Nostalgia

Grim Nostalgia

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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”

Waves of emotion

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It also contains largely previously unpublished works that have not appeared anywhere else.

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The Well of Sunken Dreams

Where the Red Fox Roams

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Where the Red Fox Roams

By Scott Bailey © 2014

Image from Pixabay

The timid beasties scatter
With tiny racing hearts
The scent of blood approaches
The herd all ways it parts
For here
The red fox roams

The scent of fear it rises
And fans the fox’s fire
Into enslaving passion
To raise the killer higher
Thus
The red fox roams

Filled with hate and ire of
Where the white wolves dance
The dance the fox desires
Denied its golden chance
Everywhere
The red fox roams

The world has grown accustomed
To fear of tooth and claw
The world has grown so weary
Of lives lived short and raw
Still
The red fox roams

The timid beasties scatter
Will never make a stand
They’ll not accept the secret
To gain the upper hand
So proud
The red fox roams

No one knows the course
Where the fox’s road is heading
All they see is darkness
The cast of all the spreading
Death
Where the red fox roams

Where the Grey Wolves Grieve

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By Scott Bailey © 2014

Image from Pixabay

On a barren plain
Where food and joy are sparse
The desolate packs wander
Watching slow time pass
Here
The grey wolves grieve

With rose stained eyes
Patrolling their border wide
Preserving what is left
Of what they hold inside
It’s why
The grey wolves grieve

They gaze across the delta
To far off distant times
Where game and ease were plenty
Than in these austere climes
And so
The grey wolves grieve

Disgusted by the carnage
Where the red fox roams
On guard for rebel spirits
Keeping safe their homes
Where
The grey wolves grieve

Yet what they seek in earnest
Deep within their hearts
They know is far beyond them
Beyond their stilted arts
Endless
The grey wolves grieve

The packs struggle onwards
Huddled in their gloom
Their hearts so full of anguish
For hope there is no room
In this land
Where the grey wolves grieve

A Spring of Dreams – Distant Clattering

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Distant Clattering

By Scott Bailey © 2014

A white wedge
Spotted in the corner
Of a run-down shop
Off the track
Joyful memories swell
And from the past
I hear the clattering
Of a metal bowl
Filling with a quarter pound
Of sherbet lemons

IMG_2054
Photo by Scott Bailey

 

A_Spring_of_Dreams_Cover_for_KindleAvailable as

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www.scottandrewbailey.uk

The Silliness

Scott Andrew Bailey1 Comment

Did get time to do blogging101 today – but have already done it really.

So in lieu – here’s an old poem of mine.

The Silliness

By Scott Bailey © 2014

We were the wise ones.
Wandering in from all over the world.
High on the haze of laughter and drink.
Occasional lovers, always just friends.
And game after game we polished our views.

Where did it go?
That time of the silliness, the time of the laughs.
Was it all crushed by the weight on our hearts?
Of life, of the world that we woke to and joined.

#blogging101

Poem a day challenge #363 (Distant Clattering)

Scott Andrew Bailey1 Comment

Distant Clattering

By Scott Bailey © 2014

A white wedge
Spotted in the corner
Of a run-down shop
Off the track
Joyful memories swell
And from the past
I hear the clattering
Of a metal bowl
Filling with a quarter pound
Of sherbet lemons

IMG_2054
Photo by Scott Bailey

Get the previous ones here

http://wp.me/P3kG6h-bb  and get my début novel Mankind Limited

Poem a day challenge #250 (Old Silver)

Scott Andrew Bailey1 Comment

Old Silver

By Scott Bailey © 2014

The purr of the projector
Warm popcorn scent
Dust motes dancing in the light
Deep, dusty heavy red drapes
Mumbles and fumbles in the shadows
Hand brushing hand by chance
Close, sweet breath and perfume
The excitement of the old silver screen

Get the previous ones here

http://wp.me/P3kG6h-bb  and get my début novel Mankind Limited