The mystical chord is missing
Congregation of the hearts
Cohesion of resistance
The friction that throws up sparks
Dragons stir on dripping hoards
Squeeze the bloody stones
Build their beds on broken bones
Their hunger ever fed
Lore is twisted into chains
Choking all who dream
Mystic songs have drained away
Silence reigns
Here I abide
Amidst the craters
Of too much cultural shelling
Here there resides
Residual echoes
Of now silent voices
Stranger music silenced
The pale lord voiceless too
Many last departures
Many miss the few
Clinging to the final notes
As lovers do
In dark and empty craters
Bubbles shadiness and greed
A fecund vile concoction
Upon which the beast will feed
Need is the successor
Here where I abide
Never ending beach
The crashing waves repeating
Permanence missing
Swifts swoop and dazzle
Aerobatics in the sky
Still, we watch in awe
Stood before a wall
Dreaming of the road beyond
Still before a wall
You must remember
When waking from reveries
All your dreams vanish
Let’s play with our pets
Keep them happy and content
While we milk them dry
The Romans had it right
With their roads
Our roads wander
And wind
Avoiding stuff
Drawing closer to other stuff
But it’s all just stuff
We get lost
Never arrive
Or if we do
Too late
Too late
Chains are other people
Cages social mores
Throw them to the floor
Bend bars
Soar
(Musette Poem)
Sadness
Never ending
Madness
Will we
Learn to tread light
Greed free
Burning
Dreams leaving us
Yearning
Seafarer wandering over the waves
Fine hair glistening with rime
Roaming and riding forgetful tides
Living away from life
But living
True
A man
Wandering
Along forgotten paths
Following the ancient ways
Expanding his mind in ancient ways
Speaking to the earth and the animal guides
Silent ghosts that leave his heart silent and unanswered
Leather like tanned skin, wrinkled with experience of a life lived hard and loved harder, dedicated
waning in strength
and
yet filled with
fire and
sand
Seafarer
Where are you now
It sits right down
Sits all the way down
Then flies above the clouds
Soars high above the clouds
And I
I can’t get there
Can’t weave that
Magic weave
The harmony of the heart
The harmony of dreams and thought
With the making in the world
The making of the day
I crave
Crave that path
Sweet blue path
Of blues bars
I am Herne the Hunter, Lord of the Trees,
and you are a leaf blown on the breeze.
Echoes and whispers inside your head,
set you on the path you were destined to tread.
Head of a wolf, eye of a hawk,
in the forest, the hooded man shall walk.
A man of balance not of gold,
Is it demon or god to whom you are sold ?
So string the bow and take up the sword,
Do my bidding and carry my word.
For you are my son Robin in the Hood.
You are the king of all Sherwood.
Golden sunlight fills
The air where the songbirds spill
Their song while frost kills
The general’s orders are loud
Over the shattering shells
Through the mustard gas cloud
The general’s orders are loud
For privates timid and proud
We hear the tolling of bells
The general’s orders are loud
Over the shattering shells
And over the top once again
We face the thundering guns
We climb from our miry den
And over the top once again
A million war weary men
All scared but nobody runs
And over the top once again
We face the thundering guns
They stand at the station and wait
For their heroes and lovers’ return
While praying they will not be late
They stand at the station and wait
With their hearts in a fluttering state
For news they are longing to learn
They stand at the station and wait
For their heroes and lovers’ return
The music of the night!
The night of the wolves calling
The calling of the blood
The bloody business of mine
My feasting time
In a crumbling house, we gathered,
sat around the ancient fire.
Logs burnt slow in the hearth,
warmed our expectant hearts.
Firelight flickered in the darkening eve,
We gathered around the elders.
sat in large and comfy chairs.
Red light upon our faces.
We heard of times gone by,
and smelt the burning wood.
The shadows held safe the past,
we gathered them in our hearts.
We looked back upon times gone,
held hands and were content.
Drinking from the cup of seers,
our fears eased, to sleep we went.
Upon the train, I sat,
late for work again.
Another day another dollar,
Tomorrow the same again.
But that’s the base on which I build,
The foundation for my fun.
Work hard, get paid.
Play fast, get laid.
Tomorrow is another day.
So head down, concentrate.
Don’t stop, can’t be late.
Avoid, the crunch.
Let’s do brunch.
Work hard, make a dime!
Night time, spend a dime.
Money opens up the door.
More, more, more, more!
Future goals.
Way ahead.
Sights set far.
Future goals.
Sacrifice.
For future goals.
Save.
Energy.
Spend nothing now.
For future goals.
Look ahead.
Way ahead.
Suffer now.
For future goals.
Work.
Don’t play.
Rest later.
Not today.
Save it all.
For future goals.
For future goals.
Sell your souls.
Don’t look back.
Only ahead.
Don’t think today.
Think ahead.
See the prize.
Of future goals.
Don’t listen to,
the bell that tolls.
For future goals.
