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

Bruised

By Scott Bailey © 2013

 

He would never see his son again.

Unless…

Unless he went made it through today. Found the strength from somewhere. Put aside his pain.

The trauma his son had suffered had not been at his hands. Logically there was no responsibility for it on his shoulders.

Logic was a weak fence against raw emotion. Emotion that told him that he had failed as a father, that the protection he was supposed to give had been lacking, just that once.

Nobody agreed with him.

That made no difference.

So, he would not compound failure with failure. This was his last chance. He would take it.

He had tried all other avenues. Therapy, prayer, medication. Nothing worked, Yet what it had done was show him the way. It had made clear the path he needed to tread.

So he took a deep breath and rose from his seat. He nodded to the doctor signaling his readiness. The doctor frowned but kept his piece. He opened the door and let him enter his son’s room.

The room was sparse, clinical. His son lay curled on top of the bed sheets, motionless. Awake but unresponsive. He did not look up or acknowledge his father’s entrance.

There was a small bedside table to the left of the bed on which sat a plastic beaker of water. The bed was positioned by the window. Sunlight tried to make an impression on the coldness of the room but failed. The only other furniture was a white chest of drawers and some empty white bookshelves.

Then there were the books.

The books, many many books, that should have rested on the shelves or strewn on the floor. An impressive collection for one so young.

They hung impossibly in the air.

He sighed. He knew what came next. It had all become familiar to him. This time though he did not avoid it. He did not flinch or try to defend himself. This time he smiled at his son.

The books flew at him. As if thrown by immense strength and anger. The hard spines whacked into his flesh like dull nails. Again and again and again. Raining pain upon his body. The books that hit him fell to the ground limply, twitched like dying flies, then were suddenly whisked up and flung again.

There was no let-up.

He could feel his body being pummelled into a bloody bruised mess. But he took it. Stood calmly, raised his arms towards his son and kept smiling. Gave all he had left to him – gave him his unconditional love. Took the punishment not meant for him.

The books whirled faster as the rage grew. Like a tornado of leather and card, they descended on him, pounded him. The pain passed over what was bearable to no longer being processable – so he no longer felt it. He knew he would not last much longer – if this continued his body would fail him. Darkness crept inwards along the edges of his eyes. He kept smiling, locked his legs and stood, arms out.

The whirl became a darkness that was trying to beat his flesh from his bones. He felt like the bones themselves were splintering beneath.

Then it stopped.

Suddenly all the books fell to the floor. Sunlight sprang into the room as is a lock had burst.

His son looked up and held out his arms for his father.

#amwriting

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

 

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

Sympathise

By Scott Bailey © 2018

We sympathise
We the victims
Put up or flags
And tokens
Banners on our home pages
All sincere
But nothing changes
No actions
Behind the thought

 

A slightly modified version of an older poem I did that benefits from the addition I think.

In response to the daily prompt Sympathize

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www.scottandrewbailey.uk

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

Rhymes

By Scott Bailey © 2018

Words flow profusely
Anger pours freely
Action is stilted and slow

The world needs righting
In our minds, we are fighting
But to battles, we never go

Inaction just reaction
No satisfaction
This is a sign of the times

While all is disaster
We rush at it faster
Chiming protesting rhymes

Image from Pixabay

In response to the daily prompt Profuse

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www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Posted in Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

The Cash Creating Conveyor

By Scott Bailey © 2018

 

Try everything
Go on!
You know you want to.
And why not?
Get to the end of your life
And say proudly
I did it all!
I did it my way!
I tried it all!
No matter the cost
Ignore the cost
Such a small cost
Dripping away
Over and over
But ignore that
Don’t be square
Be cool!
Be the future
Not the past
Think of the Pleasure!
Ignore the cost
Think of the Achievement!
The dripping cost
Be cool!
Dripping into our funnel
Be a Winner
Dripping into our Hoard

Image from Pixabay

 

In response to the daily prompt Conveyor

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www.scottandrewbailey.uk

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

The Strangulation of the Great

By Scott Bailey

So I was daydreaming in the bath – thinking about a book I read long ago – a biography of a famous 19th-century explorer and how he could be seen as representing men as a whole – but that’s a whole other post that will be coming soon.

Anyway – in the wandering way of my mind this lead me to thinking about how men have become demonised in the media generally. We are seen as stupid or beasts or slovenly – I could go on. But then, I thought women get it just as bad and then there’s ethnic minorities, the poor, immigrants – the list goes on. And on.

Maybe it’s just rich white people who get off lightly – but even as you read this what are you thinking? Of those Etonian brothers who keep their friend rich via nepotism and corruption while sneering at the poor? The rich wives from Chelsea with their lap dogs and expensive handbags and no clue about the real world?

See even they are demonised.

Why?

