By Scott Bailey © 2017
A touch of madness
In the powerful is wrong
But in the writer…

In response to RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #172 Wrong&Touch
#Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge

A touch of madness
In the powerful is wrong
But in the writer…

In response to RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #172 Wrong&Touch
#Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge

The lake’s smooth surface
Is as calm and still as glass
Perfect winter’s ice

In response to RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #171 Lake&Calm
#Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge

The smallest of crumbs
Of hope keep us all trying
Generating cash

In response to the daily prompt Crumb
#DailyPrompt #iamwriting
The gate swings
Welcoming those who have come
Waving to those who have gone
The wear on the paint
Remembrance
Painting it over
Will not erase the memory
In response to the daily prompt Gate

#DailyPrompt, #amwriting
I wandered lonely as a brick
That sinks and dives in stream and lake,
When all at once I was so sick,
And an awful mess I did make.
Beside the lake, beneath the trees.
Splattering my stomach in the breeze.
It must have been the bread I had
Or maybe that old Milky Way.
This puddle of sick smelt so bad
Along the margin of the bay.
Ten pints I had drunk, at a guess.
Tossing my head, I felt a mess.
The waves in my head danced, and they
Dashed my weak legs from under me.
A poet could not be so gay
As the one who stood over me.
He gazed and gazed and then in glee
Threw up and fell down next to me.
Next morn when on my couch I lay
In vacant and in pensive mood.
I swore I’d give up drink that day.
And swore some more, it was quite rude.
But soon, once more, the cider spills.
I’ll sleep again with daffodils.
In response to the daily prompt Dash
#DailyPrompt, #amwriting

Words slurred
Danger
Thoughts blurred
Danger
Moral smudged
Danger
Figures fudged
Danger
Modern life
In response to the daily prompt slur

#DailyPrompt
Let the rhythm of the future
Not be
The rhythm of the past
Let us change it
Though the task be hard
And let it be
Beautiful
Let it be vast
Lest it be elegant
And true
In response to the daily prompt Rhythmic

#DailyPrompt
The glitterati glitter
While the paparazzi pack
Lines full of lies and libel
To shore up the moral we lack
The world wide web weaves wonders
Hyperlinks hypnotise
The people they rage and thunder
Swallowing all of the lies
So watch the things that glisten
Watch the lustre and shine
And remember that nobody listens
Any of the time
In response to the daily prompt Glitter

#DailyPrompt
A lukewarm life
Mine could be considered
Is that a bad thing?
Or maybe
The heat
Is deep and concealed
Who can tell?
In response to the daily prompt Lukewarm

#DailyPrompt
Futility, the child of awareness
Perhaps ignorance is bliss
Not a choice I would make
Action begins in awareness
Except in rivers and clouds

In response to the daily prompt Aware
#DailyPrompt
It’s hard to be heard in the herd
The shared shards of pain shred
The glass glistens but no one listens
To the words of bards and the birds
Yes, it’s hard to be heard
In response to the daily prompt Heard

#DailyPrompt
Clean sweep
Clean start
Clean up
On a clean page
Clean sheet
Clean bill of health
Don’t they know?
Things grow in dirt.

In response to the daily prompt Clean
#DailyPrompt
Sleek and seductive
A scent that teases and tempts
The fried egg sizzles
In response to RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #108 Sizzle&Sleek

#Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge

Cherry petals float
On the tumbling mountain streams
Kingfishers heart beats

In response to RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #120 Heart&Petals
#Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge

Albatross hovers
High over surf scattered sand
All will pass in time
In response to RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #113 Beach&Time

#Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge

Flower of the vale
Sings to the sky in her joy
Spirits often do

In response to RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #106 Sing&Flower
#Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge

As the journey grows
On, from moment to moment
We feel time passing
In response to RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #105-Time&Grow

#Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge
Lightning flash charges
The rain drenched primordial dawn
A spark of life stirs

In response to RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #96 Lightning&Rain
#Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge
A silk-lined invite
Lures the hedonist inward
Down the dragon’s jaws

In response to RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #95 Dragon&Invite
#Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge
Pearls of wisdom fade
Becomes as hard as diamond
Implacable thought
In response to RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #94 Diamonds&Pearls

#Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge
The vale veiled in mist
Treetops fray misty tendrils
Sunlight melts it down
In response to RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #91 Fray&Veiled

#Ronovan #Writes #Haiku #Challenge
Intent on life’s path
We do not see the meadow’s
Beauty all around
In response to RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #92 Life&Path

#Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge
See the sunlight play
In every dancing drop
A laughing shower

