By Scott Bailey © 2018
The awkward stance
Where does it stem from
A lifetime of toil?
Injury?
Or the weight
Of the world?
In response to the daily prompt Awkward
#DailyPrompt, #amwriting, #postaday
Awkward
The Daily Post
The Meek
By Scott Bailey © 2015
The weak shall inherit the earth
So it is written
Of course
When the strong are done with it
It will have lost its worth
A played out empty husk
A flooded desert
Then the meek can have it
Ceremony
By Scott Bailey © 2018
Change
Ushered in with ceremony
To hide
The cracks and flaws
Assuage the fears
Distract attention
From the directors
In response to the daily prompt Ceremony
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Jealousy
By Scott Bailey © 2016
Jealousy
A deadly sin
So we are taught
Over and over
Again
And when
We dare to question
The questionable ways
Of wealth and power
They smirk and hint
Jealousy
And the lessons rise
Prodding our conscience
Silencing our voices
With guilty pillows
Thus
Why we are taught
What we are taught
Is plain to see
Infected
By Scott Bailey © 2018
Infected
With weariness
Watching the corruption
Until it becomes
Normality
And we shrug
And move on
Just as they planned
In response to the daily prompt Infect
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Assumption
By Scott Bailey © 2018
The assumption
Is consumption
Is needed
The beast needs feeding
So we can all be fed
Let’s
Eat the beast
Instead
In response to the daily prompt Assumption
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Dominant
By Scott Bailey © 2018
The dominant theme
Of the modern movement
Is just that
To dominate
To be the best
No second place
No room for losers
Crush them
Squeeze them dry
That is the song
Of our age
We seem to sing it
With joy
In response to the daily prompt Dominant
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Sunny
By Scott Bailey © 2017
Sunny
She was
And the shadows she cast were long
We long for her
Now the winter is here
And the long long night descends
Bright was her smile
White and bright her smile
Deep and black her skin
And we wanted in
From afar
Memories of sun
In the dusk
In response to the daily prompt Sunny
#DailyPrompt, #amwriting
Incubate
By Scott Bailey © 2018
Ideas buried deep in the mind
Forgotten, beneath the rubbish
The everyday detritus
Fermenting
Until one day
The green shoot
Of inspiration
In response to the daily prompt Incubate
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Continue readingWrinkle
By Scott Bailey © 2018
A wrinkle by the eye
With a twinkle in
And that’s all you need to know
In response to the daily prompt Wrinkle
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Silence
By Scott Bailey © 2013
Silence is Golden
Because it’s so very rare
Grab it while you can
In response to the daily prompt Noise
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Conversation
By Scott Bailey © 2018
The end of the conversation
Is the end of the line
The rising of the fires
Of hostility and ire
So keep talking
Keep talking
In response to the daily prompt Conversation
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The Calling
By Scott Bailey © 2017
Hear the music
Of the spheres
Calling
Feel
The irresistible
Attraction
Of the singularities
Pulling
See the twinkle
The burst of life
Shrouded in the
Nebulous mists
Here the roar
Of the silent yaw
Of space
Here the call
The dare
Will we share
In the song
Or crack
Our own end
In response to the daily prompt Calling
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The Scarlet Mountain
By Scott Bailey © 2016
The scarlet mountain
Hangs in the sky
The scarlet mountain
Lies
Through the blood
Of the mountain
All of us
Relate
This is the place
Dreams instantiate
Where the scarlet mountain
Dwells in the clouds
That is where
Hope flies
In response to the daily prompt Relate
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Compass
By Scott Bailey © 2017
The compass has no compassion
The waves care not
The road goes on forever
Whatever your feet yearn
Rest is not an option
For the currents will always win
Only those that fly
Will win
In response to the daily prompt Compass
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Elegance
By Scott Bailey © 2017
From the unimaginable
Power
Of supermassive black holes
To the delicate
Dance of quarks
It all contains
Elegance
Beautiful and precise
In the conclusion of horror
And the breaking of joy
