Creative Writing, Poetry, Work, Writing

Trace

By Scott Bailey © 2016

Water traces curves
Of showered, moist skin, fingers
Follow down to play

Photo by Ron Lach on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Poetry, Work, Writing

Buff

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Buff is a box
An almost fraternity
They try to squeeze you in
At any cost.

Some of us
Obviously won’t fit
So are discarded
Straight away

We are the ones
To watch
We are the ones
That bring the change

We are the ones
To fear

Photo by Mister Mister on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Poetry, Work, Writing

Detonations

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Magical detonations
Stars dying
Dust flying
Seeding us
Not all explosions
Bring death

Photo by Damir Mijailovic on Pexels.com

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Let It All Out

By Scott Bailey © 2017

This is is age
Of SHOUT first
Ask questions later
Of passion
Without pause
On consequences
With no apparent cause
Denial
Blame
Anger

Just think

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Bruised

By Scott Bailey © 2013

 

He would never see his son again.

Unless…

Unless he went made it through today. Found the strength from somewhere. Put aside his pain.

The trauma his son had suffered had not been at his hands. Logically there was no responsibility for it on his shoulders.

Logic was a weak fence against raw emotion. Emotion that told him that he had failed as a father, that the protection he was supposed to give had been lacking, just that once.

Nobody agreed with him.

That made no difference.

So, he would not compound failure with failure. This was his last chance. He would take it.

He had tried all other avenues. Therapy, prayer, medication. Nothing worked, Yet what it had done was show him the way. It had made clear the path he needed to tread.

So he took a deep breath and rose from his seat. He nodded to the doctor signalling his readiness. The doctor frowned but kept his piece. He opened the door and let him enter his son’s room.

The room was sparse, clinical. His son lay curled on top of the bedsheets, motionless. Awake but unresponsive. He did not look up or acknowledge his father’s entrance.

There was a small bedside table to the left of the bed on which sat a plastic beaker of water. The bed was positioned by the window. Sunlight tried to make an impression on the coldness of the room but failed. The only other furniture was a white chest of drawers and some empty white bookshelves.

Then there were the books.

The books, many many books, that should have rested on the shelves or strewn on the floor. An impressive collection for one so young.

They hung impossibly in the air.

He sighed. He knew what came next. It had all become familiar to him. This time though he did not avoid it. He did not flinch or try to defend himself. This time he smiled at his son.

The books flew at him. As if thrown by immense strength and anger. The hard spines whacked into his flesh like dull nails. Again and again and again. Raining pain upon his body. The books that hit him fell to the ground limply, twitched like dying flies, then were suddenly whisked up and flung again.

There was no let-up.

He could feel his body being pummelled into a bloody bruised mess. But he took it. Stood calmly, raised his arms towards his son and kept smiling. Gave all he had left to him – gave him his unconditional love. Took the punishment not meant for him.

The books whirled faster as the rage grew. Like a tornado of leather and card, they descended on him, pounded him. The pain passed over what was bearable to no longer being processable – so he no longer felt it. He knew he would not last much longer – if this continued his body would fail him. Darkness crept inwards along the edges of his eyes. He kept smiling, locked his legs and stood, arms out.

The whirl became a darkness that was trying to beat his flesh from his bones. He felt like the bones themselves were splintering beneath.

Then it stopped.

Suddenly all the books fell to the floor. Sunlight sprang into the room as if a lock had burst.

His son looked up and held out his arms for his father.

Photo by Kindel Media on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Poetry, Work, Writing

Catapults and Boiled Sweets

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Catapults and boiled sweets
Sailing boats and jam jars
Watching tadpoles
Playing in the woods
Hunting newts
Swings and roundabouts
Wistful thinking
For the days
That never were

Photo by Ylanite Koppens on Pexels.com
Tip of the Flame
Creative Writing, Poetry, Self Publishing, Writing

The Tip of the Flame

Tip of the Flame
Image from Pixabay

By Scott Bailey © 2015

The glint in the dark
From the deep of the cave
The thirst that draws
The primitive out

Out from the dark
Out from the safe
Into the harsh
Changes of life

Leaping from age to age
The fire that burns inside
Connecting us over time
To the fires that have passed

Every ancestor who held it
Was a winner in their life
Success upon success
And you are the tip of that peak

Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Adrift

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Adrift
Lost
Floating
Free
No goals
No direction
No chains
Just reflection
Sparkling stars
Burning sun
Gentle waves
Life undone
Free
Floating
Lost
Adrift