Lights in grey matter
Never reaching the day
Plans uncommitted
As the chance ebbs away
A refugee wanderer
In dream worlds and clouds
Where sparks can be realised
And escape from the crowds
A soul full
Of tear-stained dreams
As substantial
As vapour
At the mercy
Of whispering winds
A storm approaches
Flying
Soaring
Roasting
Roaring
Majestic wings spread like thunder clouds
The dragon has come home to his realm
Perhaps into the future – a near-future – dark and disturbing and yet – so close. There, follow the fates of four people worn down and broken, angry with the system. Who break out of it, try to break it. Who question why they did and falter in their resolve only to be thrown back into the fray. Who discover the truth within themselves. A tale that questions rebellion and its motivations while railing at the oppression around us.
Or if not the future – then other worlds – supernatural ones – that impinge onto ours from – where? Some other dimension? The afterlife? Our own minds?
Where ever they come from – try these Thirteen Tales of the ghostly variety.
Or forget them all and take a moment each day – to read a little poetry and think. 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 and much more
Or take in something longer, deeper and more considered. Buck the trend for quick gratification and enjoy something epic.
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 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.
Unlike the other poems in this collection, this is not a tale. Instead, it is a stream of consciousness. I let my thoughts flow wherever they wanted to go, however, it uses a very strict form, so I had to channel those thoughts within the gullies created by the structures.
This was originally supposed to be the libretto for an opera. I wrote the words but it turned out it was too word heavy. The project was never completed so I dusted it off, edited and turned it into an epic poem.
There is no real structure here beyond rhyming and making it ‘songlike” but there is an allegorical tale to be wheedled out.
This is a much older poem and much more lighthearted. It has a strange format which is simply the structure of each twinned verse. It does not go beyond that. It is a flight of fantasy, magic without bounds, just letting my imagination run wild for the fun of it.
Yes, if you fancy a bit more luxury, you can now get all four of my books in hardcover format!
For quick links to them all jump over to my Amazon Page.
Or read on.
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.
In a world obsessed with measurement and success four rebels question everything – including themselves.
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.
Something not only with greater length but also depth
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.
Ideal for sitting around a campfire and late at night under the covers. Or maybe not if the stories themselves are any guide.
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.
The result of a year-long challenge to write a poem a day for a year. Raw and accessible poems of many moods.
This is a much older poem and much more lighthearted. It has a strange format which is simply the structure of each twinned verse. It does not go beyond that. It is a flight of fantasy, magic without bounds, just letting my imagination run wild for the fun of it.
This is the longest and by far the most complex of the works here. The main bulk of the poem follows a very strict format (the Prologue and Epilogue are purposefully outside this format and there is meaning in that too). Part of that format informs the inclusion of much of the symbolism within and the allegory of the tale. The challenge here was to create a story within all these constraints.
This is something different. I was digging around my old files and found a full libretto I wrote for an opera that never got off the ground. A good friend of mine actually wrote a lot of the music to go with it but in the end, it was too ambitious for us.
We ended up writing a shorter one – adapted from a short story of mine. That was less ambitious in that it was written for a string quartet and two singers. It was finished but never got performed. These days we could get it out on YouTube but back then even the internet didn’t exist!
I have been playing with the idea of publishing a set of longer poems and thought I might include this as one of them. But not sure – it’s more like a script than a poem.
So I thought I would put a taster here and see what people think.
So – here’s the first part.
Upon a mountaintop, in a cleft between its twin peaks lies a lake. In the centre of this lake is an island. At the centre of the island are the ruins of an ancient temple. A roof held up by pillars but no walls. In this ruin stand five figures on the points of a pentagram, silently facing inwards to a conspicuously empty space in the centre.
It is the dead of night. They begin to chant.
SKY– From the shadows of the valley deep,
To the starlit white of highland peaks,
On a night when the silvery sphere is bright,
We gather here to proclaim our rite.
CERISE– With purpose dread of high renown,
Calling all the powers down.
Power sets our passions free,
So ancient spells we here decree.
LINCOLN– Secrets held within our flesh,
Combine to weave a mystic mesh.
Long guarded secrets we do share.
Long lost charms we do declare.
SAGE– From our cities and our homes we come,
To do here now what must be done.
To ease the path we have to tread,
To speak the words that many dread.
RAVEN– To finally tear down walls of fear,
The path of victory is what we hear.
So we can defend the weak,
Spells, enchantments, rites we speak.
SKY– We conjure a spirit to defend our land.
CERISE– We conjure a spirit with a golden hand.
LINCOLN– We conjure a spirit who shall not tire.
SAGE– We conjure a spirit with a burning fire.
RAVEN– We conjure a spirit who shall not fall.
ALL– We conjure a spirit to serve us all!
SKY– With the breath of hope.
CERISE– With the echo of a sigh.
LINCOLN– With the light of the flesh.
SAGE– With the warmth of the sky.
RAVEN– With the scent of a sword.
ALL– With the shape of our word.
Pause
SKY– All our power we put forth in thee. To bring you here to set us free.
CERISE– All our wealth shall touch your hand. To bring you here to save this land.
LINCOLN– All our health dispels death’s throes. To bring you here to destroy our foes.
SAGE– All our dreams will be your goals. To bring you here to ease our souls.
RAVEN– All our strength shall steel your arm. To bring you here to ward off harm.