In response to RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #89 Shower&Play
#Ronovan #Writes #Haiku #Challenge
Through glasses
Through windows
Through windscreens
Through the artificial glare of the plasma screen
Through a camera’s lense
Filtered life
Protecting us
From rain and wind
And
Real steel
Real cold
Real hot blood
Real

Resistance is futile
So they say
Sometimes
It certainly feels that way
But from resistance
We get the heat
Without which
We would be
Incomplete
Heat is energy
That turns into action
Action and reaction
The turning of the engine of
Revolution
In response to the daily prompt Resist

#DailyPrompt
Where the wild wood weaves
And the willow weeps
Where the deep dark dwells
And the savage sunlight sleeps
Where the serpents writhe
Around a blood-red spear
Where the wicked glance
Then turn away in fear
Where children’s happy sighs
Are swallowed in the night
Never really here
Just memory’s separate sight
Where my heart does plunge
In the empty space of dreams
Where vision fades from eyes
And air congeals with screams
Where ancient stone walls fall
Where poets finally cease
Cease.

There is a storm coming
What do we do?
Plant daffodils and discuss
Have bake-offs
Write poetry
Document and photograph
So at least the survivors of the storm
Will have
An accurate record
Of the things we did
And did not do

When the last heartbeat of the last child
Has faded into silence
The mighty universe
Will not care
Which is a
Shame
For
There
Is nothing
That can magnify
Its vast magnificence
More than the wonder
Reflected in the shine of a child’s curious eye

By Scott Bailey © 2015
On a dark peak
In a lofty castle tower
Firelight glints on gold
The flames are the consummation
Of a million dreams
The gold is the gifts
That the few exchange
As they gather
To sharpen their swords
Hone their skills
Readying
To chase away the wolves
Release the hounds
And take control
Of the docile cattle herds

Soon
They will realise
That their spin
Their media hype
Is failing
Now
One has come
To threaten
Their way of life
Not ours
As the spin machines spews
But theirs
Their way of life
Of easy deception and greed
Of spinning tales of woe
Cutting and taxing
While smirking with contempt
And lining their pockets
With our aid
Let’s see
What happens
When they realise
The spin
No longer works

A drowned boy
Drawn from the sea
Fled from death to death
Burns in our minds
Burns in our hearts
Fans the flames of passion
Just before
The call to war

Shacks stacked
Corrugated walls
Tetering high
Rambling high
Shambling streets
Congested flesh
Diluted souls
Wasted lives
One hundred
Million dollars
Empty rooms
Cloudy palace

This is my tithe
The part of my life
That I give to my lord
To survive
My uses are his
My flesh and my blood
So I am here
On this field
Shoulder to shoulder
With my fellow men
Shields edge to edge
Spears raised
For the right to go on
Feed my wife and my son
To stave hunger away
One more year
Death faces us down
With it’s bloodstained gown
As the line ahead draws
Ever closer
The enemy jeers
Clashing their spears
Moving their wall
Close to ours
And I see in their eyes
They are bound by their tithes
To kill for their lord
Just like me

Love is warm while truth
Is cold. The endless battle
Shakes the human world

Taunting thunder
Bring on the storm
Rail against the rain
Scream at the sea’s form
But the storm rages on
The rain lashes skin
The sea eats the land
And sweeps on in
Still and steadfastly
Stands the ancient oak
Stretched beneath the sun
Or a frosty cloak
Weathers every storm
Watching briefer lives
Rushing by at work
Like bees in hives
Yet even this strong trunk
Well one day bend and break
As time drinks strength
A thirst it cannot slake
So rail on against the rain
Rage against the storm
Swim against the tide
While blood still runs warm

The robin in his nest
Perched in the naked branches
Of the blasted tree
Three winds blown
Over the black, sore plain
Wisps of smoke rise
And stings his eyes
Faint embers glow
All around
The hot storm has howled
Now the beast is grounded
Never to rise again
A hard winter will fall
The nest will freeze
No more tears
Will wet the plain
In response to the daily prompt Nest