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Poetry, Work, Writing

Sailing, Unfettered

By Scott Bailey © 2017

I am a ship
Crowded into the harbour wall
Anchored sound
And safe
But I can see the sea
Beyond the gap
Calling
Lulling
The storms come
The harbour shields
But still, I am tossed
And battered by
Uncaring waves
The chain is strained
The anchor holds
For now
So many storms I have seen
How many more
Before the chain breaks
Setting me free
Lost at sea
Sailing unfettered
Unmoored

Photo by Scott Bailey
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Work, Writing

Always Descending

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Always descending, never ascending.
Moving downwards, moving down.
I can’t get used to this feeling
Moving downwards, moving down.
Is it really like this? What are we doing?
Do we really want this?
Is this the thing to be?
The chains that pull the valves and the levers,
That drive the steam through pipes of dreams.

Dream worlds falling, morning calling,
Pull the chains on, shoulder the yoke.
Down to business. Down to labour.
Moving downwards, moving down.
I don’t like this, what am I doing?
I don’t really want this, what is to be?
Enter the shaft that takes us downwards.
The light is dimming as our dreams descend

Photo by Anjeliica on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Work, Writing

Qualm

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Calm your qualms
It’s all change
It’s all good
Still
The trembling
Still

Photo by Gugulethu Ndlalani on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Poetry, Self Publishing, Writing

Collaboration

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Collaboration
Is knocked out of us
Systematically
In the school system
Filling us up instead
With competition
And greed
Perfecting us
As the ideal consumers
The perfect wheels in the
Machine
Those who hold the levers
Know
Collaboration
Could bring them down

Photo by Dio Hasbi Saniskoro on Pexels.com

If you liked this poem check out my novel – the theme of this poem is the central theme of the book – see below.

Mankind Limited

Trapped. In a world where everything is measured and control pervades every area of life, four people begin to break down. Instead, they break through the walls of deceit and propaganda and into a world of revolution.

Each, in their way, vow to overthrow the established order. They embark on a journey against the forces arraigned against them, forces of state and self-doubt.

Ultimately their paths converge on a dangerous road and the discovery of an ancient secret.

On one level this is a story about how different people react to the ever-growing and relentless pressure of everyday oppression. It explores their journeys as they are broken and rebuilt and investigates their modes and motivations for rebelling.

At another level, it is a critique on the darker side of capitalism and free markets and how that has driven us further and further away from the evolutionary advantage that gave us supremacy in the first place. It questions whether the human race has doomed itself or whether we still have the capacity to wrench ourselves from the track we have so tightly committed our society upon.

Read an excerpt here.

Available as

Kindle

or hardback

from Amazon

Creative Writing, Poetry, Self Publishing, Writing

Official Hospitality

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Government Guide to Hospitality
We welcome you with open arms
If you can afford it
If not, go to hell

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Pink

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Pink
A delicate shade
Of colour
Hijacked
By toy makers and marketers
To smash young minds
Into shape
And conformity
Give it back
To salmon
And cold autumn evenings
To flushed skin
And lips
And artists
And leather bound books
And bank notes
And fresh ink
Pink

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Glory Days

By Scott Bailey © 2013

So the soldier walks alone
beneath the
starry night
He has no aim but distance
from the bloody fight
But the war it still pursues him
snapping at his heels
He slips into the forest deep
beyond those broken hills

O glory days
Those glory days
They’ve shattered
and they fade
They only left a rumour
A shadow
where they laid

So the sword is silenced
with a deep and lasting chill
In his heart, ​the war goes on
the beating never still
Behind the hallowed orders
that laid so many low
Is revealed the empty truth
the sickest, cruellest blow

O glory days
Those glory days
They’re gone
they never were
So the soldier walks away
from guilt
that he defers

Image from Pixabay
Lonely Tree
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

The Lonely Tree

By Scott Bailey © 2016

The lonely tree
Stood atop the blasted hill
Stark
Barren branches snatching
Rays from a mist-shrouded sun

Every now and then
Upon an errant breeze
Flits a weary bird
Resting one more time
On its final flight
Then falls

All around the roots
Dead birds and ash
Giving meager succour
To the lonely tree

One day
From that blood-soaked soil
This tree’s seed will rise
Green will conquer grey
Once more

But too late
For this final witness
Of our fall

Lonely Tree

#ClimateStrike

Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Sonnet for our Times

By Scott Bailey © 2013

So it seems to me that beyond the news
Beyond the web of the media spin
There are places still where the only views
Are battlegrounds full of unearthly din

I see the most pious places burning
Where the holy words still hold high accord
Where simple souls for peace are still yearning
The peace that those holy words won’t afford

Yet here where reason and science abound
We live comfy lives secure in our ways
No bombs rain down on our manicured ground
There is no revolt, no passion ablaze

There’s something wrong with this picture I see
Is it really this way, can you tell me?

