Author: Dan Verkys

Australian visual artist and dabbler in music and literature.
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The Wheel of the Year

Hope shines into the heart of new days,
I’ll heal in nature, clearing both mind and airways,
With eyes closed I can see the illuminated leaves,
In our own sunlit garden, on its magical trees,
With the passing of Beltane, happier days seem ahead,
Far from Queen Winter, the monarch of the dead,
Warmth brings connection, and opportunity to grow,
It’s a time to return to the me that I used to know,
I must shake the bitterness that Yule has put in me,
And start living better, the way that I should be.
There’s a lot of work to do on my body and my mind,
I’ve abused both, so it’s time to heal, repair and unwind,
As I’ve grown older there’s one thing that is clear,
All things can change, except the turning wheel of the year.

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I hear my train coming

I’ve tried every day, but I’m cut to the quick,
Everything angers me making me sick,
With worry, with hurt, or with such sorrow,
For a world with no future, I’ve no hope in tomorrow,
I’ve had enough, and my own time draws near,
Soon it’s time to say goodbye to all I hold dear,
Although I love them, I just can’t stay anymore,
Every day I feel worthless, like I’m cast on the floor,
Of life’s editor suite, who doesn’t think I’m a good fit,
Removing my worth and my life with one simple snip,
All the love I have given, and the little I have taken,
Leaves me here with no ticket, stranded on death’s train station.
With this one-way ticket, there is no coming back,
For my journey is over, and this train is out of track.

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A Thousand Dreams

A thousand memories, and a thousand dreams,
Hurtful ingredients adding sound to my silent screams,
Too long buttoned up, and for too long held down,
Battling imagined usurpers hunting my imaginary crown,
I fight alone through wastelands left barren,
Used and ridiculed, my mind is starved, left to famine,
After those who sort something from me all drank their fill,
I remain here in the dark, fighting apparitions still.

To save my heart and mind, I must be completely withdrawn,
I seek peace as I grow older, used, battered, and travelworn,
I lick my wounds, and I try to heal deep scars left within,
Those unseen by the world, not those left on my skin.
All these wounds that I speak of have come at a cost,
They are not badges of honour, but evidence of those lost,
Too many friends and loved ones have now left this place,
Leaving me unequipped to cope with the world that I face.

You read this now in a time of turmoil and of inner unbalance,
Where I drink poison to assist paying unknown psychological penance,
Filling my need to be numb, to fake happiness, to no longer care,
A thousand emotions, from a thousand thoughts I can’t share,
About things I can’t change, nor do I want to bring back,
From the lifetime of sadness, I’ve carried on my back.

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Starfall

Falling from the distant stars through time itself,

Into the deep cool waters of an ancient land,

Lost to all memory, a forgotten numen beneath the waves,

As eons pass the subsiding waters form a vast wasteland,

Miles of desolate emptiness, and beneath these ancient sands of time,

The star fallen sleeps, imprisoned within the dark restraints of dreams.

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Panic in the Dark

A Darkness Comes

A second darkness falls with the night,
Slipping behind my eyes from the afternoon shadows,
A thick, greasy film that stinks of fear and sorrow,
It’s a foreign invader, the embodiment of sickness,
Although symptoms are common, at night they feel extreme.
It comes when I’m alone, painting fearful images.
No matter how I try to cope, the torment continues,
It enters my sleep, and pours in thick black nightmares,
Voices tell me I’m dying, whispering sweetly in my ear,
A pain here, a cough there, it has me in its icy grip,
The only thing that combats it is company, distraction, or morning.
Tomorrow it will regroup and return with a vengeance,
For another night of torment, grief, and torture,
My mind can’t rest, the darkness feeds on fear,
I’m not alone, millions of people greet this stranger nightly,
But that doesn’t help me when I’m struggling to sleep,
Where it pokes, prods, and toys with my emotions,
The morning light banishes the beast, forcing it to flee,
Until we battle again tomorrow night, for control of me.

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Ode to Springtime

I’m thankful for the springtime,

And how it brings our garden to life,

The morning smell of eucalyptus trees,

Its dewy mornings and its warmer nights,

Afternoon sun showers on freshly cut lawns,

The colour of the flowers makes me love it even more,

The songs of busy insects and the brightly coloured birds,

The sounds of springtime in the country are the best I’ve ever heard.

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Below the Queen Tree

I cross my front garden to my favourite tree and sit down,

She has a thick leaning trunk and a beautiful green crown,

Soft grass at her base, welcomes my feet like an old friend,

The queen tree is the kind, a younger me would often ascend,

I’d climb to the top and feel the sun on my smiling face,

Above the world in her castle, my secret green hiding place,

Times have changed, and now I must admire her from below,

My bare feet in the grass, and the greying face of an old fellow.

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Path of the anxious mind

Forest walking,
Self talking,
Rain falling,
Birds calling,
Breath taking,
Hands shaking,
Alone feeling,
Strength stealing,
Anxious being,
Death seeing,
Tree crashing,
Claws slashing,
Teeth biting,
Beast fighting,
Blood dripping,
Mind tripping,
I’m dying,
Anxiety lying!

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On the Road Again

Well, here we are again, a new day, a new week, a new outlook,

The back of my mind wonders, ‘more from of the same old handbook?’,

There is a self-expectation that things will be better this time,

But each new day seems more energised than this mind if mine,

So, I make coffee, I pen these words, and I start to feel better,

I shuffle, not run at my morning, coffee’s the fuel in my carburettor.

I’m like an older car now, that takes more effort to start each morning,

I need to start with low revs, to avoid a red engine light warning,

I must be gentle and kind to my brain or I’ll suffer for it later,

Because there’s no roadside assist if I drive myself into a crater.

My engine’s still ok, but the bodywork certainly has a few dents,

I’m practiced at my job, and I can deal with what it presents,

I must remember I’m an older car now, and not a young spaceship,

So I strap in and slowly set out on this week’s mental road trip.

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The Drift

When the season in which you were loved fades,

When your worth is no longer considered,

When your importance to the world has withered,

The flowing water of life no longer cascades.

You will first feel there is a widening rift,

Your new exclusion speaks unseen deception,

Your once loved arms now starved of all affection,

This is what I refer to as the drift.