Category: Poetry

The device in my hands writes to distraction as my stomach awaits nourishment,
A swirl of competing sounds battle with foreign voices from another room,
A stove top crackles as a radio competes for audio supremacy against a crying infant,
The radio noise is soon defeated, as voices rise and fall comforting a now content baby,
I feel heat, as fire belches from the stove top while the contents of a large pan are tossed.

As I write, Customer number 6 is shouted aloud in a thick accent not typical in this area,
A surprise to me considering I’m the only person waiting patiently in the shopfront. 
I check the small receipt in my hand and notice the number ‘6’ crudely printed in blue ink,
And wonder why I’m only the 6th diner to call into this quiet place on such a busy Street?
This is a struggling family, but the low number is on my mind while I stand and pay for my meal.

Once collected, I thank them for their custom, my smile is genuine, as is theirs in return,
On dark days like these, I wish all who work hard for so little reward, the brightest of futures,
They strive to create a new world for themselves, not unlike their infant, they also seek contentment.

I bid them farewell, the husband smiling, the wife exhausted, the infant crying once more.
Beneath darkening clouds, a cool wind blows, so I find a quiet place to sit and dine,
I eagerly open my food, and again ponder the lonely number six printed on my receipt,
A mouthful confirms what the plastic lid can no longer conceal, yet the rubbish bin now knows.
Hard work, smiles and hope, do not always make a good cook.

I am adrift, my face and body are bound in gossamer-like fabric as I lay aboard an oarless boat floating across a lake unknown,

The shroud I wear has been worn by many, I’m cast out by unseen hands and drift silently,

Mist covers the lake, smothering the sky like a pale heavy blanket weighed down at its ends.

My senses are as blind to the starlight above, as the water is to the reflection of the moon.

A small island reveals itself through the darkness, crowded with ancient trees held back by a stone gate,

My vessels path has been true, and it soon halts in the dark wet sands that welcome my arrival.

The stone gate opens, and the great thorned trees stretch backwards creaking, to reveal a hidden path,

I find myself floating along the path, no longer by boat, but carried by the invisible hands of the mist,

Through the shroud I see the dark branches above me, like great cracks across the bright moonlit sky beyond,

I hear the distant clank of the gate closing, and sound of the trees I’ve passed creaking back into position,

The moonlight soon fades, and I drift off into nothingness.

As the door swings open, I escape the hot airless confines of the cell that confined me.
I breathe the air, although cooler and improved, it leaves that subtle taste of poison,
Just a trace to remind me that although free from the cell, I’m within the realm of its reach.
Via a nearby cavern I find my escape, a silver bullet that travels through time and space,
Soon fired, the bullet overcomes many obstacles on its long journey northward.

The bullet begins to slow as concrete gives way to grass, and a mountain looms in the distance,
Grey clouds become blue skies, and fields of bright yellow flowers kiss the afternoon sun,
The journey continues, I pass over green pastures, as creatures bask in the warm sun.
After clusters of dark cypress trees, the bullet slows, as it approaches a small settlement.

Within, the smiling village faces busy themselves with the final activities of their day.
Some stop to talk and laughter fills the air, children pass by rejoicing the end of a school day,
The silver bullet finally comes to rest in a leafy grove, its humming stops and its warm body cools,
I step out into a fresh fragrance, my senses awakening, as though I’m breathing for the very first time.
I am safe within my sanctuary now, surrounded by the armour of nature, and protected from all hurt.
I am delivered, I am home.

I sit as my three selves, past, present, and future,

Afloat on a wooden raft that slowly gains water,

Starry skyed, I travel a dark river, through a hazy landscape.

Future faces forward, past looks behind, while the present holds its head in its hands.

Blindfolded, the turbulent waters confuse our true direction,

We ride rough waters towards a waterfall that empties itself into a vast black void.

The immense darkness of that void is as indescribable, as it is inevitable.

© Dan Verkys 2024