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
Drained
free form poetry
Tournament
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
The Wild is Calling
By Scott Bailey © 2018
The wild is calling
Feel the breeze
The scent of trees
The hunt!
Feel the ground
Rise and fall
Feel heart pound
Heed the call
But tomorrow
I will sit again
At my desk
And fear
Mistakes and failure
Do my best
Do the right thing
And the wild will still call
Until
I answer
Midnight
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
Deter
By Scott Bailey © 2018
Deterrents
Silently waiting
Mighty weapons
Hushed death
Deterring
But who will deter
The stupidity
That made them
Necessary
Deep Red
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
Farewell
By Scott Bailey © 2006
I sit upon my bed alone.
Thinking thoughts of you.
My heart sinks slowly like a stone.
In a pool so blue.
The pain grows greater every day.
Need I make that cut?
Alas, it is the only way.
All other doors are shut.
So take the knife and cut me deep.
I know it must done.
Though this pain will make me weep.
Relief will soon be won.
So now at last I say goodbye.
I need you now no more.
You must believe me, I did try.
My efforts though, were poor.
We could no longer stay as one.
So you were cut away.
It was the only thing to be done.
To take the pain away.
Farewell, my dear appendix.
A Deep Green Canopy
By Scott Bailey © 2015
A deep green canopy
Back-dropped by a swathe of gold
Corn
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
Eden
Made of commitments and constraints
Burdens and dependencies
So it dwindles
In my rear window
A deep green canopy
In mist
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
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.
Conquered
By Scott Bailey © 2015
Shining silver line
Whirling axes high on the hill
The pride and strength
Of the Saxon’s lands
They had hammered back the sea
Eaten up the road
Crossed the kingdom wide
With deeds of valour bold
Unbeaten and unbowed
How could they know
This would be the day
The kingdom was brought low
Little Stone Church
By Scott Bailey © 2015
Little stone church
Nestled on a hill
Overlooking the sea
Watching over the harbour still
The boats nestled cheek to cheek
And those tossed on the waves
The bell rings out a guiding peal
Above the moss stained graves
And every sailor on the deck
Mouths a silent prayer
The church windows watch their pleas
With a cold and empty stare
The settlement around the church
Huddles to the old stone walls
Strong but cold strange comfort their
As the tolling calls
Older still the hill
Watches the fleeting boats
The flighty homes and towers
Their occupants dust motes
More enduring still
The constant shifting waves
Will eat the hill, huts the boats
Even the very graves
Little Corner
By Scott Bailey © 2015
A little corner
A little corner
That is my world
Shrunk in space
My only place
A desk, a keyboard,
a screen
A little corner
Of a room
A little corner
of time
Stolen time
from life’s demands
Time to dream
The keys on the keyboard
are keys
Out of this corner
this cage
Into a wider
free form world
and free dreams
Through the portal
of my mind
The little corner
has no end
It opens up
and expands
forever without end
The Tree of the Dead
By Scott Bailey © 2015
Stark black against cold grey skies
Black lightning frozen in time
Towering and immense
Spread over the world
The tree of the dead
On the termination of every branch
Every twig
Hang the skulls
Uncountable, unimaginable
They observe
From their cold black sockets
With their chilling grins
They watch
And judge
The tableau
Of life
Seas
By Scott Bailey © 2015
Ideas
Dreams
Decisions
Goals
All swept away
In the rolling seas
Of other’s
Perceived
Realities
Cold
By Scott Bailey © 2015
Winter is coming
Snow sweeps down from the cold north
Followed by the dead
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
Perhaps
For the West
Class
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
Whisky and a West Wing
By Scott Bailey © 2016
All around me
The walls of my life
Are tumbling down
In slow mo
I am watching
In slow mo
Wondering if
I will survive
Console myself with a
Whisky and a West Wing
Here it comes
The bluster and lies
Sugar coated
Mustard
Wonder which
Turning was wrong
All those choices
Drawing me downward
Further and Further
Darkness beyond
Wonder if
There in an exit
Will it end
If I am still
Silent and still
What use is will
When it is still
Kids
By Scott Bailey © 2021
What am I? A stat? A pawn in political games? The means to fast gains? Am I to be educated? Or protected? Am I a spreader? A killer of the old? Vulnerable? Nobody has asked me. About my heart. My lungs! My emotion! My whole life, Is in the hands of the greedy and corrupt.
