By Scott Bailey © 2015

Rusty
Is the spring in my step
Lost its purpose
Lacking oil
And energy
Waiting
Coiled
Will it bounce again?
One can hope

Image from Pixabay
Advertisements

Spring in my Step

thehouseofbailey

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…

View original post 227 more words

Questions

thehouseofbailey

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

OK so not my favourite film but this was inspired by my favourite TV show growing up.

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.

View original post

The Lord of the Trees

thehouseofbailey

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Lookin’ Out My Back Door.”

By Scott Bailey © 2015

A deep green canopy
Back-dropped by a swathe of gold
Corn
Swaying in the wind
An overwhelming urge
To dive into that green sea
The climb and swing
And scream
With primal joy
But there is a mountain of time
Between me and that green
Eden
Made of commitments and constraints
Burdens and dependencies
So it dwindles
In my rear window
A deep green canopy
In mist

View original post

A Deep Green Canopy

thehouseofbailey

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

Found this old one that fits into this prompt – thought I’d give it some air.

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.

View original post 121 more words

Ages

thehouseofbailey

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

An old one reposted as it fits the prompt 🙂

By Scott Bailey © 2001

A quavering wave
of light in light in the summer clouds
as the sun goes down.

View original post

Summer Clouds

thehouseofbailey

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…

View original post 63 more words

Growing Up