The shining of rain
And the sweep of the dune
From the swell of the tide
And the retreat
Elegance
Rules
In response to the daily prompt Elegance
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Dancing
By Scott Bailey © 2014
Defying downing gravity
To delight in dazzling dance
Shimmering, shining sparkles
Showering tiny tears
In response to the daily prompt Sparkle
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Jenga Man
By Scott Bailey © 2017
A piece of me is demanded
Every waking moment of my life
One day the critical piece
Will be withdrawn
And the inevitable
Tumble will come
The final fall
The end of the game
In response to the daily prompt Tenterhooks
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Age
By Scott Bailey © 2017
Age is the revealer
It strips away the lies
And wears us down
With harsh reality
Pares us to the bone
In response to the daily prompt Age
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Tenterhooks
By Scott Bailey © 2017
Waiting on tenterhooks
For the next Big Idea
The next Winner
The next Wedding
The next Divorce
The next Leader
The next Messiah
For some
Just
The Next Sale
In the meantime
We are bled
And the fruits of our labours
Snuck out of the back door
In response to the daily prompt Tenterhooks
#DailyPrompt #iamwriting, #postaday
The Age of Reason
By Scott Bailey © 2017
This is the age of reason
Apparently
What reason then
Behind the starving child
Tortured by hunger pains
What reason
Behind the women
Sold as toys
What reason
The stockpiling and use
Of weapons of blood
One reason
One alone
That pounds every moment
Of our lives
In response to the daily prompt Age
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Snippet
By Scott Bailey © 2017
Snippet
Clip it
Crimp it
Crumpets
Strumpets
Trumpets
The clear, pure note of a trumpet
Filling expectant silence
With celebration
In response to the daily prompt Snippet
#DailyPrompt #iamwriting
Rambling
By Scott Bailey © 2017
The sparrows scatter the pine cones
Down the valley and down
The salmon are jumping the ladders
The bears are shiny and brown
The river digs through the mountain
Too deep to hold any sin
The current rolls over and over
As ruins come tumbling in
Deep in the widening desert
Rumbles mistakes from the past
Mad birds scatter their debris
The light is shattered and cast
The stars shine high in the nighttime
Burning the rocks bare below
Melting resolve of the greatest
Like newly laid snow
Darkness pushes the light
Further and further apart
Stillness covers the chaos
Silence claims every heart
#iamwriting
No Turn
By Scott Bailey © 2017
Time is a one way street
There is no going back
A Saturday now is not a Saturday then
Monday morning comes again
Time drips
Dreams trip
Words will see us through
In response to the daily prompt One Way
#DailyPrompt #iamwriting
Husks
By Scott Bailey © 2017
The scrabble for the dream
Prevents the dream
As we fill every moment
Chasing here and there
To get things done!
We never stop to ask
Why
The things we are chasing
We will never have time for
As we are too busy
Chasing
Mankind and I
Have become
Empty husks of purpose
#iamwriting
The Hunt
By Scott Bailey © 2017
The percussive beat
Of a heart pounding with life
Stilled by quick, sharp teeth
In response to the daily prompt Percussive
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Underdogs
By Scott Bailey © 2017
The underdogs are many
Trampled underfoot
While they fetch and roll
And play dead
Until the day
They remember
They are
Wolves
And the pack arises
In response to the daily prompt Underdog
#DailyPrompt #iamwriting
Crumbs
By Scott Bailey © 2017
The smallest of crumbs
Of hope keep us all trying
Generating cash
In response to the daily prompt Crumb
#DailyPrompt #iamwriting
Outside `The Daffodil and Pen’
By Scott Bailey © 1999
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
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Nest
By Scott Bailey © 2017
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
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
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
Qualm
By Scott Bailey © 2017
Calm your qualms
It’s all change
It’s all good
Still
The trembling
Still
Sir Richard Francis Burton
By Scott Bailey
If ever you are looking for a good and somewhat different biography to read them try Burton: A Biography of Sir Richard Francis Burton by Byron Farwell.