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

The Pool

By Scott Bailey © 2013

They trickle in
The protesters, the bitter, the dispossessed, the poor
They swirl in slow currents
Exchanging thoughts, views, ideas.
An oasis for the outcasts

The Man sits by the pool
And fishes
Taking what he needs
Watching the rest

The pool holds no threat

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

None

By Scott Bailey © 2017

None can understand me
Our inner teen cries
And so the world hurls
And churns
On and on and on

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Latecomer

By Scott Bailey © 2017

The latecomer arrives
The straggler
Moving slowly and surely
Youth spent
Only to find
Everyone else departed
Leaving him
With only their mistakes

Photo by Rene Asmussen on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Blind (Etheree)

By Scott Bailey © 2013

We
are blind
to the truth
Everyday
Suffering goes on
And we deny it all
Unable to find a way
Through the maze of our modern lives
To a place where we can be ourselves
And hold out that hand that helps our neighbour

Instead we clench our hand in a tight fist
Holding tight onto what we have gained
Not seeing what we are losing
What slips away from our grasp
Diminishing our souls
Focused on our goals
With such passion
That we are
simply
Blind

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Haiku, Poem a Day Challenge, Poetry, Self Publishing, Writing

A Spring of Dreams – Trench

recite-2dr0uy

Trench

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Dancing with my wife,
last week the telegraph came:
Coughs ring round the trench.

Available as

Kindle

or hardback

from Amazon

Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Purple Star

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Deep bright purple star.
Piercing from the depths of roiling blue gas clouds
And a million billion stars
Outshining Venus and Mars
Swathes like silver​ paths
Some gathered in spiral wheels
And between them in the sparse dark spaces
Ships blink and travel on by.
A memory from the deepest well of childhood.
A memory that could not have been.

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

The Green Wizard

By Scott Bailey 2006

I cannot believe this! If anyone were to stop them, this mob of hungry hunters raging through the forest, then nobody would believe the explanation.

The people of the village, the county planners, the farmers, the surveyors, the members of the RSPB, all are hunting in the night. They are hunting the Green Wizard.

What will they do when they catch him? The question fills me with fear.

What will he do?

I feel responsible. It was my decision. I weighed up all the considerations and reached the verdict.

Whatever choice I made would be opposed. The conservationists urged me to leave the forest alone. Those who favoured progress wanted the forest managed and great tracts of it grubbed out for profit.

I should be used to this. I was brought up in the country and we learned to live with threats.

And I had made this kind of decision for years now. I was used to angry crowds. How could they know that I felt their anger and pain? I always found the best compromise.

Unfortunately, this often hurt the countryside.

What had gone wrong this time?

The Green Wizard, that was what. Ever since I set eyes on him I have sailed seas of madness and now dragged the entire community with me.

Last night I saw him. I was wandering in the evening light near the edges of the forest trying to make my decision. I wasn’t sure that this old forest would benefit or even survive having its heart grubbed out. But the village that nestled twinkling below the forest needed fresh hope. The industry this would bring might make a crucial difference.

Then I saw it! A green light bobbing between the trees. At first, I thought it was a firework for it had that bright magical quality. It was an artificial green like the glass baubles of a Christmas tree. It drew my heart towards it.

I walked in, my fear disappearing as I entered the solace and safety of the trees.

Darkness fell completely as the sun sank but the green light bobbed before me and led the way.

It must be a willow-the-wisp I half told myself but its beauty was far too potent to resist.

I came to a clearing and then I saw that the light was a flame flickering on top of a staff held by an old man. He was dressed in a green robe that shone as bright as the flame, with the same entrancing shade. He looked the way that all wizards look in storybooks. Wide-brimmed, pointed hat, long beard.

Only his beard was green. He was the Green Wizard.

He beckoned me towards him but when I got a few feet he held up his hand and I felt a force block me. I felt the full potential of his strength in that strange touch. He could have crushed me with a thought.

“The forest must not die.”

His voice was deep and strong, trusty as oak and full of command!

