In Sickness and Hope
By Scott Bailey © 2013
Tiredness saps me
Nausea weakens my soul
Hope is a hand up
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Tiredness saps me
Nausea weakens my soul
Hope is a hand up
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Is society
Tension on the webs between
Elites and masses
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As a race
We should step up
To eliminate the gap
Between the haves and the have-nots
Between the singers with their bling and the slaves on the line
Between the bankers with their blank cheques and the children in poverty
For most of history most men women and children
Lived in misery, died hungry.
We are a disgrace
As a race
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Back from the shore
Into my arms.
After an explore
In a world of charms
A world full of wonder
Mystery and fun
Of beaches and crabs
And space to run
Breathing salty air
Hearing laughter ring
Dancing without a care
Of what tomorrow may bring
So dance some more my son
Enjoy the sun and sea
When the day is done
Run back home to me
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The bearer of news is coming
The bearer of mystery
Will the news be good
Or scary
The bearer of news is coming
Anticipation is strong
Slowly our dreams are condensing
So long, so long, so long.
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Sir Richard Francis Burton
For who life was so certain
He was a master of disguise
Caught Mecca by surprise
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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?
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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
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Sad, sad news today – just a short one.
Another one lost
Too short, too precious, and gone
Little heart flown high
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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.
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Stereotypical headlines
Reactions just the same
Ample opportunity
To apportion blame
Night time is for thinking
Sorting truth from lies
But in the sunshine morn
Dreams just fly
So it goes
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Autumn golden brown
covers the hard icy ground
a leafy carpet
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Bird sings by the pool
in the spring in a soft cool breeze
her voice a sweet sound
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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
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Slowly the shadows pass
As memories retreat and fade
Passing beyond the glass
Like springtime budding grass
New joys together are made
Slowly the shadows pass
This pain we will surpass
And sunbeams will cascade
Passing beyond the glass
Though sometimes the shattered glass
Will cut us like a blade
Slowly the shadows pass
New light will surely trespass
On the lawn that we have made
Passing beyond the glass
Those memories we can’t bypass
But their colour has finally greyed
Slowly the shadows pass
Passing beyond the glass
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Time and time again
So it is out with the new
In with the older
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Where the crashing sea
Meets the shifting cracking ice
Hunters hunker down
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More than a year’s passed
Memory is still red raw
Watching blue eyes fade
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Brushed by death today
Twice.
Metal boxes speeding
Too fast, too near me
Driven on by the wrong thoughts
Or expensive wanderings
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Starlight is silent
Waves crash and roar on the shore
Then there is matter
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Sometimes the news leaves you despairing of humanity.
The news chills today
The child killers found guilty
Will justice suffice?
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So this is the one I am thinking of entering into a competition the theme being “The Book”

A conduit, a bridge or a gateway.
It goes under many old names.
Open it with wonder and reverence,
For the spell will then be underway.
The weakest of hands can undo it
The portal of magical ways
Connecting one mind to another
With a delicate ethereal wave.
Some portals are heavy and dusty
Some dance with electrical sparks
But they all do the same, all show the way
For strange dreams from heart to heart.
There were even once living gateways
Who opened the way with a look
Always there’s one right beside us
The conduit, the gateway, the book.
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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 it’s own should have been.
So maybe we will understand.
And make a happier will be.
At least that is the plan.
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Nothing, nothing, blank.
Beneath winter’s hard black ice.
Water flows freely.
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Two trees
Old as memory
Some leaves fallen
A root cut off.
Two trees
Explored
Examined
Noted down.
Two tree drawn together
Forever entwined.
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You people don’t understand.
It’s tradition.
It’s sport.
It’s in our genes.
Blood.
Jobs are created
By the sport we choose.
By the blood we shed.
Surely that’s enough.
Of course
The same can’t be said
For you
And your cock fights.
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The man in the tree
The plank
The turned leg
The joint
The dust and the shavings.
The tree in the man
The setting down of deep roots
The reaching for the skies
The drinking deep of the earth
The steadfastness and the wielding.
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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.
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Green fingers
Rip open the rusty shell
Slow tendrils with irresistible grasp.
Dealt with by a blade or a chemical wash
They will be back.
In time victory will be theirs.
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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.
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Shining argent in sunlight or silver sheen in the rain
Letter, rings, lions.
Phoenix or tiny names
Even flying angels and leaping fluid cats.
Bright, alluring but for many
The last thing they will see.
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I am almost there.
At the point of completion
Forever it seems.
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Motes of dust
So we have been described
Floating in the vastness of time and space
Small, inconsequential.
Dust motes made of dust from ancient dead stars.
Yet.
So far.
Amongst all we see,
the starfields of diamond dust,
the ancient piercing light,
the glowing, magical, wispy nebulae,
the rainbow rings of Saturn,
the storms of Jupiter,
the blinding light of supernova,
the singular dark of black hole,
world after world
galaxy after galaxy.
Nowhere have we found
yet
Anything that compares
to the complexity, the wonder, the intricacy,
the magic
of
the thoughts of you and I
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Slowly shifting canopy
Layer on layer soft light green
Waving like courtesan fans.
Sun winking through.
Seedlings drifting down sunbeams
Dappled brown leafy ground.
Scent of earth.
Rough feel of bark.
Through this I run!
And the forest’s essence
enters my senses
vitalises my blood!
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OK. So this is a quick attempt at concrete poetry – i.e. the shape is important. Seeing as WordPress does all kinds of things with formatting and there is an effect in the original – I am posting it as a picture.
The words are below for search reasons
Slice of Life
By Scott Bailey © 2013

