Creative Writing, Poetry, Work, Writing

Trace

By Scott Bailey © 2016

Water traces curves
Of showered, moist skin, fingers
Follow down to play

Photo by Ron Lach on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Poetry, Work, Writing

Buff

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Buff is a box
An almost fraternity
They try to squeeze you in
At any cost.

Some of us
Obviously won’t fit
So are discarded
Straight away

We are the ones
To watch
We are the ones
That bring the change

We are the ones
To fear

Photo by Mister Mister on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Poetry, Work, Writing

Detonations

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Magical detonations
Stars dying
Dust flying
Seeding us
Not all explosions
Bring death

Photo by Damir Mijailovic on Pexels.com

Creative Writing, Haiku, Poetry, Writing

Memories

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Sunlight pleases him
Teases him with memories
Blotting out real life

Photo by Mathias P.R. Reding on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Let It All Out

By Scott Bailey © 2017

This is is age
Of SHOUT first
Ask questions later
Of passion
Without pause
On consequences
With no apparent cause
Denial
Blame
Anger

Just think

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Bruised

By Scott Bailey © 2013

 

He would never see his son again.

Unless…

Unless he went made it through today. Found the strength from somewhere. Put aside his pain.

The trauma his son had suffered had not been at his hands. Logically there was no responsibility for it on his shoulders.

Logic was a weak fence against raw emotion. Emotion that told him that he had failed as a father, that the protection he was supposed to give had been lacking, just that once.

Nobody agreed with him.

That made no difference.

So, he would not compound failure with failure. This was his last chance. He would take it.

He had tried all other avenues. Therapy, prayer, medication. Nothing worked, Yet what it had done was show him the way. It had made clear the path he needed to tread.

So he took a deep breath and rose from his seat. He nodded to the doctor signalling his readiness. The doctor frowned but kept his piece. He opened the door and let him enter his son’s room.

The room was sparse, clinical. His son lay curled on top of the bedsheets, motionless. Awake but unresponsive. He did not look up or acknowledge his father’s entrance.

There was a small bedside table to the left of the bed on which sat a plastic beaker of water. The bed was positioned by the window. Sunlight tried to make an impression on the coldness of the room but failed. The only other furniture was a white chest of drawers and some empty white bookshelves.

Then there were the books.

The books, many many books, that should have rested on the shelves or strewn on the floor. An impressive collection for one so young.

They hung impossibly in the air.

He sighed. He knew what came next. It had all become familiar to him. This time though he did not avoid it. He did not flinch or try to defend himself. This time he smiled at his son.

The books flew at him. As if thrown by immense strength and anger. The hard spines whacked into his flesh like dull nails. Again and again and again. Raining pain upon his body. The books that hit him fell to the ground limply, twitched like dying flies, then were suddenly whisked up and flung again.

There was no let-up.

He could feel his body being pummelled into a bloody bruised mess. But he took it. Stood calmly, raised his arms towards his son and kept smiling. Gave all he had left to him – gave him his unconditional love. Took the punishment not meant for him.

The books whirled faster as the rage grew. Like a tornado of leather and card, they descended on him, pounded him. The pain passed over what was bearable to no longer being processable – so he no longer felt it. He knew he would not last much longer – if this continued his body would fail him. Darkness crept inwards along the edges of his eyes. He kept smiling, locked his legs and stood, arms out.

The whirl became a darkness that was trying to beat his flesh from his bones. He felt like the bones themselves were splintering beneath.

Then it stopped.

Suddenly all the books fell to the floor. Sunlight sprang into the room as if a lock had burst.

His son looked up and held out his arms for his father.

