By Scott Bailey © 2016

When the white wolf walks
Hunting in silver moonlight
The red deer shivers

By Scott Bailey © 2014

Strings and drums
Swells and thrums
Filling halls and domes
Even sneaking in our homes

It warms our hearts
Can upset carts
Evoke our tears
Even stoke our fears

Calm the day
And send away
The darkest thoughts
Even move the worst of sorts

No compare
In empty air
So play the notes
Even on our dreams, it floats

In response to my daily prompt Pressure

#DailyPrompt, #amwriting, #postaday

The trial of damns
Before the salmon’s reward
Bringing death and life

By Scott Bailey © 2014

Mighty angel falls
Rules over a new domain
Longer verse explains

By Scott Bailey © 2014

Perfect thighs
Perfect abs
Perfect eyes
For perfect lives
We give our teens
Aspirational dreams
Of fame and fortune
Imaginary screens
And every flick of every light
Every glossy page so bright
Every song of every type
Every ad with teeth so white
Every billboard, every bus
Every website we like or plus
Every search and every text
Every life that we connect
Every meal and every drink
Every label phrased succinct
The many many many times
Perfect views assault our eyes
Programming the soft and greying minds
To covet
The wrong things
So much effort
Is required
For those minds
Are really wired
With the truth

By Scott Bailey © 2014

It purrs like a magic cat
Glows like a willo’ the wisp
Warms like toasted buttered bread
Its spell cast out to the silver screen

By Scott Bailey © 2014

Childhood senses
Seep away
The textures of touch
Savoury tastes
And sweet
The exhilaration
Of G-Force
The warmth
Of a bed
The brightness
Of a blue sky

All wilting away
Smoothed plain by time
and tasteless demands
and saccharine
Bound by safety
belts and laws
Hot fevers
of uncomfortable dreams
Under greying skies

How
to get it
back?

By Scott Bailey © 2014

Flash in the dark blue sky
Clash of sword and bone
Roar of fire high above
Heaven’s thunderous tone

Samurai meets his nemesis
A dragon of the sky
Golden claw fights silver blade
Above the mountains high

Gods look down with fearful frowns
While people gaze above
Do they fear the fiery jaws
Or the hardened iron glove

The enduring will of the flying knight
Feeds his skilful blade
The ancient wisdom of the drake
Ensures he’ll not be played

Red streaks of fire on velvet sky
Silver streaks cut through
Showers of sparks come raining down
To birth a magic brew

And still the battle blunders on
All over every land
Until the both when both are stilled
By a cold and magic hand

By Scott Bailey © 2014

The thistle embraced the wilting rose
Joined the lands as one
Wars still rumbled across hill and plain
Dividing faith from faith

The stewards who ascended high
Would rise and fall and rise
Held heads so high they thought divine
Then tumbled to the ground

Sons of the island lost to war
The people scarred and tired
One form of tyrant sent to death
Another imposed dark law

Return and rise the steward’s house
Shaky on the seat
Look to longingly to the holy see
The thistle withered away

In response to my daily prompt North

#DailyPrompt, #amwriting, #postaday

By Scott Bailey © 2014

Waves of gold crash onto the shore
Bringing fire and steel and songs and roars
Colour and light bleed into the dark
Writing new borders, new Gods, new laws

Times of war and the shining axe
The pagan, the warrior, the thegn
The land divided up once more
Darkness was here again

Lost the marble luxuries
Returned to hall and hearth
Here began the journey
Of these words winding path

And here were born the names
That linger down through time
That gives us all identity
Born from conquests crime

In response to my daily prompt Marble

#DailyPrompt, #amwriting, #postaday

By Scott Bailey © 2014

I
Once held back the sea
My name lent to these lands
I
Wandered since the dawn of time
Wander lonely still
I
The unseen walker in the trees
Always close behind
I
The whisperer good rulers heed
Then drowned out by greed
I
have been, am still, will be
When the time is right
I
Fatherless, explorer, wisdom’s well
Poet for the fight
I
Spark and dart through time and night
Dealing fate some blows

