By Scott Bailey © 2014

She came out of the store just in time to see her young son playing on the sidewalk directly in the path of the gray, gaunt man who strode down the centre of the walk like a mechanical derelict.

The boy looked up at her once the man had passed, saw the fear, the hatred in her eyes.

“What’s up? What is the danger?”

She looked troubled by his questions, as if he had stirred something in her she did not wish to confront.

He seemed to be seeing this a lot lately.

“He is a leper,” she answered curtly.

“And that makes him dangerous?” the boy asked. She stared at him as if wondering where his curiosity was coming from. And well she might.

That was not important to him now, he wanted answers. The time had come for them.

“You might get it, I don’t want anything to hurt you.”

“So why is no one helping him?”

She shrugged,

“I don’t think anyone can. It’s not curable.”

“So why is he allowed to wander around?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped.

“But why do you hate him so much?”

“Because he could hurt you! You might get it!”

“Wouldn’t it be better the try to help him rather than hate him?”

“Look it’s too complicated for you to understand! I am not a doctor!”

“But you know doctors?” he frowned.

“Look that’s enough young man – let’s get you home and get you a bath.”

The boy frowned. She would not be drawn any further.

He was quiet on the way home. He had come to a conclusion. The mother he had chosen was not adequate – not in respect to answering his questions. Well, there was nothing he could do about that now. That decision was made.

But he could direct his questions elsewhere. He was going to be forced to. If he didn’t get any better answers soon it was not going to bode well for the human race.

The first line is from my favourite book “Lord Fouls Bane” by Stephen R Donaldson, the first part of The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant.

In response to my daily prompt Call Me Ishmael 

Photo by RODNAE Productions on Pexels.com

Questions

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Generation XYZ.”

Not quite what the prompt meant but it reminded me of this poem I wrote years ago.

Goodbye

By Scott Bailey © 2006

It’s not fair.
He stated it, I didn’t.
He called me names.
I had to do it to stop him.
How come I get told off?
It’s not fair.

It’s a shameful waste.
What they do to our world today.
The forests they cut down, the whales they kill.
The fields they destroy, the new roads they build.
The way they leave their scars on the world.
It’s a shameful waste.

It’s a bloody liberty.
I will not stand for it!
I earned my money fairly.
I will spend it pleasantly.
I will not stand being ripped off!
It’s a bloody liberty.


It’s a downright disgrace.
The way these youngsters behave.
They will not heed my words.
They will not do as they are told.
I will leave my mark on the world.
It’s a downright disgrace.

He needs no name on his grave.
He was a model man.
He stood for what we all stand for.
He spoke the words we all speak.
He was me and you and all those to come.
He needs no name on his grave.

Growing Up

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “We Can Be Taught!.”

I had a few good teachers but not many. And those that tried were wading against a tide of social programming. So school was not that productive for me. I left with few qualifications and no direction.

I drifted – pushed by financial necessity into work before I could begin to dream about what I might want from life.

So who were my best teachers?

They were my friends. They didn’t sit me down and lecture me they did two vital things.

They believed in me.

They believed in themselves and acted on that belief.

Watching them follow their dreams whatever the outcome – taught me the bets lesson in my life. To take control of my life and start steering my own destiny.

The best teachers are like the best writers – they show they don’t tell

The Best Teachers?

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Plead the Fifth.”

The question I find hard to answer – How many kids have you had. I have two – one by birth – one adopted. But we have had three – and whenever I say two it feels like we are betraying the memory of the one that was with us so briefly. Yet if you say three – that leads to many complicated conversations.

I have to add Alexander considers he has three brother’s as he also counts the one we lost at 7 weeks. In my mind we never has that one – we never saw him but I do see his point.

It’s a question that will probably never have a proper answer.

Plead the Fifth

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Fight or Flight.”

The Shadow of Fear

By Scott Bailey © 2015

Flight or fight
They say
But that first day
The looming shadow
The bully
I was pinned
Couldn’t run
Couldn’t fight
Jellified with fear
Neither response available

For many years
That shadow stalked me
Until one day
I fought
And it fled

The Shadow of Fear

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “A Moment in Time.”

Zombie Apocalypse?

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By Scott Bailey © 2015


From paper to cheek
Paint is slapped with joyful glee
Release the zombie!

Zombie Apocalypse?

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Image Search.”

Pick a random word and do Google image search on it. Check out the eleventh picture it brings up. Write about whatever that image brings to mind.

So I picked a random word from here – a random word generator. And the eleventh picture was this.

temporality

All Change

By Scott Bailey © 2014

Here we are today
Beavering away like slaves
History forgets

Temporality

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Audience of One.”

To Me (Senryu)

By Scott Bailey © 2014

To my younger self
Don’t be so bloody afraid
Have fun and prosper

To Me

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Call Me Ishmael.”

Questions

 

By Scott Bailey © 2014

 

She came out of the store just in time to see her young son playing on the sidewalk directly in the path of the gray, gaunt man who strode down the centre of the walk like a mechanical derelict.

The boy looked up at her once the man had passed, saw the fear, the hatred in her eyes.

“What’s up? What is the danger?”

She looked troubled by his questions, as if he had stirred something in her she did not wish to confront.

He seemed to be seeing this a lot lately.

“He is a leper,” she answered curtly.

“And that makes him dangerous?” the boy asked. She stared at him as if wondering where his curiosity was coming from. And well she might.

That was not important to him now, he wanted answers. The time had come for them.

“You might get it, I don’t want anything to hurt you.”

“So why is no one helping him?”

She shrugged,

“I don’t think anyone can. It’s not curable.”

“So why is he allowed to wander around?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped.

“But why do you hate him so much?”

“Because he could hurt you! You might get it!”

“Wouldn’t it be better the try to help him rather than hate him?”

“Look its too complicated for you to understand! I am not a doctor!”

“But you know doctors?” he frowned.

“Look that’s enough young man – let’s get you home and get you a bath.”

The boy frowned. She would not be drawn any further.

He was quiet on the way home. He had come to a conclusion. The mother he had chosen was not adequate – not in respect to answering his questions. Well there was nothing he could do about that now. That decision was made.

But he could direct his questions elsewhere. He was going to be forced to. If he didn’t get any better answers soon it was not going to bode well for the human race.

The first line is from my favourite book “Lord Fouls Bane” by Stephen R Donaldson, the first part of The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant.

Questions

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “In Good Faith.”

In good faith they took
Their covenant most holy
Is killing good faith!?

Good Faith?

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “I Got Skills.”

This is the skill I would like – if I had a choice. For my voice to be heard and my words to take effect.

Then I would travel the world and talk.

Do I have the answers to solve the worlds ills?

No.

But I would use my new-found super power to find the people who had. And then I would persuade them to work together and implement their answers. I would find those who stood in their way and persuade them to move aside.

At the end of the day – talking is the answer – and the most powerful weapon in the world.

With an irresistible voice the world would be yours.

With a great voice comes…. you know the rest

Persuasion

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Oasis.”

A storm is brewing
Clouds gather
Crowds coalesce
Grief and anger
Answer hate
Where’s my oasis
Of peace

Oasis