Photo by Kindel Media on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Poetry, Work, Writing

Catapults and Boiled Sweets

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Catapults and boiled sweets
Sailing boats and jam jars
Watching tadpoles
Playing in the woods
Hunting newts
Swings and roundabouts
Wistful thinking
For the days
That never were

Photo by Ylanite Koppens on Pexels.com
Tip of the Flame
Creative Writing, Poetry, Self Publishing, Writing

The Tip of the Flame

Tip of the Flame
Image from Pixabay

By Scott Bailey © 2015

The glint in the dark
From the deep of the cave
The thirst that draws
The primitive out

Out from the dark
Out from the safe
Into the harsh
Changes of life

Leaping from age to age
The fire that burns inside
Connecting us over time
To the fires that have passed

Every ancestor who held it
Was a winner in their life
Success upon success
And you are the tip of that peak

Creative Writing, Family, Haiku, Poetry, Writing

Holding Hands

By Scott Bailey © 2016

Tiny, warm, fragile
Fingers tightly holding mine
Treasured memories

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Adrift

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Adrift
Lost
Floating
Free
No goals
No direction
No chains
Just reflection
Sparkling stars
Burning sun
Gentle waves
Life undone
Free
Floating
Lost
Adrift

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Poetry, Work, Writing

Sailing, Unfettered

By Scott Bailey © 2017

I am a ship
Crowded into the harbour wall
Anchored sound
And safe
But I can see the sea
Beyond the gap
Calling
Lulling
The storms come
The harbour shields
But still, I am tossed
And battered by
Uncaring waves
The chain is strained
The anchor holds
For now
So many storms I have seen
How many more
Before the chain breaks
Setting me free
Lost at sea
Sailing unfettered
Unmoored

Photo by Scott Bailey
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Work, Writing

Always Descending

By Scott Bailey © 2017

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

Photo by Anjeliica on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Work, Writing

Qualm

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Calm your qualms
It’s all change
It’s all good
Still
The trembling
Still

Photo by Gugulethu Ndlalani on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Poetry, Self Publishing, Writing

Collaboration

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Collaboration
Is knocked out of us
Systematically
In the school system
Filling us up instead
With competition
And greed
Perfecting us
As the ideal consumers
The perfect wheels in the
Machine
Those who hold the levers
Know
Collaboration
Could bring them down

Photo by Dio Hasbi Saniskoro on Pexels.com

If you liked this poem check out my novel – the theme of this poem is the central theme of the book – see below.

Mankind Limited

Trapped. In a world where everything is measured and control pervades every area of life, four people begin to break down. Instead, they break through the walls of deceit and propaganda and into a world of revolution.

Each, in their way, vow to overthrow the established order. They embark on a journey against the forces arraigned against them, forces of state and self-doubt.

Ultimately their paths converge on a dangerous road and the discovery of an ancient secret.

On one level this is a story about how different people react to the ever-growing and relentless pressure of everyday oppression. It explores their journeys as they are broken and rebuilt and investigates their modes and motivations for rebelling.

At another level, it is a critique on the darker side of capitalism and free markets and how that has driven us further and further away from the evolutionary advantage that gave us supremacy in the first place. It questions whether the human race has doomed itself or whether we still have the capacity to wrench ourselves from the track we have so tightly committed our society upon.

Read an excerpt here.

Available as

Kindle

or hardback

from Amazon

Creative Writing, Haiku, Poetry, Writing

Karma

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Let not victory
Excite you too much, karma
Has her eye on you

Photo by Eva Elijas on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Poetry, Self Publishing, Writing

Official Hospitality

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Government Guide to Hospitality
We welcome you with open arms
If you can afford it
If not, go to hell

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Lab Rats

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Lab rats
In a maze
Looking for
The exit
The Prize
The BIG CHEESE
Suppressing
Suspicion
Sure knowledge
The maze is it
The maze is all

Photo by Tanner Johnson on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Pink

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Pink
A delicate shade
Of colour
Hijacked
By toy makers and marketers
To smash young minds
Into shape
And conformity
Give it back
To salmon
And cold autumn evenings
To flushed skin
And lips
And artists
And leather bound books
And bank notes
And fresh ink
Pink

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Glory Days

By Scott Bailey © 2013

So the soldier walks alone
beneath the
starry night
He has no aim but distance
from the bloody fight
But the war it still pursues him
snapping at his heels
He slips into the forest deep
beyond those broken hills

O glory days
Those glory days
They’ve shattered
and they fade
They only left a rumour
A shadow
where they laid

