By Scott Bailey © 2016
Tiny, warm, fragile
Fingers tightly holding mine
Treasured memories

Tiny, warm, fragile
Fingers tightly holding mine
Treasured memories
Keep them on the verge
Of being panicked
Keep them unsure
And afraid
Whip them into a frenzy
Then collect the coin they make
Prod them where you need them to go
On the cusp
Of hell and
Something else
Who knows what
Discovered knowledge
Treasured sweeter than any
Teacher could serve up
Dead enthusiasm
Passion for mundane labours
Seems to be required
Relax
It’s just the end of the world
Relax
As the wall tumbles down
Relax they say
It will all work out
In the end
If you down in the dumps
Smile
It’s the positive attitude
That wins the day
Which is just another way
To say
It’s your fault
Relax
It’s just the end of the world
Relax
As the wall tumble down
Relax they say
It will all work out
In the end
Tell that to the man
Asleep in the door
Tell that to the maiden
Dead on the shore
Tell it to the lonely
Tell it to the lost
To the OAP bitten by frost
Relax
It is the end
Brooding skies
For moody times
Thunderous justice
For shady lies
A storm is coming
Be prepared
For the arising
Of the weak and the scared
Are we lucky?
A comfortable generation?
Or is it just
That our chains fit us perfectly?
The cold swallows flee
Riding currents to the south
Rivers take their time
The mystical chord is missing
Congregation of the hearts
Cohesion of resistance
The friction that throws up sparks
Dragons stir on dripping hoards
Squeeze the bloody stones
Build their beds on broken bones
Their hunger ever fed
Lore is twisted into chains
Choking all who dream
Mystic songs have drained away
Silence reigns
Never ending beach
The crashing waves repeating
Permanence missing
Stood before a wall
Dreaming of the road beyond
Still before a wall
You must remember
When waking from reveries
All your dreams vanish
The Romans had it right
With their roads
Our roads wander
And wind
Avoiding stuff
Drawing closer to other stuff
But it’s all just stuff
We get lost
Never arrive
Or if we do
Too late
Too late
(Musette Poem)
Sadness
Never ending
Madness
Will we
Learn to tread light
Greed free
Burning
Dreams leaving us
Yearning
The general’s orders are loud
Over the shattering shells
Through the mustard gas cloud
The general’s orders are loud
For privates timid and proud
We hear the tolling of bells
The general’s orders are loud
Over the shattering shells
And over the top once again
We face the thundering guns
We climb from our miry den
And over the top once again
A million war weary men
All scared but nobody runs
And over the top once again
We face the thundering guns
They stand at the station and wait
For their heroes and lovers’ return
While praying they will not be late
They stand at the station and wait
With their hearts in a fluttering state
For news they are longing to learn
They stand at the station and wait
For their heroes and lovers’ return
The music of the night!
The night of the wolves calling
The calling of the blood
The bloody business of mine
My feasting time
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
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
Flying
Soaring
Roasting
Roaring
Majestic wings spread like thunder clouds
The dragon has come home to his realm
Red
Silk sliding
Tantalising thighs
Undulating
Velvet
Whispering wiles
X
Yearning
Zipped zones
Kerching! Kerchang! Pow!
Our economy picks up!
Soul still desolate.
Old light from the past
Is still illumination
Wisdom echoes far
The things that we hoard
Entrance us and enslave us
A lifetime of toil
To sit on an empty throne
Why not take the easy road
A word is a ripple
Spreading through the world
With slow, subtle effects.
Imagine then what a few more, well placed, can do.
Find out.
By Scott Andrew Bailey
Fleeing from killers
The child runs desperately
To fill out a form
Forest
Verdant, alive
Roots reaching out and down
Branches stretching up to the sky
Spellbound
#Cinquain
Celebratory
The warming rays of the sun
Making the waves dance
#haiku
A little more give
And a lot less just taking
More uplifting hands
If we just stop competing
Ivory towers will fall
Hobbit
Brave Brandybuck
Bringing sense to his friends
Finding honour in Rohan’s ranks
Small knight
#cinquain
Passion
Wanes while years pass
Becomes something finer
Matured, refined, rich with wisdom
Mellowed
Do not be fooled by its calmness
Maturity and depth
Do not weaken
Passion
#Cinquain #Butterfly-Cinquain
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
The dark wide iris
Sparkling bright now, mists over
As it watches time
Wood cracks with a flash
Sparks dance in the air, falling
Down to cooling ash
A warm summer breeze
Teases scent across the plains
Tight the wolf pack runs
Renowned Harvey Milk
His life anything but smooth
His legacy shines
365 poems of different forms and moods. A poem a day for a year.
Read in a Spring of Dreams now.
The day follows night
Repeating the witching hour
Except, the mayfly
#haiku
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
In an unremarkable flat
Next to a noisy tapas bar
Is where, perhaps, Hawkins might die
Folded in his chair
It will not be remembered
Unlike his remarkable mind
Such are the vagaries of life and death
Both ridiculous and sublime
Read more in A Spring of Dreams
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
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
Another one lost
Too short, too precious, and gone
Little heart flown high