Who by  – that’s an easier question. The media. And we all know that the media is run by those in power. I am no conspiracy theory nut – I don’t believe that there’s a tightly organised elite pulling the strings. Rather I think it’s like a self-sustaining system which lifts the people it needs to maintain its stability into positions of power. But whatever the reason – the media is the tool of that system.

So again why? Why demonise every single sector of society?

Control. If you cannot be proud of where you came from how can you rise to greatness? Great people can threaten the order of things, they can lead people out of their everyday drudgery and tedium. Out of wage slavery and obedience.

So greatness is stifled. In the modern garden of the world, the land is left to weeds and overgrowth. Anything that rises above the weed line is quickly cut down or sprayed with toxins until it wilts.

In such a barren and ill-tended garden, how can we expect flowers? How can we have anything more than poor harvests?

We should tend our garden better.

 

Image from Pixabay

In response to the daily prompt Stifle

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

Inkling

By Scott Bailey © 2018

I am drawn
By slightly parted lips
Swaying hips
Twinkling eyes
A smile
I am drawn
By an inkling

 

Image from Pixabay

A slightly modified version of an older poem I did that benefits from the addition I think.

In response to the daily prompt Inkling

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www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Posted in Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Inscrutable – the Pension Rip Off

By Scott Bailey © 2018

Image from Pixabay

There’s an advert running at present (in the UK) for pensions. It shows two of the same person working – with the tagline that having a workplace pension is like having another you working for your future.

If only. Recent history would suggest otherwise. With so many company pensions disappearing into black holes while inscrutable business owners get away with all the cash stashed away in their offshore accounts – you have to stop and question it.

Sure you have to prepare for your future – but it seems like a massive risk. When I started working we paid towards a state pension. But then the government privatised it all – handing it over to the free market. Their argument being that they would not be able to afford to pay out a pension in the future if they did not.

Which begs more questions. Why not – are the government that bad at managing finances? If it’s such a loss-making venture then why the hell would any business take it on?

They just keep inventing ways to screw us out of money. So the image of two of you working is accurate in one way. They can screw you doubly while you work.

In response to the daily prompt Inscrutable

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www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Posted in Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

Revision

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Image from Pixabay

Swirling in the mists of history
Mystic figures whirl
Dark silhouettes of dangerous men
Stride along with pride.

A flash of a sword, the chord of a song
the clash of a shield, the beat of a drum.
The roar of a fire in a welcome hearth.
The hearty sound of the comrades’ laugh.

The scent of a feast, the warmth of the soup.
The strength of the beams over the hall
The smoke rising up into the straw
All of this and still there’s more.

A cold wind blows, the mist rolls back,
To show the cold hard facts.

 

In response to the daily prompt Silhouette

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www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Posted in Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Poetry, Writing

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 then dry
That is is the song
Of our age
We seem to sing it
With joy

 

Image from pixabay.com

 

In response to the daily prompt Dominant

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www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Posted in Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Self Publishing, Short Stories, Writing

Bruised

By Scott Bailey © 2013

 

He would never see his son again.

Unless…

Unless he went made it through today. Found the strength from somewhere. Put aside his pain.

The trauma his son had suffered had not been at his hands. Logically there was no responsibility for it on his shoulders.

Logic was a weak fence against raw emotion. Emotion that told him that he had failed as a father, that the protection he was supposed to give had been lacking, just that once.

Nobody agreed with him.

That made no difference.

So, he would not compound failure with failure. This was his last chance. He would take it.

He had tried all other avenues. Therapy, prayer, medication. Nothing worked, Yet what it had done was show him the way. It had made clear the path he needed to tread.

So he took a deep breath and rose from his seat. He nodded to the doctor signaling his readiness. The doctor frowned but kept his piece. He opened the door and let him enter his son’s room.

The room was sparse, clinical. His son lay curled on top of the bed sheets, motionless. Awake but unresponsive. He did not look up or acknowledge his father’s entrance.

There was a small bedside table to the left of the bed on which sat a plastic beaker of water. The bed was positioned by the window. Sunlight tried to make an impression on the coldness of the room but failed. The only other furniture was a white chest of drawers and some empty white bookshelves.

Then there were the books.

The books, many many books, that should have rested on the shelves or strewn on the floor. An impressive collection for one so young.

They hung impossibly in the air.

He sighed. He knew what came next. It had all become familiar to him. This time though he did not avoid it. He did not flinch or try to defend himself. This time he smiled at his son.

The books flew at him. As if thrown by immense strength and anger. The hard spines whacked into his flesh like dull nails. Again and again and again. Raining pain upon his body. The books that hit him fell to the ground limply, twitched like dying flies, then were suddenly whisked up and flung again.

There was no let-up.

He could feel his body being pummelled into a bloody bruised mess. But he took it. Stood calmly, raised his arms towards his son and kept smiling. Gave all he had left to him – gave him his unconditional love. Took the punishment not meant for him.