So the sword is silenced
with a deep and lasting chill
In his heart, ​the war goes on
the beating never still
Behind the hallowed orders
that laid so many low
Is revealed the empty truth
the sickest, cruellest blow

O glory days
Those glory days
They’re gone
they never were
So the soldier walks away
from guilt
that he defers

Image from Pixabay
Lonely Tree
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

The Lonely Tree

By Scott Bailey © 2016

The lonely tree
Stood atop the blasted hill
Stark
Barren branches snatching
Rays from a mist-shrouded sun

Every now and then
Upon an errant breeze
Flits a weary bird
Resting one more time
On its final flight
Then falls

All around the roots
Dead birds and ash
Giving meager succour
To the lonely tree

One day
From that blood-soaked soil
This tree’s seed will rise
Green will conquer grey
Once more

But too late
For this final witness
Of our fall

Lonely Tree

#ClimateStrike

Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Sonnet for our Times

By Scott Bailey © 2013

So it seems to me that beyond the news
Beyond the web of the media spin
There are places still where the only views
Are battlegrounds full of unearthly din

I see the most pious places burning
Where the holy words still hold high accord
Where simple souls for peace are still yearning
The peace that those holy words won’t afford

Yet here where reason and science abound
We live comfy lives secure in our ways
No bombs rain down on our manicured ground
There is no revolt, no passion ablaze

There’s something wrong with this picture I see
Is it really this way, can you tell me?

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing

Buffalo

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Sunset of the plain
Buffalo are running fast
Into leaden death

Photo by tyrese myrie on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Candles

By Scott Bailey © 2013

One lumen
The light of a candle
It can be seen they say
For many miles
Candles burn tonight
One for each lost angel
Light that will been seen over many years
Still bright in our minds
A million candles
A fiery sun of bittersweet memories
The burning potential
Of lives that never were

Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

The Pool

By Scott Bailey © 2013

They trickle in
The protesters, the bitter, the dispossessed, the poor
They swirl in slow currents
Exchanging thoughts, views, ideas.
An oasis for the outcasts

The Man sits by the pool
And fishes
Taking what he needs
Watching the rest

The pool holds no threat

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Bubbles Bursting

By Scott Bailey © 2014

All around me
Lies
The ruins of young
Dreams
Away from me hope
Flies
Bursting at the
Seams
So where to go
Now
The truth has been
Exposed
When you don’t know
How
To let go what you
Supposed
Find a new path to
Walk
Step up to the
Task
Start the do and stop the
Talk
Start the make and stop the
Ask
Man up and face the
Truth
You’ve faced worse and
Survived
You’re longer in the tooth
Time to come
Alive

Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Owners Guide to Cattle

By Scott Bailey © 2017

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

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

None

By Scott Bailey © 2017

None can understand me
Our inner teen cries
And so the world hurls
And churns
On and on and on

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Haiku, Poetry, Writing

Concert

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Speaker throbs with bass
Notes leap higher and higher
Feedback thrills the crowd

Photo by Wendy Wei on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

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

Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

General, Poem a Day Challenge, Poetry, Writing

Boxy

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Worn out, knackered, done
A brimful of boxy fun
In old Legoland

Image from Pixabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

Creative Writing, Poetry, Self Publishing, Writing

Deep Roots

By Scott Bailey © 2017

The roots of the trees are deep
In the deep of the old old forest
Digging in the dirt, drinking in the earth
Long are the memories
The past seeping slowly from
Root to trunk to branch to leaf
Contemplating
Ripped up.
Houses built.