I nodded.

“There is life here,” he went on, “that is beyond the comprehension of your people. It is vital to the power of the earth in ways you cannot understand. It will not lie idle any longer. If you threaten, it will react.”

“Who are you?” my voice a scared noise in the sudden immensity and darkness of this forest.

“I am the life of this forest! I am the power of the earth!”

I nodded again.

“An agreement is reached!” he boomed. “If you break your bond your life will be forfeit.”

Suddenly something moved in the leaves. I whirled around and a fox bolted across the clearing. All around the clearing the bushes suddenly rustled and shook with life. I spun trying to see what made the noises. There was nothing.

It stopped. The only sound was my panting breath.

It was dark. The Green Wizard was gone.

I thought I had imagined him but I saw a flicker of green, like a warning, away in the trees.

I knew then what I had to do. I had made a bargain. My life was forfeit if I did not make the right decision now.

All my doubts of mad hallucinations disappeared then. The Green Wizard was real.

The next day those concerned gathered at the village hall and listened to my decision. It went badly. Not surprising.

I had some support. The conservationists were pleased with the verdict. Their precious forest would be left to its natural state.

But most of those gathered were businessmen and farmers whose livelihoods were at stake. They were not going to let some upstart in a suit take that away.

I lost my nerve. I couldn’t meet their arguments. Every reason I put forward for the conservation of the forest they pulled to pieces. I cursed the Green Wizard for abandoning me to this. Where was he now that I was fighting his battle?

Finally, I had nothing left. I declared that the forest would be saved. They would not relent. They wanted to know why I had made this decision when I had no argument to support it. They pushed and pushed me until I could stand it no longer.

I told them about the Green Wizard. I warned them of the danger.

The whole hall was silenced. Even my supporters looked at me, trying to fathom out the madness that appeared to have seized me.

Finally one of the farmers said it.

“He’s mad! Or on drugs!”

I bowed my head. Where was this going to lead?

“This is a farce!” said another voice but then everyone suddenly gasped and fell silent again.

I looked up.

There hovering in front of me was a small globe of bright green light!

I stared at it. What did it mean? It was obviously from the Wizard. It was his shade of green, vivid, unforgettable, alluring and dangerous like something was burning that should never have been set alight.

“Is this some sort of gimmick!?” said one of the farmers.

The globe of light rushed straight at him and knocked him off his feet in a shower of sparks. Then it stayed where it was, where it had hit him.

The farmer slid back across the floor and hit his head against the far wall with a crack. Blood flowed immediately. People rushed to his aid. Others turned to me.

“If he’s dead you had better pray that the police get here quick before we’re finished with you!”

They all suddenly looked ugly. I feared for my life and wondered if this is what the green Wizard had meant. Had I failed some kind of test? Had I been chosen to champion the forest and failed?

“Look!” A young girl was standing by the window pointing up to the forest. People stared out and piled from the hall. I followed.

There, high on the hill, the whole forest was alight from within with the strange green glow.

“It’s the Green Wizard,” I said.

“More likely some new age travellers who don’t want their peace disturbed by the idea of having to pay their way like the rest of us.”

At that point, the green globe suddenly shot out of the window, through the glass without breaking it. At impossible speed, it shot into the heart of the forest.

By now people were muttering things about ghosts and UFO’s but the main core of farmers and businessmen were having none of it. They decided to go and find out for themselves.

I followed the frenzied crowd that raced up the hill to the entrance of the forest. I felt drawn, whether by them or the forest I don’t know.

At the entrance stood the Wizard. Tall and menacing but only I had felt the touch of his power.

“Do not touch this forest,” he said but he sounded somehow weary.

“Who the hell are you?” someone called out.

“He’s the Green Wizard,” I replied feebly but was ignored.

“You can’t tell us what to do with our forest!” someone else yelled at the figure.

“We don’t need freaks like you dossing on our land.”

“If you want to remove me then you will have to catch me!” he sneered. With that, he turned and disappeared quickly into the trees. The flame of his staff was still visible.

With a yell the villagers set after him. they became a pack of hungry wolves after their prey. Their eyes burned with fury.

I yelled after them, warning them not to go. They did not listen. Helpless I followed in their wake.

They crashed through the trees and the undergrowth picking up sticks and waving them as they went.

And even now as I follow them I find it hard to believe.

I fear the outcome of this but I am not sure who I fear for most. This horde is wild and out of control. If they catch him I would not be surprised if they tore him limb from limb with their bare hands.