The books whirled faster as the rage grew. Like a tornado of leather and card, they descended on him, pounded him. The pain passed over what was bearable to no longer being processable – so he no longer felt it. He knew he would not last much longer – if this continued his body would fail him. Darkness crept inwards along the edges of his eyes. He kept smiling, locked his legs and stood, arms out.

The whirl became a darkness that was trying to beat his flesh from his bones. He felt like the bones themselves were splintering beneath.

Then it stopped.

Suddenly all the books fell to the floor. Sunlight sprang into the room as is a lock had burst.

His son looked up and held out his arms for his father.

 

In response to the daily prompt Torn

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www.scottandrewbailey.uk

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

The Politician, The Voter and the Child

By Scott Bailey © 2015

 

You work hard

I struggle by

In the dark

You’re a hard-working family

To pay my bills

A silent dark

You deserve more

To keep my job

Shattered by

Respect and remuneration

My family safe

A scream so stark

Higher wage

Bills accrue

A sister torn

More tax

No breaks in sight

A mother too

Security

I am undermined

And then my turn

Here they come

By cheaper crews

To be their tool

To take your jobs

And labour pools

Alone I lived

We try to stop them

Let down by those

My family died

But the law demands

For who we fought a war

Alone I ran

Freedoms we ill afford

Belts pulled tight

Alone to hide

So we must let them in

Doors shut tight

Far away

We need your fear

As our land

Where wars don’t rage

So let us pass

Slips away

Across the sea

Stronger laws

Dreams of the past

Into a cage

And take your cash

Of golden days

And forms and forms

For a better way

Seem far away

And questions long

Altogether now

Every man for himself

And looks of scorn

Watch your backs

Seems the only way

And acts of wrong

Strengthen our national pride

So I must take a stand

Drowning in

Defend our ways

Against the tide

A stinking sea

Our traditions

That seems to me

I cry

Like class division

To rise and rise

No one pities me

And stay an island proud

To drown our island’s pride

No one pities me

In response to the daily prompt Torn

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

The Calling

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Galaxy

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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www.scottandrewbailey.uk

Posted in Blogging101, Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, General, Haiku, Poetry, Self Publishing, Short Stories, Writing

Next Year

I am in a quandary – what to do with this blog next year.

This year I set up prescheduled posts – three a day for a whole year! Then I posted each day as and when I could.

This has resulted in two things.

  1. A lot of repetition, the same posts being seen over and over again.
  2. The highest number of views ever – more than doubling any previous year

This got me thinking – how do I match it? How do I keep the momentum going?

Then I thought again. Do I want to?

I realised as I was trying to plan out a new schedule of posting I thought about what it meant. What was the reason for it?

Last year I wanted to increase my views – but the reason for that was to increase exposure of my books – and try and boost their sales. Sure I enjoy the writing and enjoy the challenges I have become a part of. It has helped build up a and strengthen a little network of fellow bloggers that I now value.

But it has had detrimental effects too. As mentioned it has filled my blog with reams of duplicate content. But worse – it has taken up all the precious writing time I had. All of it. This means I have done nothing else.

On top of that – it has not boosted my book sales at all. So it failed at its main aim.

So, I have decided that this year I will take a new approach. I will probably try and write every day – do Ronovan’s Haiku Challenge on Monday’s as well as something for the Daily Prompt.  But, I am not going to get hung up on stats and trying to reach targets. I am going to step back and try and produce some more books. Another poetry collection, and maybe another collection of short stories.

But I won’t be disappearing.

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

 

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

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

Compass

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Compass

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

Sound of

By Scott Bailey © 2016

Broken Road

So we worry like old men
On the road to night again
Wondering what the dawn will bring
Will we hear the lonely blackbird sing
And then the heart beats a skip once more
as our dreams falter

Complex systems crowd our minds
Light penetrating through the blinds
Nowhere safe to settle down our thoughts
No reprise to high ethereal courts
And so we close our eyes to the blinding light
and slowly we falter

Solid waters chills our bones
Sitting in the orange cones
Going nowhere on this winding road
Never understanding the blinking code
So we ride on ignorance and bliss
and never alter

In response to the daily prompt Bliss

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www.scottandrewbailey.uk

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

Until One Day

By Scott Bailey © 2013

Caged Tiger

Two
Ribbons
Of mist
Hang
Twirling slowly
Around him
Sitting
Silent
In his cage
A cage of
Gold chains
And
Silver bars
Built of responsibility
Parenthood
Husbandhood
Manhood
The cage compresses
The darkness that
Fills it
Darkness surrounds him
Tries to engulf him
But the ribbons of mist
Twirl
Slowly
As he waits
Until One Day