2020 Vision
By Scott Bailey © 2020
We saw clearly
In the year 2020
Saw what was important
And who was not
Saw who lied
Saw who cared
Greed and corruption
Laid bare
For all to see
What will we do
With our 2020 vision?
Our Mark
Ugly the scar
We leave upon this earth
As we puncture
And drill, and frack and crack
A long, searing scar
If this is what marks
The passage of our lives
What then will mark
Our passing?
Spring in my Step
By Scott Bailey © 2015
Rusty
Is the spring in my step
Lost its purpose
Lacking oil
And energy
Waiting
Coiled
Will it bounce again?
One can hope
Cold Hard Hate
By Scott Bailey © 2014
Cold hearted calls
Behind cold stone walls
Directed at a late great clown
Filled with such hate
And vitriol great
Delivered with thunderous frown
But they do not see
That we are free
From what they term belief
But hatred and fear
Will never come near
To dimming the laughter and grief
So go back to your knave
To the submission you crave
Kneel with the weight of your hate
Lower your head
Grovel with dread
But you will never ever create
The Voice
By Scott Bailey © 2014
There’s a voice I know
From way down deep
Fuelled by wars
That never sleep
It’s warm but still will be
Ever lonely
It sings of thoughts
And curses old
Soothes the weak
And beats the bold
Finds us in our weeping
And our fury
It moves our walls
And wayward paths
Offends our truths
With staggered hearts
Weaves its way into our
Very grieving
I wonder now
At all the cost
And when at last
No wars are lost
Will the voice still find its way
Towards us
Or will it fall
In silence then
The broken harp
The dried up pen
Or will we hear the whispered
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Feel
By Scott Bailey © 2018
When was the last time
You really felt
The weave of a really
Good fabric
Wool or tweed?
Or the tickling temptation
Of lace
Over smooth, warm skin.
Or shivered in the dark
Back against the rough
Hard bark of a trunk?
The screen steals our eyes
And the other senses
Wither
Districts
By Scott Bailey © 2018
These areas
Our neighbourhoods
Will become districts
Classified by wealth
Worth
Class
And faceless systems
Will place us
Where they see fit
Economists
By Scott Bailey © 2018
Priests
Determining the will
Of their god
Deciding
Which lives will be sacrificed
To keep it from failing
And flailing its limbs in a frenzy
That will crash and smash
The mighty of the land
So the weak are thrown
To its lack of mercy
To spend their blood
At the will of the priests
Known as
Economists
Slime
By Scott Bailey © 2018
From the slime, we came
To the slime
We seem to defer
Black and White
By Scott Bailey © 2014
A black and white film
About black and white issues
With grey morals on display
In our multicoloured 3D world
What has really changed
Injustice still looks the same
The News
By Scott Bailey © 2013
What’s behind the story
What is the reason for that news
Who gets the benefit, the prize
The envelope with the bread
The law successfully passed
The company tracked greased
Somebody’s life made easier
At the cost of somebody else
Cable Ties
By Scott Bailey © 2013
Cables tie us
Hold us tight
To one spot
Even invisible ones
Chains
Keeping us busy
Keeping us attentive
Keeping us productive
and consuming
So when they are cut
We are lost
Unable to produce
As we once did
#DailyPrompt, #amwriting, #postaday
The World in a Book
By Scott Bailey © 2013
The world in a book
For my son
To show him the places
Across the seas
That he dreams of.
The colours,
The creatures,
The cultures and the clashes.
The world in a book in his hands
As one day
The world will be in his hands.
Undermine
By Scott Bailey © 2018
Background contempt
Background fear
Background doubt
Background shame
It’s there
Undetected
Subtle
In the everyday babble
Insidious
Designed
To keep us down
So
Find the right song
To drown it out
And live
A better
Life
Revision
By Scott Bailey © 2013
Swirling in the mists of history
Mystic figures whirl
Dark silhouettes of dangerous men
Stride along with pride.
