Explore the beauty of words in their various forms. “A Spring of Dreams” is a poetic treasure trove, offering a glimpse into the author’s moods and emotions over a year. Dive into the world of haiku, sonnets, and more.
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.
Step into a world where every shade tells a story. ‘The Colour of Dreams’ invites you to explore the universe through the lens of colour and imagination. #Poetry #Dreamscape”
Immerse yourself in a poetic tapestry that weaves together a myriad of emotions and experiences, all connected by the vibrant thread of colour. This collection invites readers to explore the kaleidoscope of thoughts and moments that mirror the endless hues and diversity of our cosmic existence.
Set the mood with goth tunes and immerse yourself in ‘The Well of Sunken Dreams.’ This collection is a haunting exploration of shattered dreams and lost hopes. #Poetry #Gothic”
Dive into the depths of reflection with this raw and poignant collection. Explore the disillusionment of a generation sold a dream that never materialized. Through unfiltered verses, uncover the truth of modern existence and confront the harsh realities of unfulfilled promises. This is poetry that speaks to the soul, offering solace in shared experiences and a glimpse into the shadows of our collective consciousness.
“A Spring of Dreams” is a poetic odyssey that offers solace and inspiration. Explore 365 poems that will make you laugh, cry, and reflect. Get your copy now and let the power of words and emotions embrace your life.
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.
Step into a world where every shade tells a story. ‘The Colour of Dreams’ invites you to explore the universe through the lens of colour and imagination. #Poetry #Dreamscape”
Immerse yourself in a poetic tapestry that weaves together a myriad of emotions and experiences, all connected by the vibrant thread of colour. This collection invites readers to explore the kaleidoscope of thoughts and moments that mirror the endless hues and diversity of our cosmic existence.
Let the waves of nostalgia and reflection wash over you with ‘The Well of Sunken Dreams.’ These poems offer a haunting exploration of the dreams that never came true. #Poetry #Nostalgia”
This collection of poems is a reflection of my thoughts about this and other darker aspects of modern life. In my other collections, I like to balance this side of my ruminations with more optimistic explorations. This did not seem appropriate here. This is my equivalent of a grunge phase.
It also contains largely previously unpublished works that have not appeared anywhere else.
Each day holds a new dream, a new emotion, and a new perspective in “A Spring of Dreams.” Join Scott Andrew Bailey on a poetic journey that spans a year and encapsulates the essence of life’s varied experiences. #PoetryForLife
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.
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
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.
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
Adrift Lost Floating Free No goals No direction No chains Just reflection Sparkling stars Burning sun Gentle waves Life undone Free Floating Lost Adrift
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
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
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
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.
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
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
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?
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
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
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.
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.
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.
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
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
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
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
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
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.
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.
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.
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Scott Andrew Bailey - Author 