In response to my daily prompt Barrier

#DailyPrompt, #amwriting, #postaday

By Scott Bailey © 2014

I hold aloft my steel
Scarlet streaked
With invaders blood
My flag whips
High on the hill
A victory that will echo
Across the land
At my feet
The dead
Men women and children
Warriors and supporters
Murder of an infant nation
That will yet rise again
Yet
My sword and I
Will be hailed
Through history
The hero and his weapon

In response to my daily prompt Victory

#DailyPrompt, #amwriting, #postaday

By Scott Bailey © 2018

Firefighting
The act of fixing someone else’s
Mistakes
With little
Reward
Or
As it’s also known
Life

By Scott Bailey © 2018

Early sun rises
And a lazy eye opens
Alligator wakes

By Scott Bailey © 2013

We create darkness
Where we can’t explain
Powerful darkness
Dark Matter
Holds the universe together
Dark Energy
Expands it fast
But most powerful of all
Dark Ignorance
This will tear us apart

By Scott Bailey © 2013

The gulf between us grows and grows.
I wonder were we ever close?
Is it a myth we tell ourselves?
To give us false kudos. 

One looks on one with envy
the other with disdain
But neither can leave the contract
for nothing is to gain? 

Still the gulf grows wider
bridges tumble down
Yet the ties are tighter
Deeper runs the frown 

Round and round this story goes
Will it ever end
The futile fixing of a problem
That will never end 

So we have to ask ourselves
For richer? For poorer?

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Silk sliding
Fingertips brushing
Lightly

Warm breath
Close
Tingling

Lips shining
Eyes widening
Hush

Moist close
Pulsing closer
Moving

By Scott Bailey © 2018

Copper
The poor relation
In the metal family
First to be used
Didn’t even get an age
Rich, lustre
That draws you on

By Scott Bailey © 2018

Emboxed
Entrenched
Inside our own little
Echo chambers
Not hearing
Views
Not seeing
Sites
Shouting
Only our way
The world wide web
Tightens
Promised to widen the world
Instead
Narrowed our minds

By Scott Bailey © 2018

They undertake
The task of taking
Us from one world
The the other
When we are finally
Overtaken by life’s
Final act
A grave undertaking
If ever there was

By Scott Bailey © 2018

Fastidious and precise
You know
Like the song
Only not nice
For no Queen here
Just the killer
Trawling in the dark
The icy deep

By Scott Bailey © 2018

The urge to straighten
Is the craving for perfection
The mark of human striving
The inspiration
And the curse
That will save or damn us

By Scott Bailey © 2018

Every hug given
Imparts a part of you
In return for a piece of another
Those who embrace the world
Shall be more of it

By Scott Bailey © 2018

The carnivores
Cruising
Among the vegetarians
Only the toughest
Weeds will survive
This

By Scott Bailey © 2018

If I am a student
Of life
The lessons
Are lost
On me
As I can change
Nothing
Stuck
In the proverbial
Mud

By Scott Bailey © 2018

Age lends hindsight depth
Wisdom accrued painfully
It still doesn’t help

By Scott Bailey © 2013

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

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

By Scott Bailey © 2018

There was a white fleck on that dark skin. Tiny and mysterious. Despite his situation, despite his thirst and an undetermined, lurking threat Dan was drawn to that fleck.

It sat on his captor’s left cheek, just beneath the deep well of his eye. Neither the man’s sweat or occasional movements seemed to shake it.

What was it? A fleck of stone? A crumb? It did not belong there and it was starting to annoy Dan.

His captor did not appear to notice it.

That annoyed him even more and he did not understand why.

Was it correct to think of the man as his captor? He was not preventing Dan from leaving.

He was not helping him either. That was the point. Without help, he would die out here in the bush. He was spent. He did not even have the energy to struggle any more.

He had lost his way in his arrogance, thinking he could travel the outback like those explorers he loved to read about.

He was no explorer. He should have stayed behind his desk. But he had wanted to see something of the land he had been helping to administer for so long. He had wanted to see the fruits of his work.

He had wanted to feel first-hand the pride of taming this uncivilized wilderness.

That was what had drawn him over the wide seas to the other side of the world. The promise of adventure. The chance to relive the dreams of a young schoolboy. The final chance to push the last frontier. To achieve man’s mastery of the world and complete the map.

