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
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
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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.
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
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
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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.
Check it out – give it a go and give your mind some R&R
The beginning
And the end
Where we start
Into the web
Where we end
A story
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 🙂
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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
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.
Handicap
A word defunct
As we remember
Difference
Is strength
Not
Inferiority
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
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
Sir Richard Francis Burton
For who life was so certain
He was a master of disguise
Caught Mecca by surprise
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?
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
Laughter echoes
In rarefied halls
Between clinks from glasses
Raised in champagne toasts
While expensive soles
Walk heavy
On broken dreams and despair
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.
Bug me, drug me
You’ll never touch my mind
Not that you want to
Afraid of what you’ll find
Afraid of the secrets
of someone in the know
Afraid of the exposure
of your elaborate show
So go on with your programme
Sticking to the script
Until the day you are aware
You’re playing in a crypt
The new can’t replace the should have been
The should have been haunts us forever
Though the new will be a healer
And receive all our love just the same.
It’s pointless being angry at fate
But that doesn’t stop the burn
The frisson on top of everyday stress
For the should have been we always yearn.
The new will have its own should have been.
So maybe we will understand.
And make a happier life will be.
At least that is the plan.
Dear Mr Hulk
I too am green
A different green
Not anger
Jealously
I wonder
Which is stronger
The angrier you get
The stronger you get
The more jealous I get
Of you
For you
Can rage and rage
And smash
While I can only seethe
Consequence binds me tight
So remember
When you condemn
Your weaker half
With contempt
It is harder
Much harder
To be human
Than Hulk
Astonished
By the lacking
The stupidity
The greed
More astonishing still
Are we
And our
Compliance
Shall we march?
Shall we shout?
Or kneel
And take it
As always
A turn our eyes away
To bright distractions
In response to my daily prompt March
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In this mess
It must cross our minds
When Parliament fails us
There is a
Precedent
To remove them
In response to my daily prompt Precedent
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The redistribution of wealth from the masses to the very rich minority continues apace. The groundwork has been laid.
First, we were seduced with the idea of quick riches – that we could join that elite. Invest in stock and shares – and be a part of our club they said – while they sold off our services.
Be free of your landlord – they said – own your own home – they say – while they sold off social housing.
Invest in your future – save for a rainy day – build your pension pot they said – while they took that money for their own ends.
With the rise of the subscription services model – we no longer own anything. Gone are record collections and family libraries – to be replaced with an intangible library
And now – the pressures start. Our kids start their adult lives saddled with debt from just educating themselves. We, their parents are so under pressure from austerity that we cannot support them. Remortgage after remortgage – after all nothing is as safe as houses.
But when the time comes and we look for our pensions – they are not there! They have underperformed or have just been stolen – gone into the black hole of bankrupt companies.
And then – surprise, surprise – there are suddenly all these companies that can help – with equity release or webuyanyhouse.com quick sale promises. All that property – that once belonged to us all – that we dreamed of passing down to our children is being hoovered up. They will end up in the hands of a very few large property magnates.
And we will be back in a feudal society once more. When everything is owned by a few – power will be theirs.
In response to my daily prompt Estate
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Respect is
Expected
Everywhere you go
Respect my rights
My views
My thoughts
We have forgotten
Respect
Should be earned
Not expected
Mutual
And reciprocated
In response to my daily prompt Respect
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Same, same, same
Same job
Same problems
Same pressure
I am wood
Not stone
In response to my daily prompt Pressure
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Insurance
Remember
we have none
On the earth
In response to my daily prompt Insurance
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From the symbol of peace
Comes a stealthy killer
Seductive and insidious
Giving all
It appears
But taking all
Even tears
In response to my daily prompt Heroin
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Little pieces
Torn from our hearts
Rearranged memories
Making pictures
To last through time
Until the days
When they are no longer
Remembered
Just seen
As a mystery
From the past
In response to my daily prompt Mosaic
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An ice warning sign
A dark winding country road
Still, they whizz on by
In response to my daily prompt Warning
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Global warming
You might think
It will bring us tropical summers
It won’t
It will freeze us
Before it burns us
In response to my daily prompt Tropical
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Is it coincidence
That those that urged us to leave
Have left
In response to my daily prompt Coincidence
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The carrot
Is getting bigger
Nearer
More tantalising
Imagine the stick to follow
In response to my daily prompt Carrot
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Eleven fifty
Nine and almost out of time
Yet still ploughing on
In response to my daily prompt Late
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Who’s in partnership with who?