Wake up. Can’t see. Sleepy eyes. Breakfast with my wife and son.
Driving. Dropping off family. Driving to factory. Roadworks, roadworks, roadworks
fixing a computer, picking up stock, driving, roadworks, driving and more driving.
Work. Unloading. Testing stock, adding stock. Mortgage questions paperwork.
Adoption paperwork missing! New firmware! Flawed. New firmware again.
Testing testing testing. Decoding and more testing. Problems headache, stress.
Driving home, roadworks, idiots, danger. Dinner and playtime, fighting with son over bedtime, housework, paperwork.
Poetry. Facebook. Paperwork, Bed time. Togetherness and rest.
Internet is down. Have spent last three hours trying to sort it. Brain is frazzled. Eyes are barely functional. So, writing this on my phone. It’s one of my old ones.
A quavering wave
of light in the summer clouds
as the sun goes down.
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Screams, shouts, whispers, words
Uttered, none heeded at all.
Lost like leaves that fall.

Noble, graceful, caged
So like us yet so far apart
Our bars are our own.
As it’s Rachel’s Birthday today – and I am spending what little time we manage to get after battling with an unruly four-year old this evening with her, this is another oldie.
What lies within that deep dark world?
That immensity of green threat
Where lies the leviathan of doom
In that swelling encompassing brine
Where plankton swirl through tentacles
That writhe and sway and curl and wave
And small fish dart discreet?
The leviathan’s milky domain!
Filled with cries of beasts the creature eats
Where crescendos rise and pull the heart with sighs.
The leviathan shifts with a thrashing fit
A rumble excites the waves.
And gulls drop and chop their prey and hop
from surf to spray to cloud to rock.
The whole sea moves with a great heart’s beat
Where will its great thoughts lead?
Will it be content to nibble and gnaw
Or rise with a tumultuous roar?
A great green wall with weight of stone
While here, nearby, and all alone
I
Stand
On the sand
Unsure
Our heart leads onwards to our dreams
Our mind towards our goals
While we wend the road between
That cuts our very soles.
Today we thanked the man
Who tightened up the chains
That ties us to our solid home
For someone else’s gains
If only our hearts and minds agreed
The road could be wide and straight
Let’s hope we find the map we need
Before it is too late
A very old one as we have a ton of work to do tonight. I have done some work on it though. I’ll try and do a longer one soon to make up for these odd “cheats”
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.
Long shadows
Cast their thoughts behind us
Dim our once bright footsteps
An unclean window screen
But flashes from sudden mirrors
Slash though the shadows forms
Glimpses of dreams that past us
Keeping them alive
Though shadows keep on growing
We head towards the sun
In shade our dreams may swim
But they will follow until we’re done
Silence is Golden
Because it’s so very rare
Grab it while you can
Balloons rising high
Bear kisses into the sky
Up to the lost ones
Just got in today! With another new form A Minute Poem – or in this case a last-minute poem.
Bright flakes of light in dappled leaves
that float on down
where saplings grow
and settle low
And earthy scents rise in the air
As underfoot
leaves crunch and fold
red-brown and gold
The rusty fence that holds it in
it holds us too
back from that time
when we roamed free
Stars
Magic
Fathers dance
Under dark trees
Dream
Now inspired by the site I discovered yesterday going to try some different forms. This is a Katauta.
Silky dress caress
Swishing – lighting my desire
For your loving touch
Today I was made aware of the poetic form of the Senryu and what distinguishes it from a Haiku. I was not aware of this and so my past attempts were probably hybrids in many cases.
If you are interested in the difference there is a good page here explaining it.
I was made aware of it by these posts.
and
Over at the blog of Bastet and Sekhmet
So here is my first attempt – which is yesterday’s poem distilled into this form.
Fleeing from killers
The child runs desperately
To fill out a form.
Rapists come and go
like bills
grit your teeth
bear it
pay
Carry a dagger
close
no guarantee
a talisman
a cross
Hide in the woods
crunching leaves
above
beneath them
a thousand bones
Click, click
Bang, bang
You make it a film!
a song.
a hero’s theme
Click, click
Bang, bang
My mother didn’t pay
didn’t bear her cross
didn’t carry her cross
now lays beneath hers
My best suit
stained by the passing
the violent end
of my daughter
in my arms
Now you tell me
in your yellow coat
shining stripe
proud nation
Go back whence you came!