His dreams had outstripped his abilities. He realised that now. If he had not been so dry he would have shed tears.

At some level, he supposed he had always known this. That’s why he had spent his life here behind his desk. Dispensing mastery through letters and paperwork. Bringing the world to order, bringing knowledge to the dark places of the earth.

His stare once more returned to the man before him and his fleck of white. He sat on his rock, waiting patiently.

What was he waiting for?

He had arrived yesterday. Dan had already been collapsed where he was for several hours at that point. Already resigned to defeat. He had walked in calmly and sat down. He had not acknowledged Dan in any way.

Dan should have felt relief, a renewal of hope. Yet he had not. He felt no surprise, no hope, nothing but a vague sense of threat.

He could not explain why he felt that.

The stranger was an aborigine. He was barely clothed, barefooted and dusty from his travels.

Dan had clothed himself with the very best outdoor gear he could get. He also had every travelling device you could ask for. Compass, knives, maps, glasses and much more.

In little more than a loincloth, the stranger looked infinitely more comfortable than he ever would.

He had sat there for a day and a half and still looked as composed as when he arrived.

Dan had stared at him for what felt like hours. He had no idea how long it had really been. Finally, he had summoned the energy to speak. He dragged a word from his throat as if regurgitating sandpaper.

“Help.”

The man stared back at him now. He had deep, dark irises on yellow pools. His face was wide and gentle.

Yet Dan still felt the threat peeking over his shoulder.

He seemed to study Dan for a long moment. Then he spoke.

“Where are you going?”

Dan had frowned. What was that supposed to mean? He was going nowhere right now.

He had swallowed hard and gathered his strength.

“How far?” It was all he could manage. He had wanted to ask where the nearest town was. The nearest house would have been enough!

The stranger stared again for a longer time. He had seemed to understand though and eventually, he said.

“It is four days walk.”

They had fallen silent then as Dan absorbed this. He would not survive a four-day walk. Not without help.

This stranger did not appear to be inclined towards aid.

There was another long silence. The stranger appeared relaxed as if he were sitting in his living room on a Sunday afternoon, reading.

Dan doubted he could read, doubted he had a living room.

Now he thought about it he didn’t even know where these people lived. In caves? In hovels?

He should really know that he had enough dealings with them. With their children at least. But they were always brought to him, he received them into civilisation.

Civilisation! The thought of it brought back memories that made him thirst, made his throat burn. He found himself involuntarily moaning – though it sounded more like a rasp.

The stranger stirred.

“What do you do?”

Dan did not understand. The man’s accent was thick but he understood the words, not the meaning.

“I am thirsty,” was the best reply he could manage.

The man looked at him with a measuring stare. Then he stood and strode to a nearby bush. With a flash of sunlight, he whipped out a knife and slashed off a thick, fleshy leaf.

It dripped with green liquid.

Any other time he would have been repulsed by anything other than tea or water. Now, this was nectar to him.

The man brought the leaf to his mouth and squeezed.

The taste was acrid and perhaps would have made him sick if he hadn’t been so desperately dry.

He swallowed and it gave him respite. His throat felt slick again and he could talk.

But he knew it was not enough – not enough to let him walk out of here and back home.

“More,” he pleaded.

The man simply sat back down calmly.

He repeated his question.

“What do you do?”

Confusion swirled around in his mind. Why did he not help him? Why didn’t he give him more of that liquid? It was a big bush – surely there was more in there.

What was he asking him? Did he want to know what his job was?

He should keep the man talking. Gain his trust, maybe then he would help.

In faltering sentences, he tried to describe his role in the education system to this native. He tried to keep it simple, in terms he might understand.

He wasn’t sure he succeeded. The man gave no reaction as he spoke. Eventually, Dan trailed into silence, exhausted by the effort.

After a short silence, the man said,

“You are a teacher man.”

It was not a question but Dan nodded.

Then the man spoke again.

“You take our children.”

It was spoken in the same calm tone he had spoken since he arrived. There was no anger or threat in them.

But Dan felt a chill nevertheless.

“We educate them, give them a better future.” He protested.

“They are not with their mothers.”

“But they are given knowledge they would not get otherwise. They will be greater for it. In my country – we do it too.”

