From midnight hour I hear the call,
Of distant people kept in thrall,
In blood-stained desert lands they lie,
In a place where birds no longer fly,
With beliefs stuck in another time,
Committing genocide, not war but crime.
Religion is where true evil thrives,
Its bombs destroy families and displace lives.
Over the same dirt that exists everywhere,
But imaginary faith lines create despair,
A time will come soon when humanity will fall,
And down will come baby, cradle and all.
Plea to a Dark Tree Hollow
Dark tree hollow please bring to me,
Someone who’ll love me unconditionally,
Make them kind and true, please end my sorrow,
Bring me love dark portal, from within your hollow.
I have so much to offer and so much to give,
To a sweet one who’ll share in the life that I live,
From your black laden doorway, do make them appear,
And I will share with them my heart, total and sincere.
Put an end to my lonesome tumultuous life,
And help me put down this self-harming knife,
That I’ve used too long to keep myself sane,
I’ve cut wrists and thighs and cried through the pain.
I feel so alone that I can’t cope anymore,
Send me someone to love, that’s all I wish for,
I know there’s some magic within you great tree,
So please, bring me someone who needs love just like me.
What Slumbers Beneath the Waves
Under knotted storm clouds and blackened night-soaked seas,
Ancient stone columns plummet countless fathoms to the darkest ocean depths,
Beneath the coral covered chancel of a long forgotten holy place,
A white leviathan’s eye, stares blindly upwards to the distant surface,
Forgotten by time, the sleeper beneath the waves has awaited the call,
The somnambulistic god of the old world impatiently stirs in the inky darkness,
When called from slumber, the creatures answer will be final,
In its throat the reply awaits, death, total doom, absolute devastation.
On a beach, incantations can be heard among the crashing of the waves,
For the stars are out tonight as death cult followers summon their leviathan god,
With his rising, the sea rumbles and floods, destruction is unleashed upon the world of men.
Cities are annihilated by waves, and sunlight is blacked out by ash from erupting volcanoes,
The lands freeze, and not a soul is left to witness the creature’s cosmic departure.
All is lost in its wake, a dead planet slowly revolves through the cold darkness of time.
The Whispering Spring Forest
There is a place where tall trees whisper, their voices dance on the wind as they sing,
With rustled leaves and creaking branches, that stretch in the midday sun of spring,
Where green farmlands are sweetly fragranced, creating soft beds for small white sheep,
The warm spring sunlight stretches lazily, across pasture rich and forest deep,
Where scent of eucalyptus on the gentle breeze, seeps into my lungs and heals,
And hungry bees seek sweet nectar, that colourful wildflowers reveal.
A mountain rises from this place, where the fern tree canopy glows bright green,
Because the sunlight kisses both frond and leaf, that line a mountain stream,
High on the peak tree trunks reach up, great columns seek the sun they recognise,
Their branches teem with new life that sleeps, comforted by whispered forest lullabies,
The mighty ironbark trees greet the stars each night, and farewell the moon each dawn,
This is where my heart feels full, my thoughts are free, and on my face a smile is worn.
Distant are the Green Trees
Distant are the green trees, the tall cypress, the waving amber, and the swaying gum branch,
Far away I find myself, confined, restricted, encased in concrete and glass,
I’ve long been its weary inmate, obligated to dig from under a financial avalanche.
I feel days less now as I’ve grown older, my time runs out and days pass with such speed,
Often forgetting what day it is, surrounded by the young shore footed minds,
I feel foolish, angry, I resent the required spectacles that are now my only way to read.
Distant are the green trees, the long grass, the wildflowers, my home near the mountain.
From where I sit, I spy a river of concrete and bitumen, the water is a sea of cars,
They flow forth, a stream of people on their way to where happiness can never fountain.
There is so much sound, when did I become this sensitive, why am I so homesick?
It’s an illness of the heart perhaps, I miss the open spaces between this world and mine.
There is too much of too much in this place, the people and the air are claustrophobic.
Distant are the green trees, the cool streams, the fern forests and the quiet.
Seven more hours shall pass before I can exit from this city to where I belong,
Away from false people, fake laughter, their greedy ambition, to my beloved countryside.
Labyrinth of Lost Words
At once a shopfront, but also a cavernous labyrinth of lost words,
An old grey proprietor rubs their hands, anticipating the sale of some forgotten tome.