ALL– Come!
The light dims as a cloud descends and obscures vision. When it is clear again the five are still in their positions but lying in the centre is the Golden Man lying deathly still with his hands crossed upon his chest.
To see the rest get Andervayne’s Dream and other Poems
Does the earth miss
The hard and distant touch of
The rocks from the stars
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
He should have taken
The holiday he needed
Forever too late
If I
Cease to exist
Will my
heart and soul dissolve in the air?
If I
Breathe my last breath
Will my
Golden thoughts shine anywhere?
If I
unbind from this earth
And
Sail the sun
right out to the stars.
Will I
Find my way back?
Or
Roam forever that celestial park?
If I
Cease to exist
Will my
Precious dreams chase after my soul?
If I
breathe my last breath
Will my
Endless hopes continue to roll?
If I
Fly up from the earth
And
Spiral up to the bright dancing stars
Will I
Find my way back
Or
Make my home where galaxies are?
Hard to exist
Back to back to the hammer of flesh.
Gasping for breath
Tried escape from this strangling mesh.
Tied hard to the earth
Brought to ground by invisible hands.
If I
Find my way back
Will I
Find my house fallen in sands?
Shout to exist
Drink the sun and swallow the air!
Savour the breath
Turn the corner and take up the dare!
Stand firm on the earth
And
Walk the roads under the stars.
We’ll find our way back
While our dreams fly where galaxies are.
“Have we reached full coverage?”
“Not quite yet but we will very soon, the momentum has built and it will hit critical mass in a few days. It needs no further intervention on my part.”
“We have all the channels covered?”
“Everything! From the popular to the obscure. From hard copy books to online articles. From political diatribes to Twitter. From old newspapers to blogs and click-bait articles.”
“And we have hooked everyone in – no matter their passion, no matter their inclinations?”
“We have everything – we have erotica, geological patterns in the earth’s crust, astronomy, astrology. We have Game of Thrones and Star Trek. We have novels from established authors and fan fiction. Hell, we have fanfiction erotica stories about the Star Wars characters crash landing in Narnia! There’s no angle we haven’t covered.
His boss laughed.
“Ok, Ok. I get the idea.”
He paused
“And the subliminal messages?”
“So subtle not one has been detected.”
“They are taking effect?”
“They have done their job. The population is yours to command – or will be in a few more days. I would say probably enough to make no difference already.”
“Good. And no one else knows?”
“Just me and you.”
His boss smiled. A warm smile – full of sunshine and hope that he rarely graced on anyone. It made him feel pride in a job well done.
“Good,” his boss repeated, “now, just step through this door.”
Memorise
All the sighs
Every loving glance
And long slow dance
Hold them tight
As we approach the night
Sanitise
Then fill with lies
Squeeze out the dreams
With mindless streams
Of celebs and fear
Until no one is here
Realise
And cherish the wise
Thoughts that flow
Before they go
Into the night
So hold them tight
Characterise
Categorise
Into a box
And cattle stocks
To milk and drain
To strike the brain
Live your dreams
For our revenue streams
Complete the bucket list
No source to be missed
Hold on to the light
For our gold so bright
Enamoured
By the glamour
Of the eighties
We stuck our heads
In the nineties sands
The new century
Is one of denial
Our time has peaked
There’s only decline
Left
No rhyme or reason
Bad luck keeps on reigning down
Good luck’s hard to find
The sun reaches out
And excites the northern sky
A watcher’s pleasure
Resting on the coast
The soothing sounds of the sea
Fill this empty shell
Hope holds back the tide
Stays the shifting golden sand
Thin mist arises
Two idiots
Glaring
Staring
Waiting for the flinch
Too stupid
To stop
Stupid!
They glare
At each other
Down time
From the first war
To the last
In the gambler
There is a yearning
Hidden
To leave behind the rat race
The frenzy and the risk
And just amble
Life is a carousel
Bright, distracting,
Going around in circles
Fun
While its lasts
The painted ladies
Thousands fly from Africa
To be lunch for birds
Kept in deep dark fog
With tantalising beacons
But we remain lost
Spring showers cascade
The blackbird enjoys the hour
Worms join the party
In all the bluster and noise
There is lust
Hidden
William considers himself the only true revolutionary there has been. Living a life of utter destitution below the city, he leads a community of people the rest of the world sees as outcasts and losers.
His is the long game. He know’s the aim, he knows what he is fighting for.
He also knows that he will probably never see the results in his lifetime.
So when the chance to act, the chance to make a difference presents itself will he forget his principles and give up his long-term plan, or stay resolute to his goal?
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Looking forward to a night out tomorrow
Where, no doubt, I will be looking forward to getting home
For a cup of tea
It’s an age thing
I have always tried to look forward
Trouble is
I miss the now
Richard burns. He burns with a fury that is too bright for him to look at. He fights the system in whatever inventive ways he can concoct.
He never asks why he fights or what his ultimate goal is. He just needs the fight.
So defeat almost crushes him, forces him to ask himself questions he has been afraid to ask all his life.
Can he survive the answers?
Scott Andrew Bailey - Author 