I am not one for biographies myself – I only read this one due to the fact that he was featured in one of my favourite old time Science Fiction series – the Riverworld books by Philip Jose Farmer. A series where every single person who ever lived is resurrected on one world all at once – just a fantastic premise in itself.
Farmer uses Burton as the main character of the first book (and others later on.) He writes him with such passion and paints him in such an interesting way that you can’t help but find out more about him.
So I delved into this biography. Farmer had only painted a small part of his life!
Sir Richard Francis Burton, in reality, was – complicated.
He was a man of extremes. In many ways, he was extremely admirable. On other extremely reprehensible! Unforgivably so.
He achieved more in his lifetime than many of us could on six, seven, eight lifetimes! But is beliefs were bigoted and selfish, to say the least.
For example:
He was an avid supporter of slavery! He believed women’s places were in the home or the bed! He was vehemently anti-semitic and wrote several books that still cause controversy today!
You could argue he was a product of his time but he was an intelligent man and there were plenty of contemporaries who were seeing past the constraints of their society and challenging the established views.
He was a womaniser – had affairs, frequented brothels. He was a brawler – fought at the drop of a hat earning him the nickname Ruffian Dick. He disregarded authority of all kinds and went his own way, expelled from University and often AWOL from his army career.
However:
On the flip side.
He was one of the foremost fencers of the time inventing some new moves.
He was a masterful linguist – he was fluent in 24 languages – and in many of the different dialects of them. So much so he could pass himself off as a local in many places. He learnt much of it from prostitutes!
He was a master of disguise – not just in the fact he could dress up, makeup and talk like the locals. But that he understood them, he took the time to know their customs and etiquette, the foibles without which he would have been betrayed as an outsider. He immersed himself in their culture.
He made seven pilgrimages in his life. Studying and being accepted into various religions – understanding their teachings while not believing any of them.
He was the epitome of an explorer, making dangerous journey in strange lands, suffering illness and injury, going back for more and pressing on.
He explored and brought to light the many sexual practices from around the world. He brought much middle eastern and eastern culture to our consciousness. He brought us translations of the Thousand and One Nights, the Karma Sutra and the Perfumed Garden.
So as I said, complicated.
It brings up a problem we often have with heroes. We want them to be perfect. We want all those good qualities without the bad. But life is not like that – people are not like that.
We kind of know that – we try and accommodate it. Modern day fictional heroes have their flaws, they are dark and brooding and have emotional baggage. But nothing we can’t handle – nothing really reprehensible.
So it got me thinking. I have a real problem with Sir Richard Francis Burton. I admire what he achieved. I dislike what he was as a person. I certainly would not like not have known him personally.
And I see a reflection of modern men in this dilemma. I have written here about how men (and everyone in fact) are demonised in modern media. On the other side, we are brought up with a set of ideals about what a man should be what we should strive to be.
We end up with conflicting views – an ideal – heroic man to strive for, and the wretch the world tells us we are.
The conflict I feel when thinking about Richard Francis Burton is the conflict we feel about modern men – he is a kind of reflection of us.
We should, I think – start to accept our flaws more, try to improve and eliminate them, yes, but give ourselves a break. They are a part of us, a part of our nature. Nobody is perfect – natures abhors perfection as much as a vacuum. Perfection does not exist so let’s stop trying to achieve it.
Anyway, ramble over.
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
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
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
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
The Lord of the Trees
By Scott Bailey © 2006
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.
Anticipate
By Scott Bailey ⓒ 2017
I anticipate
The dissipation
Of the all
The scattering
Of goals
The rise of dreams
To ride
Upon the mists
To be blown
Upon the winds
To reside
In clouds
And hide
In trees
To sleep
In earth
Drink water
Sup sunlight
Weep rain
And sigh
Lust
By Scott Bailey © 2017
In all the bluster and noise
There is lust
Hidden
Carrier
By Scott Bailey © 2017
The secret passenger
Scampers around
Just looking for a snack
Innocent, unaware
Of the death that he carries
Rested Wheel
By Scott Bailey © 2013
Why aren’t we railing?