Deeper the explorer ventures, and the dust covered bookshelves grow dimmer,
The adventurer’s mind buzzes with the sheer wealth of knowledge in one place,
Pressed together in unorganised manner, his predetermined targets are instantly erased,
If asked his own name now, he would not remember it amongst his sensory overload.
Books lay stacked out of order, poetry mixed with dictionaries and the Bards plays,
He clears room one, nothing found, before delving into forgotten fictions, the light dims,
He can hear the proprietor discussing mushrooms, bread and eggs for supper,
As he pushes past the Dickens he owns, sadly stacked amongst the Dumas Musketeers,
He came for Keats, for Shelley or Poe, but his head swims as old dust invades his senses,
Suddenly, one blue book here, Burns, and a green there, Donne, treasure found within chaos,
He makes the journey back before he gets in too deep, back to the proprietor’s hungry eyes,
A deal is struck, and he manages to escape back into the bright sunlight he left behind.
He’ll be back, the proprietor grins knowingly.
Fall of the Old World
The world lurches sideways, bringing with it chaos and doom,
Oceans shift, and massive floods cover once barren lands,
New mountain ranges and great valleys rise, creating instant change,
Shifting seas uncover secret terrain, creating a new alien landscape.
Where once there was vibrant life, the floating dead now pollute the water,
Metropolises are swallowed in moments, covered by the rushing ocean waves,
Vast creatures once hidden in deep trenches are unveiled, wreaking havoc,
All light becomes dark, powerful storms rage, rain falls constantly, and the old-world falls.
The devastation of the human species, has been whispered, but was long overdue,
Extinction has arrived with full force, and a new age of the earth has begun.
Mankind squandered a chance at peace and prosperity, and has been judged.
A cosmic force has deemed man unworthy, and the final judgement is total annihilation.
That Feeling
Sometimes I sit eyes closed and breathe, while I feel my hands shaking,
Some mornings I wake from nightmares, tear-soaked and heartbroken.
Other times, my mind wanders so far, that I worry it can’t find its way home.
Sometimes there’s confusion, chaos, and an overwhelming sensation of sound,
Other times it is deathly quiet, and I trudge through a bog of numbness, am I even alive?
Like an autumnal tree branch I yield, everyday shedding things once held dear, leaf after leaf,
I feel it all, in the sunshine and the cold dark early hours, I can be overcome with grief.
Songbirds on the Peninsula of Sleep
Kneeling, the dream-walker reaches for the fulvous velvet grass at their feet,
Energised bands of light envelop the arms and soon become a full body corona of colour,
The newfound energy begins to gently elevate the walker into a hover,
Floating effortlessly, they cross the bright peninsula, as the warm ocean laps at the cliff sides,
Large round turquoise boulders rest beneath weeping lapis trees, their branches laden with birds,
The songbirds with their vibrant glittering indigo plumage, fill the air with their sweet music,
Large white cranes fly silently sunward, their departure signifying the end of a great journey,
Vivid dreams have led the hovering guest to the heart of the peninsula, a flat fragrant and floral field,
Its only feature is a massive ancient white tree, its vine covered trunk revealing a large hollow,
Beams of alternating light cycle from within the tree hollow, pulsing, bidding a warm welcome,
At the centre of each flower growing on the vines that cling to the great tree, is a single gazing eye,
As the songbirds begin to trumpet full throated music into the spiralling peppermint sky,
All eyes watch as the visitor hovers forward, silently fading into the light laden tree hollow,
The bird songs echo into silence, all colour diminishes, and the traveller is emersed in brilliant stars,
The stars soon fade, as the dreamers’ eyes open, awakening them to the glow of a new morning sun.
The Cry Left Unheard
I feel myself unfolding,
As if the life of which I’m holding,
Slowly slips away.
The demons that I’m fighting,
Pull their ropes forever tightening,
I’m drowning every day.
Into the depths of which I’m sinking,
Total darkness keeps me thinking,
That I’m better off this way.
I can’t pull myself back out,
From this hole from which I shout,
Those demons I cannot slay.
But nobody hears me calling,
From the depths hell to which I’m falling,
Deaf ears are my life’s dismay.
I don’t want to struggle anymore,
Under weight of others who left before,
I can’t go on this way.
So I say goodbye to you,
My descendants through and through,
I love you, is all is that I can say.
Dan Verkys 