Fantasy Epic Poetry

Dive into a world of extended storytelling through poetry. “Andervayne’s Dream and Other Poems” offers a lasting literary experience that encourages revisiting and rediscovery.

In these times of quick gratification and short attention spans, I decided to try and buck the trend and present something not only with greater length but also depth.

The poems in this collection were written over a long period and for different purposes. They are varied but they are all long. And they all represent challenges. Each was a challenge to myself, to sustain a quality of writing for a long period and within tight constraints of form while still telling a story. They also represent and challenge to the reader. The challenge to throw off the pressure of everyday life, the pressure to hurry, hurry, hurry to take the time to read something, absorb it over time.

Such effort needs reward, these poems should not be a one-time quick fix. If the reader is going to put that effort in then there should be a payoff, they should be able to continue to get something from it afterwards. Whether that be from contemplation of what they have digested or from revisiting, rereading and seeing things they missed the first time around. So the final challenge to me was to provide this depth of content – not just quantity.

Something not only with greater length but also depth

A painter in my mind

Step into a world where every shade tells a story. ‘The Colour of Dreams’ invites you to explore the universe through the lens of colour and imagination. #Poetry #Dreamscape”

Immerse yourself in a poetic tapestry that weaves together a myriad of emotions and experiences, all connected by the vibrant thread of colour. This collection invites readers to explore the kaleidoscope of thoughts and moments that mirror the endless hues and diversity of our cosmic existence.

Grim Nostalgia

Let the waves of nostalgia and reflection wash over you with ‘The Well of Sunken Dreams.’ These poems offer a haunting exploration of the dreams that never came true. #Poetry #Nostalgia”

Waves of emotion

This collection of poems is a reflection of my thoughts about this and other darker aspects of modern life. In my other collections, I like to balance this side of my ruminations with more optimistic explorations. This did not seem appropriate here. This is my equivalent of a grunge phase.

It also contains largely previously unpublished works that have not appeared anywhere else.

The Well of Sunken Dreams

Daily Poetry

Each day holds a new dream, a new emotion, and a new perspective in “A Spring of Dreams.” Join Scott Andrew Bailey on a poetic journey that spans a year and encapsulates the essence of life’s varied experiences. #PoetryForLife

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.

Andervayne’s Dream and Other Poems – teaser

Take a break from the hustle and bustle of daily life and savour the rich, lingering experience of Scott Andrew Bailey’s long-form poems. These verses are a testament to the power of patience and reflection.

#poetry #epicpoetry

Andervaynes Dream Excerpt

Exquisite

By Scott Bailey 2017

Exquisite black lace
Sheer black nylon
Spicy perfume air
Smooth black hair
Blood red lips
Deep blue eyes
Soft warm skin
Hot pulsing blood
Cool night beckons
Exquisite black lace

Image from Pixabay

Welcome to my dreams

Slip away for a few hours, into other worlds – away from all the troubles of this one.

The Well of Sunken Dreams

Dive into the depths of reflection with this raw and poignant collection. Explore the disillusionment of a generation sold a dream that never materialized. Through unfiltered verses, uncover the truth of modern existence and confront the harsh realities of unfulfilled promises. This is poetry that speaks to the soul, offering solace in shared experiences and a glimpse into the shadows of our collective consciousness.

The Well of Sunken Dreams

The Colour of Dreams

Experience the world through a kaleidoscope of emotions in this vibrant anthology. Journey through verses intricately woven with the hues of life, each colour painting a unique narrative on the canvas of existence. From the depths of sorrow to the heights of joy, explore the myriad shades that define our dreams and aspirations. Embark on this poetic odyssey where words and colours intertwine, inviting you to immerse yourself in the beauty of expression.

The Colour of Dreams

Mankind Limited

Marc trudged on with life, marching in line with his fellow workers. Weighed down by the everyday burdens of life, the pressure to conform, to succeed or face destitution.

Yet he knew, in his heart that it was all wrong, the questions squirmed like fiery dragons in the pit of his heart, beneath his deepest darkest doubts.

