Poetry of the People: Dale Bailes

My sixth Poet of the People is Dale Bailes. Dale is a long-time icon in the Columbia literary community and an encouraging mentor and friend to many. His poetry is expressive, and you feel his kindness throughout his work. Read his work and become his friend.

Bio: As a poet, Bailes helped design and participated in the Poets In The Schools
Program for the South Carolina Arts Commission. He edited seven anthologies of
student poetry for that program. His poems have appeared in journals and little magazines,
including SOUTH CAROLINA REVIEW, GREAT SPECKLED BIRD, and
CREATIVE CRAFTERS JOURNAL. The poems have been gathered in the
collection CHERRY STONES and in three chapbooks.

Recent publications include poems in Columbia lit mag FALL LINES and
Texas based AMERICAN WRITERS REVIEW.

Bailes holds an MFA in Professional Writing from the University of Southern
California, He has taught college writing and creative writing classes in such
diverse backdrops as state prisons, Navy aircraft carriers, community colleges,
and both USC east and USC west.

He continues his interest as an educator as a part-time Standardized Patient
at the University of South Carolina School of Nursing in Columbia.

____

 

VIGIL

 

First sunlight in tops

Of towering green trees.

How is there no music?

 

THE TRICK

 

Thinking of you in terms

of two-over-light was easier.

That way you shared

my morning rite and left me

to the idle pleasure

of my day. Now, having

seen you trundle from

a lonely man-filled bar

your shoulders slouched

against the weight of darkness

I know you more than I care 

to; know your crumpled

single bed and barren room

know why your ten-hour-day

is comfort to you.

Now instead of leaving me

to my own tight rare existence

you take me trembling with you

into your lonely night.

 

(from ST. ANDREWS REVIEW)

 

THE GENTLEMAN CALLER

 

No need to keep him waiting

fifteen anxious minutes; no stately

staircase has to frame her entrance.

Cordelia sits quite calmly at the table

saucered cup untouched and slowly colding

 

Her mind commands a sunny day, with horses

she smells the Spring and smiles

at mustached men. A storm can rage there

now, or suns go setting; white-haired

gallants still tip crisp hats and court her,

 

What matter if those days she lives

are twenty-five or fifty years divided?

This day alone will mean most to her heart

stout friend through all and keeper

of the great loves she has known.

 

Now he has come, the quietest caller

she has yet received. “Madame?” “oh yes.

I am quite ready. You are right on time.”

Cordelia, rising, bids a host of friends adieu.

Whispers gaily, “It was always you.”

 

(from MISSISSIPPI REVIEW)

 

THE JESTER

 

The Jester on your wall grins

at you. His hand has been, will be

poised to pluck the lute.

 

You pull yourself from sleep

or death, recall some sound

that scared you to the fading point

 

where sleep and death are one

and come or don’t come

as your left eye struggles open

 

and your right eye simply won’t .

He has waited while you slept

while you crept through

 

the other room of the dream

and out. He has grinned as

a black cat crossed the street

 

to avoid crossing your path,

as ladders crashed around you

that you wanted to walk under.

 

He will watch you tumble from

the bed, return from all that pain

awake, stumble to another room

 

to wet your trembling hands.

His hands will tense, prepare

to play the chord to match

 

the sound your pleading eyes

will make, as you watch the mirror

drop you and you shatter.

 

(from SANDLAPPER)