But I have felt the power of the Green Wizard.

Suddenly we are before him. There he stands. Like an old man, weary with the chase, leaning on his staff in the middle of the clearing.

The mob grab him. Their fury somewhat dampened by his appearance but not quenched. They bind him. The rope is tight around his arms but he does not struggle. As the villagers dance around him like demented witches he holds my gaze with an accusing stare.

The dancing goes on and on like a frenzy but slowly people drop. They sit and lie on the ground, tired by the night’s activity. Despite the Wizard’s relentless stare I too sink to the ground. Around me, people are falling asleep and I find I cannot resist the need to join them.

I awake to find myself choking. Something has hold of my throat and is strangling me. I can’t breathe.

All around me are bodies. All held by tree roots or thorny vines! Some struggle feebly for others it is too late. Many are being dragged into the earth by the irresistible power of trees.

The Green Wizard stands watching the process with a blank expression. His ropes lay on the ground, snapped and frayed.

He turns his back on me, not even deigning to notice my dying breath.

I tried. I did try.

The End

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

What Ifs

By Scott Bailey © 2014

What ifs hang on
Like poisoned barbs
Even in the face of reality
All reason tells you
Let them go
Rip them from the flesh
Yet deep they go
Sharp their points
Beyond the anaesthetic
Of mere words
So rise up
From the river
Of doubt
Rip that flesh and bleed
Step on the shore of tomorrow
Healing first needs hurt

Image from Pixabay
Family, General, Poetry, Writing

Intentions

By Scott Bailey © 2015

“It was just a bit of fun”

To the broken hearts and home

“I meant no offence”

To the victims of riot and guns

“I was just following my dreams”

To the crushing weight of debt

“I will never do it again”

To the frightened wife and child

“I was trying to save some cash”

To the shattered future lost

“I thought I knew best”

To the chances that are gone

“My intentions were good”

To the consequences of action

 

Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Writing

Moments

By Scott Bailey © 2015

The world clashes with me
Or I with it
Its movie reel passes before me
And I watch
Observe
But I am not of it
Occasionally
It brushes me
Pricks me
Interrupts my view
My observations
And the things I should enjoy
I don’t
Until I can observe them
Again one day
My moments pass
Slipping
I can never seem
To be in them

Image from Pexels
Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Marathon

By Scott Bailey 2017

Life is a marathon
They say
I disagree
A marathon is a race
Has a goal
They whip us with that line
Life is a marathon

Life is a song
Every
Note
To be
Savoured
Listen
Or sing
Or play
For
Life is a song

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Exquisite

By Scott Bailey 2017

Exquisite black lace
Sheer black nylon
Spicy perfume air
Smooth black hair
Blood red lips
Deep blue eyes
Soft warm skin
Hot pulsing blood
Cool night beckons
Exquisite black lace

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

The Forest of Dreams

By Scott Bailey 2015

Dark, thick between the trees
No light shines off
The dull black armour
Of the horseman as he rides
Slow through the forest of dreams.

Pale the winding path
The black knight follows
His weary steed plods steadfast
As its burden heavy grows
Head hung low

This quest was not the glory
He dreamed of in his youth
Like the birds that flew this morning
On dreams that seemed to be
A promise of life and growth

He followed the flighty birds
As they danced upon his dreams
Into this tree locked realm
And the winding path so thin
They drew him deeper in

And the vines of need reached out
With curled dependency
Wrapped around his limbs, his heart
Sinking deep their thorns
The pain shook him from his dreams

To the vines, he must cling
To keep his dreams at bay
Though they drag him deeper down
And hamper his faltering way
They are a part of him

He no longer sees the birds
Riding on his dreams
Now he knows the awful truth
That only dragons truly fly
The dragons he should slay

He could unsheath his sword
These vines to cut
Roar fire and leap to the sky
Instead, he forges onward
To endure until he dies

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Floating

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Layers of smoke float
Blue in the heavy darkness
While lazy jazz plays

Jazz Bar
Author: Jimmy Baikovicius from Montevideo, Uruguay
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Interior

By Scott Bailey © 2017

What’s inside
Distorts and shapes
The exterior
All those dreams and hopes
Hates and fears
That make up the interior
The moiling
Boiling
Packed and stacked
Stretched and tense
Earnest pretence
That inside us all
Makes us all
What we are
Rather than what
We wish