Until they grew and burst his sanity, set him on a path of defiance and rebellion. A path that would cross three others – all like him seeking answers.

A path of danger and adventure that would see him marked as a terrorist and fleeing for his life. It would see him find love and heartbreak, hope and despair, Most of all, it would open his eye to the possibility of an ancient and powerful secret that might answer all his doubts and fears.

If he survived.

Thirteen Tales of Ghosts

As the title says – thirteen tales about ghosts. Yet, while ghosts feature in them all – not all are traditional ghost stories.

You will find the vengeful spirit but also the plaintiff one. The haunting message from the past and the playful spirits capturing the joy of their past lives.

Some of these visitors from beyond lead the haunted to peace and joy – others take them on much darker paths to places with no return.

Enjoy them – just don’t get too comfortable.

A Spring of Dreams

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.

Andervayne’s Dream and Other Poems

In these times of quick gratification and short attention spans, I decided to try and buck the trend and present something not only with greater length but also depth.

The poems in this collection were written over a long period and for different purposes. They are varied but they are all long. And they all represent challenges. Each was a challenge to myself, to sustain a quality of writing for a long period and within tight constraints of form while still telling a story. They also represent and challenge the reader. To throw off the pressure of everyday life, the pressure to hurry, hurry, hurry to take the time to read something, absorb it over time.

Such effort needs reward, these poems should not be a one-time quick fix. If the reader is going to put that effort in then there should be a payoff, they should be able to continue to get something from it afterwards. Whether that be from contemplation of what they have digested or from revisiting, rereading and seeing things they missed the first time around. So the final challenge to me was to provide this depth of content – not just quantity.


Andervayne’s Dream and other Poems

Amidst a culture of instant gratification, I sought to defy the norm by offering a collection that values both length and depth. These poems, crafted over time, are not just long but layered with challenges. They push the boundaries of form and storytelling, inviting readers to slow down and savor the experience.

As a writer, my aim was to provide a lasting reward for those willing to invest their time and attention. This collection isn’t a quick fix—it’s an invitation to explore, contemplate, and discover nuances with each revisit. Join me in embracing the challenge of depth over brevity.

The Colour of Dreams

As I sifted through my trove of poetry, intending to curate a selection of fresh, predominantly unpublished pieces, a curious pattern emerged. I realized that colours frequently adorned my titles, and even when absent, the essence of colour permeated many of my verses.

Intrigued by this recurring motif, I made a spontaneous decision: why not compile a second collection? This time, a thematic exploration centred around the vibrant spectrum of colours. Thus, a new project was born—a collection of poems intricately woven together by the common thread of colour.

Within these pages lie a kaleidoscope of musings, a testament to the myriad hues that paint the canvas of our existence. Each poem a brushstroke, capturing fleeting moments and profound emotions, mirroring the boundless diversity of the universe we inhabit.

From the tranquil azure of a summer sky to the fiery blaze of autumnal foliage, from the soft blush of dawn to the velvety darkness of midnight, this collection traverses the entire spectrum of human experience.

So here it is, presented for your contemplation and enjoyment—a celebration of colour in all its splendour, a reflection of the rich tapestry of life itself. Welcome to a world where poetry and colour intertwine, inviting you to immerse yourself in the vibrant symphony of words and hues.

The Colour of Dreams

The Well of Sunken Dreams

As a man navigating the middle-aged realm, I often find myself indulging in quintessentially middle-aged activities. Occasionally, that involves meeting up with a buddy over a couple of pints, delving into the realms of nostalgia.

It’s a scene played out by many like us.

During these sessions, we ponder the past, lamenting its perceived superiority and bemoaning the missed opportunities of today’s youth.

From these conversations emerged a stark realization, one eloquently articulated by Mark Fisher in “Capitalist Realism, Is There No Alternative.” He astutely observes that we belong to a generation sold a dream—a dream that remains unfulfilled. We were promised that hard work and dedication would pave the path to success.

