Shake! Awake! Shake! Awake! The sun. Is up! Rise up! Rise up! Open eyes! Beneath Blue skies. Cast off Sleep’s reins. See! The plains. No sleep! Breath deep! Sun warms. No storms. Stretch arms. Take arms. Run! In the sun! Take bow! Go! Take spear! Disappear! When Wind blows. Lift nose. And scent why they sent for you. They come! They run! See! The birds. Speak. No words. Watch them lead. They will feed. Feel the land. Trust your hand. See grass sway. They come this way. Feel the ground. Hear the sound. Thunderous sound. All around. A mound of meat. Trust your feet. Spear and bow. Blood will flow. With one voice. We rejoice! And the buffalo pass, to greener grass.
It’s not fair.
He started it, I didn't.
He called me names.
I had to do it to stop him.
How come I get told off?
It’s not fair.It’s a shameful waste.
What they do to our world today.
The forests they cut down, the whales they kill.
The fields they destroy, the new roads they build.
The way they leave their scars on the world.
It’s a shameful waste.It’s a bloody liberty.
I will not stand for it!
I earned my money fairly.
I will spend it pleasantly.
I will not stand being ripped off!
It’s a bloody liberty.It’s a downright disgrace.
The way these youngsters behave.
They will not heed my words.
They will not do as they are told.
I will leave my mark on the world.
It’s a downright disgrace.He needs no name on his grave.
He was a model man.
He stood for what we all stand for.
He spoke the words we all speak.
He was me and you and all those to come.
He needs no name on his grave.
Stark black against cold grey skies
Black lightning frozen in time
Towering and immense
Spread over the world
The tree of the dead
On the termination of every branch
Every twig
Hang the skulls
Uncountable, unimaginable
They observe
From their cold black sockets
With their chilling grins
They watch
And judge
The tableau
Of life
Broken shell Evidence of new life or life cut short A new hungry mouth Or a hunters hunger sated Either way Life is given Evidence found In our humble garden
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?
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
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
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
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.
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
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
A black and white film About black and white issues With grey morals on display In our multicoloured 3D world What has really changed Injustice still looks the same
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
Cables tie us Hold us tight To one spot Even invisible ones Chains Keeping us busy Keeping us attentive Keeping us productive and consuming So when they are cut We are lost Unable to produce As we once did
The world in a book For my son To show him the places Across the seas That he dreams of. The colours, The creatures, The cultures and the clashes. The world in a book in his hands As one day The world will be in his hands.
Scott Andrew Bailey - Author 