#DailyPrompt #iamwriting
Amber brown bristles
Fletched true
Sighted
On the smooth straight shaft
Knocked
Creak of wood
And leather
Tense flesh
Strength of arm
Years
Of hard work
Hard life
Peaked
In tense flesh
Aimed
Deep russet red
Undulating tight
Over perfect form
Moving with surety
Strength and grace
Slender neck
Proud eyes
High points
Antlers spectacular
Slow high-speed
Flight
True
Through high trunks
Ancient towers
Sturdy and rough
Flicking leaves
Pungent smell
Of spilt sap
Over lazy ferns
Struck
Sunk deep
In perfect flesh
Deep russet red
Covered in bright
Fresh crimson
Hunter
Has hunted
Dusk
Deep red sky
Flecked with sparks
Orange
Embers fly
On aroma
Of roasted flesh
Venison
Consumed
Hunter sated
For now
Started awake
Cold
Stone and straw
Shit and piss
And chains
A dream
Of a memory
Despite all
A happy dream
Amidst horror
And darkness
Weakness
Flesh wasted
In forgotten depths
Waiting
For nothing
Time drips
Away
Into nothing
Sodden straw
Stronger arms
Clad in chain
Dragged from darkness
Down cold
Stone corridors
Into light
Hammering eyes
Screams and shouts
Hammering ears
Then rope
And wood
Strong scent
Of wet rope
Rough against
Weak neck
And wood
Creaking underfoot
Screams and jeers
A clunk
Freedom from weight
From the wait
Exhilaration
Then……

Adrenaline fuels
The pounding pulse of the hunt
That only blood sates

I have lost my way
Forgotten how to play
This game
Fury are my bones
Propping up flesh
Seeking the earth
With groans
So
Fury keeps me going
Until it is doused

A golden charm hangs
Twisted tear between her breasts
Hungry wolves look on

In response to RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #75
A blatant, carefree affair leads to some odd visions and strange happenings in an ancient cottage in the sticks.

A collection of short stories concerning ghosts. Some are traditional ghost stories in the tradition of M.R. James and Edgar Allan Poe. Other are not. Some scare, some are fun. Some play with the concept of a ghost. There are ghosts who are out for revenge and the living avenging the spirits that curse them.
Ideal for sitting around a campfire and late at night under the covers. Or maybe not if the stories themselves are any guide.
Check it out at Amazon.
A paperback version is now available for those who prefer the feel of the paper while huddling by the fire – on your own – in the dark – with that noise behind you……
This is a play with a difference. Shakespeare’s ghost scene, the dead Dane, will never seem the same again to this band of oddball actors drawn together by their passion.

A collection of short stories concerning ghosts. Some are traditional ghost stories in the tradition of M.R. James and Edgar Allan Poe. Others are not. Some scare, some are fun. Some play with the concept of a ghost. There are ghosts who are out for revenge and the living avenging the spirits that curse them.
Ideal for sitting around a campfire and late at night under the covers. Or maybe not if the stories themselves are any guide.
Check it out at Amazon.
A paperback version is now available for those who prefer the feel of the paper while huddling by the fire – on your own – in the dark – with that noise behind you……
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.

She stared at the artefact. It reminded her of a flower. Well, reminded was the wrong word. She had never seen a flower – there were no more left. They had died out long before she had arrived.
Everything had.
But in the last few months, her colleagues had managed to decipher and read the ancient data they had found here and there. They had pieced together a rough history of this dead place. Not much but enough – enough to know what happened.
Enough to know it could happen to them.
Enough to know what a flower looked like.
Before they had died – somebody had carved a final message on this artefact.
‘Man’s final folly!”
She wondered at that. She could not fathom its reasoning.
It was beyond doubt now that this giant metal flower had been the instrument that had called out to them so long ago. Sent its message to the stars.
And they had heard. 20,000 long years ago she and her colleagues had boarded their ship and started on their way.
In all probability, the flower was still broadcasting then. The carver of that message was still breathing good air.
No more.
There was no more good air. There was nothing left to breathe it.
Was puzzled her more was the fact that the remaining histories made it plain that it was foreseeable. Preventable even.
Yet she could also see that their own masters back home could easily make the same mistake. As advanced as they were the path was familiar.
So it was that she and her fellow robotic explorers had taken the decision to delay their trip home. It would take them 20,000 more years to get back with the warning.
This – folly – could send the message quicker. So here they were trying to repair it and get it working again.
A desperate battle to avoid the fate of these long-dead people who called themselves human beings.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.


Explorers – or pillagers? The line is thin on the high seas, in strange exotic lands. Those that operate without fear of consequence soon learn their folly. There are older powers in the world than gunpowder and steel.

A collection of short stories concerning ghosts. Some are traditional ghost stories in the tradition of M.R. James and Edgar Allan Poe. Others are not. Some scare, some are fun. Some play with the concept of a ghost. There are ghosts who are out for revenge and the living avenging the spirits that curse them.
Ideal for sitting around a campfire and late at night under the covers. Or maybe not if the stories themselves are any guide.
Check it out at Amazon.
A paperback version is now available for those who prefer the feel of the paper while huddling by the fire – on your own – in the dark – with that noise behind you……