Image by Filipes from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Poetry, Self Publishing, Writing

Grey

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Gunmetal grey
Blood-red letters
Professional presentation
Businesslike
Guns and Blood and Business
Bedfellows for eternity

Image by Pexels from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Latecomer

By Scott Bailey © 2017

The latecomer arrives
The straggler
Moving slowly and surely
Youth spent
Only to find
Everyone else departed
Leaving him
With only their mistakes

Photo by Rene Asmussen on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Haiku, Poetry, Writing

The Eye

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Behold the great eye
Watching through the trees, maybe
Just a butterfly

Butterfly Wing
Creative Writing, Haiku, Poetry, Writing

Curse

By Scott Bailey © 2017

The tiger curses
Beautiful, perfect pelt
The hunter’s desire

Photo by GEORGE DESIPRIS on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Haiku, Poetry, Writing

Wonders

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Starlings swooping down
As they spy the big city
Wonders await them

Image by Unachicalinda from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Blind (Etheree)

By Scott Bailey © 2013

We
are blind
to the truth
Everyday
Suffering goes on
And we deny it all
Unable to find a way
Through the maze of our modern lives
To a place where we can be ourselves
And hold out that hand that helps our neighbour

Instead we clench our hand in a tight fist
Holding tight onto what we have gained
Not seeing what we are losing
What slips away from our grasp
Diminishing our souls
Focused on our goals
With such passion
That we are
simply
Blind

Image from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Haiku, Poem a Day Challenge, Poetry, Self Publishing, Writing

A Spring of Dreams – Trench

recite-2dr0uy

Trench

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Dancing with my wife,
last week the telegraph came:
Coughs ring round the trench.

Available as

Kindle

or hardback

from Amazon

Creative Writing, Poetry, Self Publishing, Writing

On the Cusp

By Scott Bailey © 2017

On the cusp
Of hell and
Something else
Who knows what

Photo by @joagbriel on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Poetry, Self Publishing, Writing

Prudence

By Scott Bailey © 2016

Prudence
Saves me
From rash acts
And decisions
Damn prudence
I need to fly!

Image by Public Co from Pixabay
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, General, Poetry, Writing

The Siege of the Stupid

By Scott Bailey © 2017

We have handed over our passport
Battered down the hatches
In a siege of our own designing
Some feeling smug justification
Others wondering if they should have done more
All responsible
All of us
Remember this
Huddled behind our walls
When the hunger strikes

Photo by Anthony Beck on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, General, Poetry, Writing

Fortune

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Fortune favours the bold
Risk equals success
People stop seeing risk
And hand over their cash
Their time
Their labour
Their lives
The minority shine
The majority are mesmerised
While they fall

Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, General, Poetry, Writing

Territory

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Territory shrinks
As the walls rise again
And the drawbridge is raised
The world is smaller

The worst of times
From long ago
Are opium
Entertainment
Sleight of mind

Meanwhile
Terry the Tory
Sniggers behind
Fake pride
And cheap beer

Protest
Is the latest sport
Avarice
The virtue of power

Photo by Aaditya Arora on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, General, Poetry, Writing

The Elixir

By Scott Bailey © 2017

The Elixir
Swept through the void
Hunting
Stars glinting off the
Silver skin
The peak of human invention
Empty and silent

Photo by SpaceX on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Haiku, Poetry, Writing

Seasons

By Scott Bailey © 2017

I’m fresh out of spring
Beyond the long summer days
Winter is coming

Photo by Jessica Lewis Creative on Pexels.com
Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Blue Eyes

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Blue eyes turned purple
Deep purple and very still
Watching all my life

Image from PIxabay

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Purple Eye

By Scott Bailey © 2014

From the purple eye of death
The last exhaled breath
Comes an aweful doom
And darkness starts to loom

It dims the roads once bright
Quenches golden light
Sends tremors through the land
Like my trembling hand

Trembling on the key
That sets the danger free
Releasing purging fire
Born from grief and ire

Fear will bring the dark
And there is no lighted ark
So hide your fears away
Until the final day

Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Purple Star

By Scott Bailey © 2013

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.

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Daily Prompt, Poetry, Scotts Daily Prompt, Writing

Sweet 16

In response to Scott’s Daily Prompt, Sweet 16

When I was just sixteen
I wanted to change the world
Bring peace, fix all the problems
By twenty one I knew that was not to be
Instead, I would leave a legacy
Something by which the future would remember me
By thirty, the world was down and dirty
I was fighting for my place
By forty I was planning for those to come
By fifty I was fearing the legacy we were leaving
Now
I only crave peace
Photo by Jan Kopu0159iva on Pexels.com