A flash of a sword, the chord of a song
the clash of a shield, the beat of a drum.
The roar of a fire in a welcome hearth.
The hearty sound of the comrades’ laugh.
The scent of a feast, the warmth of the soup.
The strength of the beams over the hall
The smoke rising up into the straw
All of this and still there’s more.
A cold wind blows, the mist rolls back,
To show the cold hard facts.
In response to my daily prompt Archive
#DailyPrompt, #amwriting, #postaday
A Holiday for the Mind
Modern life is frantic – filled with demands and crammed with stress.
We forget to tend to the mind – the part of us that has to deal with it all – balance all the spinning plates.
What if we could take a holiday each day – just a short one – a few minutes, half an hour – whatever it takes. Everyday.
Well, there’s a way.
Read a poem, absorb it – explore it, let it take you somewhere else. Think about other thoughts for a while.
And I have some – 365 in fact – one for each day for a whole year.
A Spring of Dreams
Check it out – give it a go and give your mind some R&R
Short and Sweet
Index
By Scott Bailey © 2018
The beginning
And the end
Where we start
Into the web
Where we end
A story
Present Ideas
If you are stuck for ideas – here are a few. They are original and different – plus being ebooks they have the advantage of not being hindered by delivery issues 🙂
Mankind Limited
Marc trudged on with life, marching in line with his fellow workers. Weighed down by the everyday burdens of life, the pressure to conform, to succeed or face destitution.
Yet he knew, in his heart that it was all wrong, the questions squirmed like fiery dragons in the pit of his heart, beneath his deepest darkest doubts.
Until they grew and burst his sanity, set him on a path of defiance and rebellion. A path that would cross three others – all like him seeking answers.
A path of danger and adventure that would see him marked as a terrorist and fleeing for his life. It would see him find love and heartbreak, hope and despair, Most of all, it would open his eye to the possibility of an ancient and powerful secret that might answer all his doubts and fears.
If he survived.
Thirteen Tales
As the title says – thirteen tales about ghosts. Yet, while ghosts feature in them all – not all are traditional ghost stories.
You will find the vengeful spirit but also the plaintiff one. The haunting message from the past and the playful spirits capturing the joy of their past lives.
Some of these visitors from beyond lead the haunted to peace and joy – others take them on much darker paths to places with no return.
Enjoy them – just don’t get too comfortable.
A Spring of Dreams
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.
Andervayne’s Dream
In these times of quick gratification and short attention spans, I decided to try and buck the trend and present something not only with greater length but also depth.
The poems in this collection were written over a long period and for different purposes. They are varied but they are all long. And they all represent challenges. Each was a challenge to myself, to sustain a quality of writing for a long period and within tight constraints of form while still telling a story. They also represent and challenge to the reader. The challenge to throw off the pressure of everyday life, the pressure to hurry, hurry, hurry to take the time to read something, absorb it over time.
Such effort needs reward, these poems should not be a one-time quick fix. If the reader is going to put that effort in then there should be a payoff, they should be able to continue to get something from it afterwards. Whether that be from contemplation of what they have digested or from revisiting, rereading and seeing things they missed the first time around. So the final challenge to me was to provide this depth of content – not just quantity.
The Colour of Dreams
I was perusing my poetry collection with the intention of putting together a collection of new, largely unpublished poems. This collection is not that. As I was going through all my poems I noticed that I have a tendency to use colours in the titles, and even when I do not the poem is often rooted in the idea of colour.
So, I decided to do a second collection while I was at it. A collection of poems bound together by the theme of colour. A spectrum of thoughts and moments reflecting the infinite colour and variety of the universe in which we dwell.
This collection is presented here.
The Well of Sunken Dreams
Being a middle-aged aged man – I do middle-aged man things. Sometimes. One is meeting with my middle-aged friend and getting nostalgic over a pint or two of beer.
Like many others.
We contemplate how things were better, how the youth of today are missing out on what he had.
Out of these conversations came a realisation, one that we found was articulated with frightening clarity by Mark Fisher in “Capitalist Realism, Is there No Alternative”. He makes the observation that we are of a generation that was sold a dream, a dream that did not come true. We were told that if we worked hard, and dedicated ourselves we would do well.