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Maddening

By Scott Bailey © 2016

It’s a maddening
Saddening state of affairs
That everyone knows
The rulers don’t care
And nobody does a fucking thing
And the includes
Me

The shadows around us
A deep as the night
Masquerade as stars
Shining vile light
Showing the way
To the promised land
Lead by the hand

There it awaits us
The cage of our choice
Fully charged senses
Completely blocked voice
Thus is the fate
Of all but a few
All of us damn lazy
Fools

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Abide

By Scott Bailey © 2016

Here I abide
Amidst the craters
Of too much cultural shelling
Here there resides
Residual echoes
Of now silent voices

Stranger music silenced
The pale lord voiceless too
Many last departures
Many miss the few
Clinging to the final notes
As lovers do

In dark and empty craters
Bubbles shadiness and greed
A fecund vile concoction
Upon which the beast will feed
Need is the successor
Here where I abide

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Chains

By Scott Bailey © 2015

Chains are other people
Cages social mores
Throw them to the floor
Bend bars
Soar

Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Writing

Seafarer

By Scott Bailey © 2015

Seafarer wandering over the waves
Fine hair glistening with rime
Roaming and riding forgetful tides
Living away from life
But living
True

A man
Wandering
Along forgotten paths
Following the ancient ways
Expanding his mind in ancient ways
Speaking to the earth and the animal guides
Silent ghosts that leave his heart silent and unanswered

Leather like tanned skin, wrinkled with experience of a life lived hard and loved harder, dedicated
waning in strength
and
yet filled with
fire and
sand

Seafarer
Where are you now

Image from Pixabay

Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

The Lord of the Trees

By Scott Bailey © 2006

I am Herne the Hunter, Lord of the Trees,
and you are a leaf blown on the breeze.
Echoes and whispers inside your head,
set you on the path you were destined to tread.

Head of a wolf, eye of a hawk,
in the forest, the hooded man shall walk.
A man of balance not of gold,
Is it demon or god to whom you are sold ?

So string the bow and take up the sword,
Do my bidding and carry my word.
For you are my son Robin in the Hood.
You are the king of all Sherwood.

Lonely Tree
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

The Lonely Tree

By Scott Bailey © 2016

The lonely tree
Stood atop the blasted hill
Stark
Barren branches snatching
Rays from a mist-shrouded sun

Every now and then
Upon an errant breeze
Flits a weary bird
Resting one more time
On its final flight
Then falls

All around the roots
Dead birds and ash
Giving meager succour
To the lonely tree

One day
From that blood-soaked soil
This tree’s seed will rise
Green will conquer grey
Once more

But too late
For this final witness
Of our fall

Lonely Tree

#ClimateStrike

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

The Night

By Scott Bailey © 2015

The music of the night!
The night of the wolves calling
The calling of the blood
The bloody business of mine
My feasting time

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Following a Hearse

By Scott Bailey © 2015

The traffic slowed
We were all following a hearse
Today
In respectful frustration
I took the time
To look around
At the rivers and fields
That normally
Speed by
We are all following a hearse

Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Ages

By Scott Bailey © 1999

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.

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Dimming Lights

By Scott Bailey © 2015

Lights in grey matter
Never reaching the day
Plans uncommitted
As the chance ebbs away
A refugee wanderer
In dream worlds and clouds
Where sparks can be realised
And escape from the crowds
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Soul

By Scott Bailey © 2015

A soul full
Of tear-stained dreams
As substantial
As vapour
At the mercy
Of whispering winds

A storm approaches

Image from Pixabay
Tip of the Flame
Creative Writing, Poetry, Self Publishing, Writing

The Tip of the Flame

Tip of the Flame
Image from Pixabay

By Scott Bailey © 2015

The glint in the dark
From the deep of the cave
The thirst that draws
The primitive out

Out from the dark
Out from the safe
Into the harsh
Changes of life

Leaping from age to age
The fire that burns inside
Connecting us over time
To the fires that have passed

Every ancestor who held it
Was a winner in their life
Success upon success
And you are the tip of that peak

Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Feather Crown

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.

Andervayne's Dream, Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

An Attempt at Opera!

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.

To see the rest get Andervayne’s Dream and other Poems

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Distant Touch

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Does the earth miss
The hard and distant touch of
The rocks from the stars

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Onshore

By Scott Bailey © 2006

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

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Late

By Scott Bailey © 2017

He should have taken
The holiday he needed
Forever too late

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Exist

By Scott Bailey ⓒ 1999

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.

Image from Pixabay