had begun
with cries upon their breath.
Do not lightly remember them
with only paper flowers.
they faced the fear, the pain, the cold,
for hours and hours and hours.
They ran together and fell alone
upon those foreign fields.
Protecting those they loved
those frightened human shields.
Do not read these words and think
that these things are passed.
Do not think you will not hear
that deep and dreadful blast.
Do not sit in decadence
and take for granted peace.
You owe a debt to those who died
and that debt will never cease.
Glistening silver
A delicate spider web
Fallen tree around
Listen to all the anger
Hark at all the fury
Just remember that
You no longer own the jury
Humiliate the whistleblower
Make him out a fool
Wielding propaganda
Like an old blunt tool
Don’t you know we’re cynics now
We can see through all the lies
You will have to do much better
Or suffer the surprise.
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 it’s own should have been.
So maybe we will understand.
And make a happier will be.
At least that is the plan.
Well a bit anyway – but how’s this for a jump in sales rank!
A jump of 923,067 ranks! Come on! Buy a few more people – just a couple – I might get to number one!
Thank you whoever brought the latest copies – my ego needed it.
Kerching! Kerchang! Pow!
Our economy picks up!
Soul still desolate.
Dancing with my wife,
last week the telegraph came:
Coughs ring round the trench.
A sad shadow falls
Casting gloom over our dreams:
Sparks dispel the dark!
Wherever words roam
Over fantastical lands
The heart rests at home.
Fleeing from killers
The child runs desperately
To fill out a form.
Old light from the past
Is still illumination
Wisdom echoes far
I read an article the other day (I really should bookmark them as I can’t find it now!) that was about a new Stephen King book due out. It’s a collection of short stories – nothing unusual there. The difference is that he is putting a substantial introduction to each one, about where he was in his life when he wrote them and the thought process that went into writing them.
Now I am not a big Stephen King fan – I don’t really enjoy horror – ghost stories yes but horror’s not my thing. However – his “On Writing” is one of the best books on the subject I have ever read, both entertaining and insightful. It is just as much an autobiography as a book about the art. So I am excited about this one!
And it got me thinking – I thought I would share a bit of my own thought process – how my mind works (sometimes). And perhaps hear from some of you how you go about the business.
So as an example. A friend of mine has just fulfilled one of her dreams and been on an epic sea journey on a tall ship. I was writing her a welcome home message when the a line popped into my head.
“Seafarer wandering over the waves.”
It sounded really good to me – so now its going around in my head – a poem coalescing around it, snippets of lines and images coming together. It will probably bounce around in there for a while until it comes together.
While thinking about it though something else is coming through. A character – this vague woman who is wandering the sea – for some reason, maybe seeking something, maybe running from something – I don’t know yet. There’s not even a story there yet – that one will bounce around in my head event longer.
One of my favourite authors Stephen R Donaldson said that he likes to get two unrelated ideas and smash them together to see where it goes. Maybe I will do that. I have another idea – more fully formed though still with a long way to go. It is about the rise of a political tyrant. Now those two ideas do seem completely unrelated – and I wonder what would grow by trying to put them together – something surprising I think.
I will let them ferment some more – their time hasn’t come yet.
So what about you? How do the seeds of your works begin?
This is another reason I have been quiet on the blog for a while! Book number two has arrived!
This one is not a novel but a collection of poems. All the poems I wrote for my year-long Poem a Day Challenge.
So more proofreading and then pressing the button to make it available both on Kindle and Paperback.
It all part of a larger plan – so watch out for more soon.
Tower of stone
Where hearts are joined
Names are blessed
Flesh is laid to rest
Still
The tower is stone
And cannot
Learn to love
http://wp.me/P3kG6h-bb and get my début novel Mankind Limited
Span of stone
Taking some to work
Others home
As it has
For centuries
Others watch
http://wp.me/P3kG6h-bb and get my début novel Mankind Limited
Scott Andrew Bailey - Author 
