Moments

By Scott Bailey © 2015

The world clashes with me
Or I with it
Its movie reel passes before me
And I watch
Observe
But I am not of it
Occasionally
It brushes me
Pricks me
Interrupts my view
My observations
And the things I should enjoy
I don’t
Until I can observe them
Again one day
My moments pass
Slipping
I can never seem
To be in them

Image from Pexels

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Where the White Wolves Dance

By Scott Bailey © 2014

A ring of solid light
Hovers just above the ground
Spinning with infinity
Casts glamour all around
This is
Where the white wolves dance

It is said the be the child
Of the seed of forbidden fruit
Born from secret knowledge
Found on a hidden a hidden route
Around it
The white wolves still dance

The colour pulses wild
Blue, silver and pure white
Dragging hearts round and round
Beneath the starlit night
And so
On the white wolves dance

In a time-worn trench, they dance
Circling below the light
So deep the light they cannot see
The circle is out of sight
Yet still
On the white wolves dance

The circle has been burnt
Into their very eyes
So while the dark wolf dreams
And while the dear time flies
Onwards
The white wolves dance.

So high upon their mountain
On an island on a lake
Isolated and secure from
The world they do forsake
This is
Where the white wolves dance

Image from Pixabay

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Dip Into Something New

Slip away for a few hours, into other worlds – away from all the troubles of this one.

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 – or angry with the system. Who break out of it and try to break it. Who question why they did and falter in their resolve only to be thrown back into the fray to discover the truth within themselves. A tale that questions rebellion and its motivations while railing at the oppression around us. Try it.

Mankind Limited

Mankind Limited Cover

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.

Thirteen Tales of Ghosts

Thirteen Tales of Ghosts Cover

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.

A Spring of Dreams

A Spring of Dreams Cover

Twentieth Century Taliesin

By Scott Bailey © 1999

I am the factory wall, despised and so defaced
Covered with graffiti, defiled and disgraced.
I am the concrete tower that holds up the concrete road
Bleak and faceless white, bearing my toxic load.
I am the bin on the street, bursting full with waste
Where rats and vermin crawl, around me in distaste.
I am the battered traffic cone abandoned in the hedge
A used forgotten prize of lives lived on the edge.
I am the street side gutter where dirty water flows
A place of infestation, where all the darkness goes.
I am the discarded knife with bloodstains on the blade
The close but unseen menace lurking in the shade.
I am the lofty tower spewing clouds into the air
That speed across the oceans, killing without a care.
I am the broken shelf with screws rent from the wall
That supported all the books and caused them all to fall.
I am the sodden cardboard box flapping in the street
Broken, limp, forgotten, always under feet.

Once I was a poet, bright-browed with golden-haired
Playing harp and singing, songs into the air.
Once I was a druid learning from the trees
Drawing strength from bark and wisdom from the leaves.
Once I was a warrior with proud and shining sword
Singing with my war-band a deep heroic chord.
Once I was a chieftain with princes round my hearth
Against war and cold and famine, our mighty hearts did laugh.
Once I was a king whose soul was all the land
Who tended all his people with a strong and generous hand.

But I made other people suffer
Now suffer myself in turn.
But as you wreak your vengeance
What lesson do you learn?

What lessons do you all forget?

Benjamin West [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
In response to my daily prompt Chief

#DailyPrompt, #amwriting, #postaday

www.scottandrewbailey.uk