For Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo prompt Another old one- it’s been a very long day but when I saw the picture I gain knew I had a perfect poem to go with it.
Wide, water wash
Grey beneath the early morning mist
Chance sunbeams bounce and sparkle
River banks lost and blurred
Returning to their ancient ways
Unbound from man’s constraint
A gentle reminder of the eventual winner
Water wandering where it will
Free and unordered
Rolling seeping or swelling to the sea
Grasses, shrubs and tree swimming
Mirrored in their sudden still lakes
Expanding
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
My wife’s precious heart Is in need of attention The surgeon awaits
Well, these two prompt words could not be more apt! My wife is facing major heart surgery this weekend! Consequently, I may be a little quiet here for a while.
Made of crystal
So clear
It can hardly be seen
The breadth of seven men
The height of the clouds
The top unseen
Inside
Sparking and crackling
Impossible
Bright and pure
It is filled with
Starfire
For miles around
The land knows no dark
Ever
The question might be asked
Why it was built
Were there anyone around
To ask it
Sparrow, sparrow in my way. Briefly tell your tale today. Tell me if my love is dead. Do I waste the tears I shed?
Briefly now I’ll tell my tale. Pray your courage does not fail. You do not waste the tears you shed. Alas I say, your love is dead.
A sharp, cold sword did spill her blood. She tried to stem an angry flood. But peace that day she could not win. So fearful war will begin.
Thank you bird for being true. Nothing’s left for me to do. To take up arms and pursue strife. Slay the spoilers of my life.
I bid you sir, think awhile. Turn from this dark path so vile. Listen to my humble song. Step not where your lover’s gone.
Just a simple bird am I But far above this land I fly. And see its beauty spread below. See ahead, where you might go.
Lay down your sword with forgiving heart. Do not tear your land apart. Still your rage and vengeance cease. Follow rather a path of peace.
Humble bird I hear your song. But my love is dead and gone. So I raise my sword today. And will make those killers pay.
The enemies that broke my heart. And now have torn the land apart. Upon their heads is all this blood. For I must release the flood.
Then sir, I shall shed a tear. For the future I do not fear. Yet for now I swiftly go. To make way for the crow.
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.
“Great concept to write a poem a day for a year and provides an insight into copying with difficult family circumstances – a recommended read for anyone who has struggled in such situations. Some poems were obviously more personal than others (my favourites were those when the writer cherishes the ‘small moments’ in life such as going to a fireworks display with his wife and son) but he also branches out into more political territory. Look out for the funny poems scattered through-out the book too, one in particular made me laugh out loud! A good read and Scott Bailey shows talent as a poet. Recommended.”
Another blue birthday
Like his eyes
Two years as if yesterday
The memories of watching
Blue fading to darkness
Unlike his eyes
My memories will never fade
Tarns tributaries tumble down
heather cloaked hills
red-brown tufts twitching in the wind
Cold water, cold air, eagle riding the high winds
Wolves range over moors
Sheep shiver, shepherds huddle
Fire crackles, broth steams
Tarns tributaries tumble down
heather cloaked hills
I am the hunter
The bringer down of prey
The destroyer
The shadow
The bringer of fear.
I am the master of war
The hoarder of riches
The steel lord
The holder of lightning
I am strength and glory
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
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.
Do not lightly discard them
with tales of the foolish bold.
They sat for weeks, for months, for years
in trenches freezing cold.
Sometimes feet simply mouldered
in the sucking mud.
And now and then they’d rise and run
and spill their loyal blood.
Do not belittle the suffering
of soldiers now long dead.
With nothing but talk and songs and bombs
bursting in their head.
Bound together with chains of love
shattered by leaden death.
They ended as they had begun
with cries upon their breath.
Do not lightly remember them
with only paper flowers.
they faced the fear, the pain, the cold,
for hours and hours and hours.
They ran together and fell alone
upon those foreign fields.
Protecting those they loved
those frightened human shields.
Do not read these words and think
that these things are passed.
Do not think you will not hear
that deep and dreadful blast.
Do not sit in decadence
and take for granted peace.
You owe a debt to those who died
and that debt will never cease.
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.
Scott Andrew Bailey - Author 