Well we did, work hard, for many years. Blood sweat and tears making our employees successful, generating profit and success.
But not for us. We still struggle in the day to day reality. We fight the rising cost of living and the shadow that were a few bad weeks away from homelessness or worse.
The dreams was a lie. And there is nothing left we can do about it.
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.
So, stick on those goth tunes and wallow in the well of sunken dreams.
Sit
By Scott Bailey © 2018
Sit
And write
In response
To the prompt
Sit
If only
I could find the time
To just sit
And think
And write
Instead of fighting
Life
The Lyrics that Pluck at You
By Scott Bailey © 2014
I enjoy revisiting old favourites. Especially music. Bands, songs, albums that have lain dormant for ages – years sometimes. Neglected and forgotten about. Legends!
For the car recently I created a new playlist – a bit more mellow that normal. Instead of picking songs I just added all the songs I have from four different artists. These were Clannad, Enya, Pink Floyd and Leonard Cohen.
As I listened there was a song that I have probably heard many many times before Leonard Cohen’s The Window. It passed me by, in the background – I liked it but didn’t really notice. This time it was different. This time it was one of those occasions when suddenly – for inexplicable reasons the lyric reached out and plucked at me, played me, struck me as beautiful, strange and haunting – just how they are sung. They were.
Oh chosen love, Oh frozen love
Oh tangle of matter and ghost
Oh darling of angels, demons and saints
And the whole broken-hearted host
Gentle this soul
I wonder why. I wonder what it is that made me hear those lyrics properly for the first time after I don’t know how many times before.
One of the mysteries and wonders of really good music.
Strength in Difference
By Scott Bailey © 2013
Handicap
A word defunct
As we remember
Difference
Is strength
Not
Inferiority
Ring of Justice (Kyrielle)
By Scott Bailey © 2013
In golden age where steel was king
Rich voices of great bards there ring
The rising pride of knights there swells
Around the ring where justice dwells
Behind the throne where power lies
The dark intent deep in his eyes
The ancient druid gathers spells
Around the ring where justice dwells
The jealous son holds his dark ire
Until it rises to a fire
Bells of doom ring their deathly knells
Around the ring where justice dwells
And so the cracks came from within
Mens’ convictions so very thin
Shattered by those doom laden bells
Around the ring where justice dwells
Shadows
By Scott Bailey © 2013
Our voices are simply the shadows
Cast by our dreams and our thought
If the shadows become ineffectual
Then our voices will end up as naught
Yet shadows can give us the outline
Of what is looming above
If we take note of the darkness
We can give those dreams a shove
One thing we must yet remember
To give those shadows a shape
Sunlight is needed behind it
From brightness, the dreams will escape
Burton (A Clerihew)
By Scott Bailey © 2013
Sir Richard Francis Burton
For who life was so certain
He was a master of disguise
Caught Mecca by surprise
Modern Times
By Scott Bailey © 2013
Primary colours or simple fruit
Clickety click click and point.
Open the way to a blind deluge
Illuminate the mind
Bright blinding highway – superfast.
On a never-ending roll
Swallow it all until we drown
Where is the straw of truth?
Green Board
By Scott Bailey © 2013
Turn upon turn upon turn upon turn
Green upon green upon green upon green
Tracks and tracks and shining silver
Decision-making machine
Can it take the pressures
Of expectations on board
Will I
Uncaring Mirth
By Scott Bailey © 2013
Laughter echoes
In rarefied halls
Between clinks from glasses
Raised in champagne toasts
While expensive soles
Walk heavy
On broken dreams and despair
The Cracked Vase
By Scott Bailey © 2013
The vessel is cracked
Still holds the sacred blooms
Still revered
Though the blooms are without root
Rootless. Dying.
Still revered.
Water though refreshed,
Still stagnates
Dead blooms replaced
With freshly cut.
Repetition
Builds a patina of respect
Authority
Habit.
The vessel is cracked
Empty of life
Yet forever filled
and revered.
Scott Andrew Bailey - Author 