And indeed, we toiled relentlessly for years. Our efforts fueled the success of others, yielding profits and prosperity—but not for us. Instead, we grapple with the harsh realities of everyday life, contending with the relentless rise in living costs, forever haunted by the spectre of homelessness and worse.

The dream was a sham, leaving us disillusioned and powerless.

This collection of poems serves as a reflection of my musings on this disheartening aspect of modern existence. While my previous works often strike a balance between darkness and optimism, such equilibrium feels inappropriate here. Consider this my equivalent of a grunge phase—a raw exploration of disillusionment.

Contained within are predominantly unpublished pieces, offering a glimpse into the depths of my disillusionment that has not been shared elsewhere.

So, crank up those goth tunes and immerse yourself in the abyss of shattered dreams.

The Well of Sunken Dreams

Now Available

Two new collections, varied and contrasting. One is an exploration of modern life and the broken promises of a generation, and the other is life through the lens of a myriad of colours.

The Well of Sunken Dreams

Being a middle-aged man – I do middle-aged man things. Sometimes. One is meeting with my middle-aged friend and getting nostalgic over a pint or two of beer.

Like many others.

We contemplate how things were better, how the youth of today are missing out on what we had.

Out of these conversations came a realisation, one that we found was articulated with frightening clarity by Mark Fisher in “Capitalist Realism, Is There No Alternative”. He makes the observation that we are of a generation that was sold a dream, a dream that did not come true. We were told that if we worked hard, and dedicated ourselves we would do well.

Well, we did, work hard, for many years. Blood sweat and tears make our employees successful, generating profit and success.

But not for us. We still struggle in the day-to-day reality. We fight the rising cost of living and the shadow that we’re a few bad weeks away from homelessness or worse.

The dreams were a lie. And there is nothing left we can do about it.

This collection of poems is a reflection of my thoughts about this and other darker aspects of modern life. In my other collections, I like to balance this side of my ruminations with more optimistic explorations. This did not seem appropriate here. This is my equivalent of a grunge phase.

It also contains largely previously unpublished works that have not appeared anywhere else.

Make no mistake though, this is not just a collection for grumpy old men. This also covers people of all ages and all sexes. It reflects what we all feel. And just as we men should read more works by women and come to understand a different point of view, then also I hope that some women might read this and come to understand us a little bit more.

So, stick on those goth tunes and wallow in the well of broken dreams.

The Colour of Dreams

As I immersed myself in the pages of my poetic endeavours, initially intending to curate a selection of new and mostly unpublished verses, an unexpected revelation unfolded. Leafing through the diverse tapestry of my creations, I discerned a recurrent thread—colours, vibrant and evocative, weaving through titles and themes alike.

Thus emerged the inspiration for a second collection, distinct yet intimately connected. Welcome to a poetic anthology where hues take centre stage, binding verses together with the common thread of colour. This compilation encapsulates a spectrum of thoughts and moments, mirroring the boundless variety and richness of the universe that cradles our existence.

Presented here is a journey through the kaleidoscope of emotions and experiences, inviting readers to witness the interplay of words and colours on this vibrant canvas. Stay tuned for the unveiling of the companion collection, promising another exploration of poetic landscapes beyond the realm of colour.

Trace

By Scott Bailey © 2016

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

Photo by Ron Lach on Pexels.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Tip of the Flame

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

Tip of the Flame
Image from Pixabay

Holding Hands

By Scott Bailey © 2016

Tiny, warm, fragile
Fingers tightly holding mine
Treasured memories

Image from Pixabay

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Buffalo

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Sunset of the plain
Buffalo are running fast
Into leaden death

Photo by tyrese myrie on Pexels.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Eye

By Scott Bailey © 2017

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

Butterfly Wing

Curse

By Scott Bailey © 2017

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

Photo by GEORGE DESIPRIS on Pexels.com

Wonders

By Scott Bailey © 2017

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

Image by Unachicalinda from Pixabay

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

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


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.

On the Cusp

By Scott Bailey © 2017

On the cusp
Of hell and
Something else
Who knows what

Photo by @joagbriel on Pexels.com