By Scott Bailey © 2017

Blank white paper sheet
Tempting me to slash with ink
Cutting with dark words

Photo by John-Mark Smith on Pexels.com

Crossing Out

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Crossing out
Adding on
Crossing out
And death

Photo by Skylar Kang on Pexels.com

When the White Wolf Walks

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

Image from Pixabay

In response to my daily prompt Pressure

#DailyPrompt, #amwriting, #postaday


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

Image from Pixabay


By Scott Bailey © 2014

Mighty angel falls
Rules over a new domain
Longer verse explains

Image from Pixabay

Wrong Things

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

Image from Pixabay

Magic Box

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

Image from Pixabay


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

to get it
Image from Pixabay


By Scott Bailey © 2014

I have seen giants
Striding over the land
Power on their shoulders
Stern and strong their hand

Never do they falter
Never seen one stumble or fall
Always do their duty
Always answer the call

Through storm and wind and rain
The carry their burden true
Though other links may burn out
The giants stride on through

So remember this and tremble
Even the giants will pass
Fall into dust and rusty ruin
Scattered in untamed grass

One day their burden will dissipate
Their purpose will disappear
And the duty they discharged so well
A memory dimmed with time

Image from Pixabay

Sky Fight

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

Image from Pixabay

The Northern Stewards

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

Image from Pixabay

In response to my daily prompt North

#DailyPrompt, #amwriting, #postaday

Golden Waves

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

Image from Pixabay

In response to my daily prompt Marble

#DailyPrompt, #amwriting, #postaday


By Scott Bailey © 2014

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

Image from Pixabay

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
My sword and I
Will be hailed
Through history
The hero and his weapon

Image from Pixabay

In response to my daily prompt Victory

#DailyPrompt, #amwriting, #postaday

Aubade Two

By Scott Bailey © 2015

Dawn sneaks over the hills
Light spills through the vales
And the veils of the window

I see beauty at last
Complicated, unfathomable, mystery
But right and true

Most the world walks by
Seeing a different way
This morning gives me hope

But the light washes out
Shadows darken veils
Traditions bear down

The beauty and the mystery
The reason and the truth
Are left behind again

The door is closed again
As ancient lore and law
Return us to the night

Image from Pixabay


By Scott Bailey © 2018

The act of fixing someone else’s
With little
As it’s also known

Image from Pixabay

Predator Rising

By Scott Bailey © 2018

Early sun rises
And a lazy eye opens
Alligator wakes

The Gulf

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?

Image from Pixabay

Sighs Matter

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Silk sliding
Fingertips brushing

Warm breath

Lips shining
Eyes widening

Moist close
Pulsing closer

Image from Pixabay


By Scott Bailey © 2018

And aches, these creaking old bones
Have seen better days

Image from Pixabay


By Scott Bailey © 2018

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

Image from PIxabay


By Scott Bailey © 2018

Inside our own little
Echo chambers
Not hearing
Not seeing
Only our way
The world wide web
Promised to widen the world
Narrowed our minds

Image from Pixabay


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

Craig Whitehead


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

Image from Pixabay


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

Image from Pixabay


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

Image from Pixabay

Food Chain

By Scott Bailey © 2018

The carnivores
Among the vegetarians
Only the toughest
Weeds will survive

Image from Pixabay

Stick in the Mud

By Scott Bailey © 2018

If I am a student
Of life
The lessons
Are lost
On me
As I can change
In the proverbial

Image from Pixabay


By Scott Bailey © 2018

Tyrant storm rages
Lashes the land in fury
Still, the flood brings hope

Image from Pixabay


By Scott Bailey © 2018

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

Image from Pixabay


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

Image from Pixabay


Those Who Wait

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.


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.

Image from Pixabay


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

Photo by Scott Bailey


By Scott Bailey © 2018

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

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

Image from Pixabay

Broken Eggs

By Scott Bailey © 2017

A new clutch of chicks
Awaken to a cold dawn
The fox scents a chance

Image from Pixabay

Life and Death

By Scott Bailey © 2016

Potential new life
Excitement when waters break
New life brings us cheer

Six forever hours
Caressing a fading pulse
All cheer drains away

Image from Pixabay

A Deep Green Canopy

By Scott Bailey © 2015

A deep green canopy
Back-dropped by a swathe of gold
Swaying in the wind
An overwhelming urge
To dive into that green sea
The climb and swing
And scream
With primal joy
But there is a mountain of time
Between me and that green
Made of commitments and constraints
Burdens and dependencies
So it dwindles
In my rear window
A deep green canopy
In mist

Image from Pixabay

Feather Crown

By Scott Bailey © 2006

The sun.
Is up!
Rise up!
Rise up!
Open eyes!
Blue skies.
Cast off
Sleep’s reins.
The plains.
No sleep!
Breath deep!
Sun warms.
No storms.
Stretch arms.
Take arms.
In the sun!
Take bow!
Take spear!
Wind blows.
Lift nose.
And scent
why they sent
for you.
They come!
They run!
The birds.
No words.
them lead.
will feed.
the land.
your hand.
grass sway.
They come
this way.
the ground.
the sound.
Thunderous sound.
All around.
A mound
of meat.
your feet.
and bow.
will flow.
one voice.
And the buffalo pass,
to greener grass.


By Scott Bailey © 2006

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.
Photo by Jordan Benton on Pexels.com

On the Edge

By Scott Bailey © 2015

Stand tall on the board
A breeze teases the skin; dive
Slapped by water cold

Photo by Oliver Sju00f6stru00f6m on Pexels.com


By Scott Bailey © 2015

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

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
Through high trunks
Ancient towers
Sturdy and rough
Flicking leaves
Pungent smell
Of spilt sap
Over lazy ferns

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

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

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

Flesh wasted
In forgotten depths
For nothing
Time drips
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

Image from Pixabay


By Scott Bailey © 2015

Winter is coming
Snow sweeps down from the cold north
Followed by the dead

Image from Pixabay


Mare Nostrum

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
For the West

Image from Pixabay



By Scott Bailey © 2016

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

The Ancient Market

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

Image from Pixabay