Mistress

By Scott Bailey © 2013

She is taken for granted by most
Loved by some, hated by others.
She gives some what they want
others are denied.
Some can’t believe their luck
Others demand too much.

She keeps alive the memory of those long gone.
Brings music from the past
Brings together worlds apart
Or breaks them down
Passes on words of love and hate
Over time and space.

The famous thank her
for everything she brings them
Other view her with jealousy
as she gives what they cannot.
She’ll save or kill her lovers
But she is here to stay.

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Normal

By Scott Bailey © 2013

The news is not normal
We must remember that.
At home with my family, safe on the sofa.
Working nine to five to bring home the bread
Struggling with bill but food on the table
Enjoying friendships and family
Days out, nights in, peace, leisure, entertainment
Warmth, safety, security and food.

Let us remember that this is our normal
that many do not enjoy.
For them the every day, the normal is
hunger, poverty, murder and rape.

The news is not normal
but we are the exception.
What can we do in the face of desolation?

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Red

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Screaming red white and blue,
Soaring in the clouds.
Thundering over the shore.
Red Arrows Roar!

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Change

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Shouting into the hole that is the whole
Nothing back.
Raging against the system that is all
Nothing changed.
Staring at the box with the box.
Nothing gained.
Justifying every move you make
Not explained. 

Time to change.

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Is it Me?

By Scott Bailey © 2103

Flesh and bones and genes.
Is that me?
Shirt and tie and jeans
Is that me?
The places I have been.
Is that me?
The words of praise, the blame that cuts
Is that me?
The songs I loved, the books I have read,
The colours I paint, what I like in my bread.
Are these me? 

The friends I love and miss,
That is me
The taste of beer and chat,
That is me
The love for my wife and sons,
That is me.
The song bursting in my lungs,
That is me
The stories in my head
That is me
The place where I grew up,
where I was wed,
where one son was named, the other laid to rest

That is me

My dreams that are out of reach
That is me.

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OK have a headache now. Can’t think so I am posting this one that has been in development over the last few days. Needs more work I know. And it frivolous. Who can spot the song its a play on?

Same

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Remember this forever
For it will set you free
Listen to you mother on
How it is to be,
If you want success my child
Stay upon the path
Don’t stray into the wild.

Be the same! Be the same.
All the world – loves the same.
Stand up tall, play it straight
And you’ll never end up late.

With mortarboard and diploma
You’ll rate with the great minds
If you become a doctor you’ll win great respect
Be a great composer and get more of it yet
Don’t become a poet that they will all forget
Be the same, be the same, be the same.

Be the same, be the same,
All the world  – loves the same.
Tell it straight, tell it true,
No one will mess with you.

Bend the rules (when you can)
Make more profit for the man
A college education is a must I am sure
To give the frame of reference that you must endure
If you feel lost a job is the cure!
Be the same! Be the same! Be the same

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Another attempt at haiku.

Trench

By Scott Bailey © 2013

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

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OK – so this one is on the same theme as yesterday. In fact this was the one I started with in my head yesterday – but it morphed into number 4.  I wanted to develop it and see if it is better or not then the result I came up with yesterday. And maybe just to look at the same concept in two ways.

Footsteps

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Footsteps on the dusky beach
Holes left by those gone by
Empty.

The tide turns, creeps back in
holes become pools
shining in the sunset

Peering in beyond my reflections
the shining water
teems with life

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Soundbox

By Scott Bailey © 2013

There are empty spaces
left as people move on,
of the spaces of places long gone,
of times gone by

There is a link between present and past
an energy, a potential,
strung between the memories gone
and the living yet to roll on

The link hums with the tension
and the empty spaces echo back the thrum
deep rich reverberation
layered on the past, the present, the future

Such is the music of life.

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