Are those that fight really enemies?
Is it all a show?
Distracting us from the truth
While they steal from us
Freedom, wealth and everything
In response to my daily prompt Partnership
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Ruthlessness
Meanness
These are the traits
The media feeds us
Tells us we need
To succeed
Thus preparing us
For exploitation
In response to my daily prompt Trait
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Small
But in control
Determined
Light touch
On throbbing power
Riders
In response to my daily prompt Trainer
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Running
So fast we run
Stay ahead of the game
This is the story we are sold
Suckers
In response to my daily prompt Resolution
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Featured snippets
Knowledge panes
Keyword magic
Am I insane?
Chasing figures
Spun in the air
Where do I begin?
Where do I begin?
In response to my daily prompt Feature
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This mini-series of poems were written as part of a year-long daily poem challenge and published in my collection A Spring of Dreams. They are in a form called Pleiades (read about it here).
I chose to write seven of them one for each of the original Pleiades – the stars once called the seven sisters, and base the poems around the mythological characters.
Another spirit lost
Awash in the swell and foam
Anguished over lost love
Anger dealt him the blow
Arising from the sea
Alighting on the air
A bright bird arises
A nymph darts between trees
Afraid of the hunter
Always close behind her
Away she flees in haste
Another danger lurks
At her feet as she runs
A butterfly is born
Caressed by the wide sea
Corals catch the new child
Carry her to the shore
Colliding with bright fate
Climbing into the sky
Coronal light shines out
Cascading to the sea
Ever shining bright spark
Equalizing her rage
Encompassing justice
Ever seeking revenge
Endless pain unanswered
Echoing from murder
Electra takes her aim
Mother of he who brought
Music up to the Gods
Malice turned to justice
Magic cascading from
Mother of the world storm
Mighty God of the earth
Must meet a mortal end.
Marriage was forbidden
Mortal husband taken
Masked in a veil of shame
Must watch her husband’s pain
Most faint in the heavens
Marred by following love
Misty those lives above
The hunter is hunted
Twisting between the trees
Turned into doe from nymph
Trailed by her lover’s bow
Tumbling through the forest
Two golden horns that shine
To rise into the skies
In response to my daily prompt Cluster
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Ban
The things
We don’t like
Or understand
Don’t agree?
Are you sure?
I mean look at it.
Intimidating
Scary
Dangerous
Just take a look
At what’s happening
The rapes, the murders
Think of the children
That’s it!
You know it makes sense
Join with us
Ratify it!
Stamp it!
Make it official
Make it law!
Good!
What’s next?
Blue eye!
I hate them.
Let’s kill all the blue-eyed
Bastards
In response to my daily prompt Ban
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In neutral gear
Idling
Sitting on the fence
Not taking sides
Until pushed
Off
In response to my daily prompt Neutral
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Berry
Suet
Logs
Have become
Something
To get
Excited about
In my life
How did that happen
In response to my daily prompt Berry
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Good
Good enough
Goodnight
In response to my daily prompt Good
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Grimace
And bear it
It’s got to be
More honest
Than an empty
Grin
In response to my daily prompt Grimace
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So the soldier walks alone
The origin
Of the species
Is
Competition
Survival of the fittest
The strongest
The smartest
The origin
Of our success
Is cooperation
Working together
Against a goal
If
For a few measly coins
We forget the latter
And embrace the former
The species
Will find
Its end
In response to my daily prompt Origin
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Declaration
Protestation
Exclamation
Consternation
No explanation
No realisation
Just expectation
This small nation
Done
In response to my daily prompt Declaration
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Lace
Disparate resonances
Delicate dowagers, making doilies
And fine trim for prim and proper ladies
And
Lacy underwear
Designed to be divested
In fast passion
And
Purity
White and bright
Smiling bride
Lead to the groom
Leading to the room
And back to the
Lacy underwear
In response to my daily prompt Lace
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Scott Andrew Bailey - Author 
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