http://slow.writerscafe.org/TBailey The original writings of author C.T. Bailey en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776082239 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Daffodils of Scott County One April morning,just after sunrisebut while dewstill cleavesto a fencerow web,I sip my coffeeon the front porchand watch the windtease a small, squarepatch of Daffodilsby the property gate.The swirling greenand yellow patternreminds meof th.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/1504980/ Granite stones,chiseled by God alone, liescattered across acresof Appalachian forest floor.As missionaries seek the lost,he kicks over leaves,searches under the corpses of oaks - decades deceased,until he finds every lost soul.Carries prodigals one-by-one,li.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/1376414/ Do Not Publish http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/820582/ New slam poem for upcoming spoken word event being held at the Kingsport Renaissance Center on December 9th. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/813577/ All I offer you, all I can giveis an endless river of words, cool watersfor your thirst.You drink of me,until your lipstaste mine,until a cascadebaptizes the heart,until the miles seem as meaninglessas the past,and with secret eyes we look upon.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/808160/ BoundTogetherIalways wind up here.  Once, I convincedmyself that it was only the aroma of gourmet coffee comingling with the odor ofmusty antique books which draws me to this place.  This is untrue, of course.  Just as the use of “wind up” is a clumsyattempt .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/807232/ This is a silly little poem written specifically for a Halloween party/Poetry reading I will be attending next month. Even though a poor write, it is written in iambic tetrameter. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/801531/ Leaves of thirty-three autumns have covered the forest flooralong the bend in Laurel Creek,that secret place, where cold mountain water laps againstround, polished stonesand bare feet. LoamyTennessee silt once siftedbetween the toes here, leaving high-water marks .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/799324/ Warning*** This is Christian Poetry. If you are offended, please stop here and read no further. I am not the sort to force my religious views on others. What words can describe Heaven? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/798998/ Afterwardsby C.T. Bailey Afterwards, when there is no more crescendoin the yelling; when there is no more whisk of the broomsweeping broken glass that scratches the tilelike chalk etching words of insincere remorse on a blackboard; when the remnants of photo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/798994/ My Father’s HouseBy C.T. Bailey        The last fingersof twilight were relinquishing their hold on the day and the hand of darknesswas tightening its grip on the night. Winter abandoned all claims to spring and the Black-eyed Susans werebloomi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/798017/ Anvil RockBury me here.Leave mein this place.Mark the spot with only the solesof your boots. Let me lie hereunder starrydesert sky.Then rememberme. Tell them stories. Longstories withgrand endings.The eagleand coyotewill stand watchas the Juniperwipes away mymemory with waxyfingers.&n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/797476/ Farmer's Market in a Trendy TownMy bushel baskets of cornand potatoes must lack the allure of Bok Choy,I suppose.  Lost somewherebetween the purveyors of Bitter Melons,Amish bread (wrapped in red-checkered cloth),and bamboo wind chimes, these vegetablesstand a modest chance of sharing.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/793269/ Prose employing an extended metaphor comparing a homeless person to an artisan. The piece is intended for a poetry slam I will be performing in on August 15th. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/774472/ Copper RidgeRevision Two " Draft OneChapter Fourby C.T. Bailey   Hereshe comes.  About ahalf-mile further down the tracks and through a rising heat mirage, aNorfolk-Southern locomotive is bearing down on the trestle.  Morecoal. Wonder if it’ll ev.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/731391/ CopperRidgeRevisionTwo " Draft TwoChapterThreebyC.T. Bailey             “Billy goat, I gotbiscuits ready. Time to get movin’.”It’s still dark. Ezra gets up with the chickens, whether I’m he.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/731390/    CopperRidgeRevisionTwo " Draft OneChapterTwobyC.T. Bailey Two huge Oak trees grow between the road and theMiller house in what would have been called the yard in a different time.  A concrete walk, which divides the two trees,le.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/728857/ CopperRidgeRevisionTwo " Draft TwoChapterOnebyC.T. Bailey For years I have dreamed about who I, William Bell,might have been had I not made the decisions that have brought me to thisplace.  The burden of my secret, held forthe last thirty-five years, has b.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/728855/ Draft http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/728854/ CopperRidgeRevisionTwo �" Draft OneChapterOnebyC.T. Bailey The burden of this secret, held over the lastthirty-five years, has become a black veil that has overshadowed my life. Itsmassive weight on my conscious has caused me to evolve into a person I.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/728853/ Greeting Death When Death comes,he will not find mewith hands in pockets.No, I am going to tip my hatand look the other way.Going to act like I didn’tsee him coming.  He willbe surprised to learn he's the only one in the roomnot in on the joke. