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.

Adrift upon a silent lake,
A lone figure lay bound
In gossamer shrouds.

The cloth that wrapped them
Had embraced countless others before.

Cast out by unseen hands,
They floated upon an oarless boat,
Carried toward an unknown shore.

Mist smothered the water,
Blanketing the sky above,
Heavy and pale.

Their senses were as blind to the stars
As the dark water was
To the moon’s reflection.

Then, through the gloom,
An island emerged.

Ancient trees crowded its shores,
Held at bay
By a weathered stone gate.

The vessel’s course had been true.

It glided into dark wet sands
That silently welcomed its passenger.

The gate slowly opened.

Great thorned trees bent and creaked aside,
Revealing a hidden path
Into the heart of the island.

Then the figure moved once more.

No longer by boat,
But borne aloft
By the invisible hands of the mist.

Through the shroud,
Dark branches stretched overhead,
Like great cracks
Across the moonlit sky.

Behind them,
The distant gate groaned shut.

The trees creaked back into place,
Erasing the path they had travelled.

The moonlight faded.

The mist thickened.

And the lone traveller drifted onward
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,
And within it,
Lies a a silver bullet
That travels through time and space,
Soon fired, the bullet overcomes many obstacles,
On its long journey northward.

The bullet eventually begins to slow,
As concrete gives way to grass,
Mountains loom in the distance,
Grey clouds become blue skies,
Fields of yellow flowers kiss the afternoon sun.

The journey continues,
I pass over green pastures,
Where creatures bask in the warm sun,
After clusters of dark cypress trees,
The bullet slows, and approaches a small settlement.

Within that settlement,
Smiling 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,
Within a leafy grove its humming stops,
And its warm body begins to cool.

I step out into a fresh fragrance,
My senses awakening,
It’s 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