Why aren’t we mad?
Why do we sit in silence?
In apathy so sad.
Is the sickle blunted?
The hammer dropped and cracked?
Has the guillotine lost its edge?
Has liberty backtracked?
The peasants have moved on
From field to factory to desk.
Is it beautiful progress
Or captivity grotesque
So day after day
after day after day.
We struggle and toil
No time to play.
We hand over our freedom
We hand over our cash.
While the fat cats sleep
on their growing stash.
Where is the spirit of liberty?
The hero in the square?
The lone horse trodden woman.
Defanged are those who care.
The Deep Cold
By Scott Bailey © 2014
Disappearing into the gloom
Undulating side to side
Alien but of this earth
Slow, cold life
In the deep deep dark
So far from the hearth we know
The strange eel like creature
Eases in the deepest cold
Leaving divers dumb
Giants
By Scott Bailey © 2014
I have seen giants
Striding over the land
Power on their shoulders
Stern and strong their hand
Never do they falter
Never seen one stumble or fall
Always do their duty
Always answer the call
Through storm and wind and rain
The carry their burden true
Though other links may burn out
The giants stride on through
So remember this and tremble
Even the giants will pass
Fall into dust and rusty ruin
Scattered in untamed grass
One day their burden will dissipate
Their purpose will disappear
And the duty they discharged so well
A memory dimmed with time
Aubade Two
By Scott Bailey © 2015
Dawn sneaks over the hills
Light spills through the vales
And the veils of the window
I see beauty at last
Complicated, unfathomable, mystery
But right and true
Most the world walks by
Seeing a different way
This morning gives me hope
But the light washes out
Shadows darken veils
Traditions bear down
The beauty and the mystery
The reason and the truth
Are left behind again
The door is closed again
As ancient lore and law
Return us to the night
Broken Eggs
By Scott Bailey © 2017
A new clutch of chicks
Awaken to a cold dawn
The fox scents a chance
Life and Death
By Scott Bailey © 2016
Potential new life
Excitement when waters break
New life brings us cheer
Six forever hours
Caressing a fading pulse
All cheer drains away
Carman
By Scott Bailey © 2013
I make cars
I always have
As did my father.
Prestige cars.
The most famous in the world
Made with pride.
Made with precision.
Made to last.
To shine and glide!
Every working day.
All the working hours.
My trusty hands create.
I may be steeped in habit
Tradition and old ways
But I trust in my own fate.
I support my family.
I support the plant.
And I support the land.
I pay my way my dues
while on my shoulders weighs
the burden that I support.
After all these years of toil
All my many dues.
Imagine my surprise, my boss.
I have given more than you!
In response to the daily prompt Famous
#DailyPrompt, #amwriting, #postaday
Goodbye Daily Prompt!
UPDATE – I have now started my own! It can be found here
I only found out about this today!
After all this time the Daily Post is sounding the Last Post and bidding us farewell.
Damn!
I need it! I will miss it! I need a push every day – I may not use it – may not do it every day – but it helps. A lot!
Retrospective? Well, all I will say is that there was a tie, a few years ago I came to the realisation that I had neglected my passion. I stopped writing. Once I realised I tried to start again. It was difficult. Very hard to gain momentum. That is where the Daily Post came to my rescue. It gave me the inspiration I needed.
Now it won’t be there.
I suspect I am not the only one sorry to see it go.
So I may start my own. I might just put up a prompt each day. Can’t provide the fancy screen that shows all the entries – if anyone else does use it but I will give it a go.
In the meantime – here’s a suitable poem.
Lantern
By Scott Bailey © 2013
Old light from the past
Is still illumination
Wisdom echoes far
In response to the daily prompt Retrospective
#DailyPrompt, #amwriting, #postaday
Scott Andrew Bailey - Author 