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/706532/  Ivory teeth trace patterns of vermillion passion. Her gentle bites acrossmy almond chest stain the fleshwith crimson ink, leaving evidence of probing lips.Reflecting in her cobalt eyes, a red-orange glow of firelight  illuminates a white hottouch of obsession.She sea.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/629548/ read by some.lived by all. a quiet life of faith.executions in the name of religion. a mother holding a folded flag.friendly fire. tears that stream for a dead child.weeping because of guilt. dying in a hospital bed.a visitor you haven’t seen in ye.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/629540/ Grandma’s old straw hatrides low on her brow.When hilling potatoes,sweat rings the brim.Twine provides a strap.Sometimes, when a gusttumbles past tomatoesand green onions,a calloused handpushes the hat backto feel deliverancefrom summer rays.The brim shades a spottwo-.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/629535/ Chrome 383 small block, double-hump heads,fuel injection, superchargera midnight cruiseflaming hot licks on black lacquer paintstreet lights blowing past  That’s chrome, baby.That’s chrome. Road signs, blue eyes, blonde hair,cherry red lips framed i.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/629531/ An Etheree http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/629528/ Whenhe lit a warmingfire while floatingin his cold kayak,the Eskimo quickly sank in the freezing water. Therefore, by his drowning he did prove the wise old maxim, which says, “You cannot have your kayak and heat it too.” http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/629527/ By nine, trucks old and newline the street, spilling into the yard.Jim Beam and George Dickellubricate the chord progression.  Drinks go down, volume goes up.I’ll be reading in the backroomas Pap raises a glass to Hank Sr. When the last burning drop of homagetrickles down .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/629521/ Contemporary poets know that free-verse poems are the rage; most rhyme and meter quit the stage. If only Buk had been a Poe!  I know these lines set down in rhymes will fail to please our modern taste; Some writers judge all rhymes a waste, would sooner hear a choir of mimes. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/629515/ I saw him in my bookstore.He, barely of shaving age, is wearing a blue, pin-pointoxford, emblazoned with a dazzling, colorfulcorporate moniker - undoubtedly, a new sales recruit from the local college.I gave him a full ten seconds of eye contact.Here, in the middle of holy ground; a sanctu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/629513/ I remember dad lying in a hospital bed breathing, but not much more than that. Hours were spent watching assistants come and go.Televisions droned through the hallwayfrom other rooms,echoing through my headlike an old movie playing at4 a.m.after pulling a drunk.R.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/629509/ You delight in our ignorance. We become your marks, mere targets of opportunity, We are fool’s holding gold. Our simpleton ways betray us,Our ways never produce greatness and wisdom.In our simplicity, we see your world and it is our heart's desire. You laud one a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/629508/ Example of Iambic Tetrameter http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/580764/ A haiku. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/576378/                     Chapter V                  Your Knowledge Son, there’s a specter which forever haunts .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/524643/ Chapter four in a book dedicated to my son. This chapter focusing on finding and building love in the opposite sex. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/502114/ This piece is neither religously centered nor is it concerned with the art of wine making. Hope you enjoy this - as the subject matter is of a very personal nature... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/500495/ RedemptionBy C.T. Bailey Wipe my tears with your veil, for they have washed clean my path,and they plead the scriptures no more, love.Can you not discern howA scarlet judgment waxes coldO’er an apostate heart?Earnestly I seek redemptionfrom a devotion that has grown wa.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/499997/ Written from the prompt word "magical" as given by the group Spark's Diner on another writing site. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/491538/ Some people just brighten the world... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/481953/ Haiku of quiet, tearful sadness... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/433914/ You kids just won't understand.... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/433907/ Another Haiku... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/433905/ I cannot have her... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/433902/ A familiar rhetorical situation done in the English Sonnet form. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/368578/ An article written as a project to counter argue the issues of states' rights and slavery as the grounds for the beginning of the Civil War. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/349280/ Surrender Pathetic age -empty, alone.A single kiss remains within -so soon I'm gone. My passions spent,emotions cold -a weary warmthwill tell my heartyour love withholds. The absent touch will take a toll,no embers left,no words console,I’ve.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/336083/ This is a song analysis essay written about the song "Man of Constant Sorrow", as performed in the movie O Brother, Where Art Thou. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/322137/ Chapter III in a book dedicated to my son. This chapter is to guide him in his selection of friends. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/316649/ My son, happiness is not a destination. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TBailey/304861/