“Did you miss your mother?”

That struck him, dredging up memories he thought he had buried long ago. Pain that he had considered childish and worthy of contempt.

“Mothers cannot teach what we know,” he said angrily.

The man gave him that measuring gaze again. Then he nodded.

Dan turned his head, not without some pain.

Nearby he saw a deer. It appeared to be completely unaware of their presence.

There was a younger one by its side. The older one nudged the younger to a bush where it proceeded to nibble.

Dan snorted. Did this savage think things were that simple?

“The world is changing. Your children need to know things, to be prepared.”

The man sat silently, calmly.

“The world is changing – you can’t stop it. There’s nothing you can do about that. Civilisation is coming.”

The man sighed. He picked the white fleck from his cheek, casually, and flicked it away.

“We can wait,” he said.

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Every buzz and chime
On the phone
Is a worry
Something has gone down
Something is wrong
Another demand
On my time and my brain
Which are both drained
Something
Must change

By Scott Bailey © 2018

In life’s tournament
There are Kings and Queens
For whom the suffering and pain
Is entertainment
There are fighters
There are spectators
There are hawkers of wares
There are thieves
But most of us
Are picking up
The horses shit

By Scott Bailey © 2018

There
A girl called midnight
A fighter
A lover
A spy
Danced free and deep in the valleys
Beneath a dark starry sky

She hailed from the lands
Of our fathers
With hair as dark as the night
And eyes a grey as the water
Where the bones of her enemies
Lie

No knight would come to her rescue
The dragon she rode upon high
Would burn every dreamy lover
With the glance of a fiery eye

What became of
The girl called midnight
Led by her passion and hate
Some say that still, she is dancing
In the icy heart of the lake

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Deep red
The varnish of old wood
Worn by years
Of rested elbows
And beer mats
As red as the liquid
In the glasses
Rich with age

By Scott Bailey © 2006

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.

By Scott Bailey © 2015

Amber brown bristles
Fletched true
Sighted
On the smooth straight shaft
Knocked
Creak of wood
And leather
Tense flesh
Strength of arm
Years
Of hard work
Hard life
Peaked
In tense flesh
Aimed

Deep russet red
Undulating tight
Over perfect form
Moving with surety
Strength and grace
Slender neck
Proud eyes
High points
Antlers spectacular

Slow high-speed
Flight
True
Through high trunks
Ancient towers
Sturdy and rough
Flicking leaves
Pungent smell
Of spilt sap
Over lazy ferns

Struck
Sunk deep
In perfect flesh
Deep russet red
Covered in bright
Fresh crimson
Hunter
Has hunted

Dusk
Deep red sky
Flecked with sparks
Orange
Embers fly
On aroma
Of roasted flesh
Venison
Consumed
Hunter sated
For now

Started awake
Cold
Stone and straw
Shit and piss
And chains
A dream
Of a memory
Despite all
A happy dream
Amidst horror
And darkness

Weakness
Flesh wasted
In forgotten depths
Waiting
For nothing
Time drips
Away
Into nothing
Sodden straw

Stronger arms
Clad in chain
Dragged from darkness
Down cold
Stone corridors
Into light
Hammering eyes
Screams and shouts
Hammering ears

Then rope
And wood
Strong scent
Of wet rope
Rough against
Weak neck
And wood
Creaking underfoot
Screams and jeers
A clunk
Freedom from weight
From the wait
Exhilaration
Then……

By Scott Bailey © 2015

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?

A fitting epitaph
Perhaps
For the West

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

By Scott Bailey © 2016

The wolf pack is firm
In a superior class
Hunting the weaker

By Scott Bailey © 2015

There is an ancient market square
Where we all spend our lives
And round and round the stalls we pass
Consuming precious time

The gates are closed to hold us in
While hawkers hawk their wares
Criers cry of doom beyond
The solid steadfast walls

In their towers high above
Lords and ladies gaze
Down upon the writhing mass
And counting out their pay

Where’s the farmer in his field
Where the traveller strange
Where’s the road beyond the gates
Or the key to let us out

So on and on forevermore
We circle round the square
In trenches deep from shambling feet
Beneath the icy stare

www.scottandrewbailey.uk