In response to the daily prompt Silent

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www.scottandrewbailey.uk

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

The Lonely Tree

By Scott Bailey © 2016

Lonely Tree

The lonely tree
Stood atop the blasted hill
Stark
Barren branches snatching
Rays from a mist-shrouded sun

Every now and then
Upon an errant breeze
Flits a weary bird
Resting one more time
On its final flight
Then falls

All around the roots
Dead birds and ash
Giving meager succour
To the lonely tree

One day
From that blood-soaked soil
This tree’s seed will rise
Green will conquer grey
Once more

But too late
For this final witness
Of our fall

In response to the daily prompt Meager

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

The Meek

By Scott Bailey © 2015

Devestation

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

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

In response to the daily prompt Inheritance

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Posted in Creative Writing, Daily Prompt, Fiction, Mankind Limited News, Science Fiction, Self Publishing, Writing

The Theory Of Learning

William had a theory. It was to do with the way people learned. That was why he never told anyone The Secret. That was why he had to lead them to their own discovery.

But was that right?

 

Find out more. Follow four people who society could not break as they explore the very idea of rebellion – with action!

 

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

In response to the daily prompt Theory

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

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

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

In response to the daily prompt Elegance

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

Degrees

By Scott Bailey © 2017

By Degree-Radian_Conversion.svg: Inductiveload derivative work: F l a n k e r (Degree-Radian_Conversion.svg) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Third-degree burns
First-degree murder
How we like to measure things
That hurt

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

In response to the daily prompt Degree

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

The Gorge

By Scott Bailey © 2017

Cheddar Gorge
By Diliff (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons
Cheddar Gorge
Deep
With memories
Camping with friends
Caving
Rich smell of loam
Aroma of cheese
The chill of the cave
Holidays with family
Children eyes
Reliving the wonder
Of my youth
Deep runs the gorge

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

In response to the daily prompt Gorge

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

The Children of Thunder

By Scott Bailey © 2014

 

Rising up and crashing down
On the cold, dark northern sea
Through hail and thunder, rain and show
The dark behind we flee

Filled with fear and hunger
From their lands bereft
They gorged their souls on anger
Till nothing else was left

They crashed upon the naked shores
Like children of the thunder
And every wall they came across
The smashed and tore asunder

The burnt the words of holy men
Carved scars into the nation
But also left their words and ways
While singing their elation

Some stayed in the conquered lands
Creating yet more divides
Their echoes ring across the years
In our veins their blood resides

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

In response to the daily prompt Gorge

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

The Cracked Vase

By Scott Bailey © 2013

The vessel is cracked
Still holds the sacred blooms
Still revered
Though the blooms are without root
Rootless. Dying.

Still revered.
Water though refreshed,
Still stagnates
Dead blooms replaced
With freshly cut.

Repetition
Builds a patina of respect
Authority
Habit.

The vessel is cracked
Empty of life
Yet forever filled
and revered.

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

In response to the daily prompt Patina

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

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

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

In response to the daily prompt Tenterhooks

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

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

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

In response to the daily prompt Tenterhooks

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

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

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

In response to the daily prompt Age

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

Ages

By Scott Bailey © 2001

 

In a crumbling house we gathered,
sat around the ancient fire.
Logs burnt slow in the hearth,
warmed our expectant hearts.
Firelight flickered in the darkening eve,
We gathered around the elders.
sat in large and comfy chairs.
Red light upon our faces.
We heard of times gone by,
and smelt the burning wood.
The shadows held safe the past,
we gathered them in our hearts.
We looked back upon times gone,
held hands and were content.
Drinking from the cup of seers,
our fears eased, to sleep we went.

Upon the train I sat,
late for work again.
Another day another dollar,
Tomorrow the same again.
But that’s the base on which I build,
The foundation for my fun.
Work hard, get paid.
Play fast, get laid.
Tomorrow is another day.
So head down, concentrate.
Don’t stop, can’t be late.
Avoid, the crunch.
Let’s do brunch.
Work hard, make a dime!
Night time, spend a dime.
Money opens up the door.
More, more, more, more!

Future goals.
Way ahead.
Sights set far.
Future goals.
Sacrifice.
For future goals.
Save.
Energy.
Spend nothing now.
For future goals.
Look ahead.
Way ahead.
Suffer now.
For future goals.
Work.
Don’t play.
Rest later.
Not today.
Save it all.
For future goals.
For future goals.
Sell your souls.
Don’t look back.
Only ahead.
Don’t think today.
Think ahead.
See the prize.
Of future goals.
Don’t listen to,
the bell that tolls.
For future goals.

 

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

In response to the daily prompt Age

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

Rambling

By Scott Bailey © 2017

The sparrows scatter the pine cones
Down the valley and down
The salmon and 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

www.scottandrewbailey.uk

#iamwriting