Posted in Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Hunter

By Scott Bailey © 2015

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……

Image from Pixabay

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

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Posted in Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Self Publishing, Writing

The Speed of Light

By Scott Bailey © 2015

Sunlight from the past
From where coldness rules supreme
The mighty fallen

Image from Pixabay

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Posted in Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Haiku, Poetry, Writing

Cold

By Scott Bailey © 2015

Winter is coming
Snow sweeps down from the cold north
Followed by the dead

Image from Pixabay

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Posted in Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Mare Nostrum

By Scott Bailey © 2015

Mare Nostrum
We don’t support it
They said
So it is gone
In other words
Let them die
Stopping people dying
Might encourage them to live
And after all
What are they
But the victims of war
And rape and torture
Who wants them cluttering up the place?

A fitting epitaph
Perhaps
For the West

Image from Pixabay

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Posted in Creative Writing, Poetry, Writing

Sparrow

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Sparrow, sparrow in my way.
Briefly tell your tale today.
Tell me if my love is dead.
Do I waste the tears I shed?

Briefly, now I’ll tell my tale.
Pray your courage does not fail.
You do not waste the tears you shed.
Alas I say, your love is dead.

A sharp, cold sword did spill her blood.
She tried to stem an angry flood.
But peace that day she could not win.
So fearful war will begin.

Thank you bird for being true.
Nothing’s left for me to do.
To take up arms and pursue strife.
Slay the spoilers of my life.

I bid you, sir, think awhile.
Turn from this dark path so vile.
Listen to my humble song.
Step not where your lover’s gone.

Just a simple bird am I
But far above this land I fly.
And see its beauty spread below.
See ahead, where you might go.

Lay down your sword with forgiving heart.
Do not tear your land apart.
Still your rage and vengeance cease.
Follow rather a path of peace.

Humble bird I hear your song.
But my love is dead and gone.
So I raise my sword today.
And will make those killers pay.

The enemies that broke my heart.
And now have torn the land apart.
Upon their heads is all this blood.
For I must release the flood.

Then sir, I shall shed a tear.
For the future I do not fear.
Yet for now I swiftly go.
To make way for the crow.

Originally published in A Spring of Dreams

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Posted in Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

The Ancient Market

By Scott Bailey © 2015

There is an ancient market square
Where we all spend our lives
And round and round the stalls we pass
Consuming precious time

The gates are closed to hold us in
While hawkers hawk their wares
Criers cry of doom beyond
The solid steadfast walls

In their towers high above
Lords and ladies gaze
Down upon the writhing mass
And counting out their pay

Where’s the farmer in his field
Where the traveller strange
Where’s the road beyond the gates
Or the key to let us out

So on and on forevermore
We circle round the square
In trenches deep from shambling feet
Beneath the icy stare

Image from Pixabay

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Posted in General, Poem a Day Challenge, Poetry, Writing

Time Between Times

By Scott Bailey © 2015

This is the half-light
The magic time
Deep blue light
Fresh born stars
Tales weaving
In expectant air
Firelight dimming
Shadows creep
Tales weaving
Dreams conceived
Past is close
The dead draw near
To hear
Tales weaving
With living breath

Image from Pixabay

www.scottandrewbailey.uk