Let’s stay here for a while,
Away from the crowds and sounds,
Sit with me in quiet warm sunshine,
Hold my hand, and know I love you,
If I have gone, this is how to find me,
Sit quietly under a fine tree,
Gently close your eyes,
Scrunch your toes in the grass,
Feel the breeze on your face,
Can you smell the garden around you,
Are you hearing the sound of birds,
Take a breath, and smile in the sun,
And I will be right beside you,
We can sit for as long as you like,
Although I can’t hold your hand,
Know I loved you.
Imaginer Lost
I have lost my way,
My identity has been removed,
I feel nothing, my sight is blinded,
I’m numb, my passions lay in ruins,
Time flies at a relentless pace,
Can I exist, until this block passes,
When will art return to these hands,
To again be creator, and not an observer,
Will I dream again the way I once did,
When will I stop being so afraid,
I’m not the imaginer I once was,
I feel dissected and laid out,
Like an insect pinned to a board,
A facsimile of what was once fierce creativity.
Mnemonic 44*
After moments of madness, and the chaos of violence, I access the secured area,
It’s 2am, I connect a cable to a port behind my left ear and the terminal, then begin,
The transfer rate is intense, 100 terabytes of corporate data, stolen in moments,
The sudden influx of information makes me momentarily lightheaded, I disconnect,
Placing both hands on the desktop, I stabilise myself as my system balances,
I have three hours to reach my client, complete the transfer, and avoid brain damage,
I reset my internal counter, a red display counts down in a corner of my vision,
As I leave the secure area, I step across the bodies of a security team, a failed ambush,
Neutralised, laying exactly where I dropped them, this hasn’t gone according to plan,
This was a setup, the entire level of this building should have been empty,
Someone’s sold me out, I exit the building into cold rain and darkness,
I can’t trust anyone.
*My small tribute to celebrate 44 years of William Gibson's Johnny Mnemonic (1981)
Comfortably Numb
The hum of the fan heater is the only sound I hear,
The sun creeps, morning shadows cross my desk,
My hands, golden in the light, tap at silent keys,
As the pangs of sleep begin to leave my system,
This morning, I contemplate my creative future,
Following a conversation with a friend last night,
I was urged to push my creative boundaries further,
It was welcomed advice, but I feel some kind of resistance,
My mind seems to be blocking me from creating, but why,
I’m suddenly distracted, thoughts of the work week invade,
I breathe deeply, close my eyes, and try to refocus,
I stare at golden dust particles floating in the sunlight,
I want to paint, I want to create music, I am already writing,
Why is there something blocking me, did A.I wipe out my drive,
Not completely, fun projects becoming work spoiled the fun,
Writing feels easier, I’m less confronted by what I see,
I can type my inner monologue, there’s a freedom in that,
I need to ride my bike, I need to exercise too, I need to get out,
I finally realise how poignant the title of Comfortably Numb is,
It is precisely how I feel, there are so many demands lately,
I feel drained, I can’t be bothered being dragged around,
I’m sure this block will pass, but writing has enabled some output,
It’s low energy contemplation, but it is still healthy expression,
I am comfortably numb, but thankfully, I am not unhappy.
Human Bitrate Fluctuation
I close my eyes and try to concentrate on the black stillness,
I fruitlessly attempt to block all incoming sound and vision,
I enforce meditation, I breath, I count, but cannot focus,
I try to slow the onslaught of rapid fire thoughts,
But there is too much input lately, sapping my energy,
I need to enable some kind of essential power only mode within,
I must act, as the data input rate greatly exceeds my capacity,
There is too much, it brawls to access an already full storage space,
Any rejected data haemorrhages, its packets pour from me now,
Flowing out of virtual gaping stab wounds in my system,
Through my clutching hands, and into an ocean of junk bits,
I try to parse it all, but I am no longer able to, I require quiet,
I seek retreat, recovery time, but the information barrage pursues me,
I try to focus, I continue to breathe, to count, and it begins to slow,
But not fast enough, and I watch as my emotions spiral erratically,
One moment I am activated, and the next, I cannot keep my eyes open,
And as stress digs its concrete intrenchment, my emotions flare,
First, I fight tears, followed by laughter, there is no middle ground,
Confusion, irritability, sadness, then elation, I’m not in control here,
I’m sitting in the back seat of an unmanned vehicle as it accelerates,
I must retreat, I must recuperate, why is this so hard lately,
I yearn for the comfort that isolation brings to my weary mind,
Peace is not fully achieved with sleep, and barely eased by vacation,
So how is this going to,
End.
I have a world to share
Just beyond the two fat friendly hounds bathing in the sun,
Within a green wall of trees at the edge of the garden,
A small wooden doorway stands, but access is a privilege,
It is only for those who use their imagination, a place for dreamers,
Beyond the door is another world, one colourful and beautiful,
Where violet waterfalls tumble into serene lily covered ponds,
Above, a peppermint-coloured sky plays host to brilliant sunshine,
Under which colourful flowers, trees, and shrubs bask and thrive,
Large red and white butterflies work, gently bobbing and fluttering,
Busy blue cranes seek brightly coloured fish from river shallows,
In the warm forest shadows nearby, giant orange mushrooms bloom,
And pink songbirds sing full throated, into the sweet floral breeze,
Distant blue mountains with snow-capped peaks rise and fall,
And beyond, are the crystal-clear calm waters of the dream sea,
All the magic and splendour of imagination awaits you,
So take my hand little one, and walk with me awhile.
Light within
I remember when you used to smile,
Before everything became too much,
I wish I could bring back the inner light,
That once bloomed so bright within you,
Before the struggles, before your fears,
Back when everything made sense,
Before the mourning and the tears,
I remember when you used to smile,
Before everything became too much.
Xylophilous Dreamer
The early morning mist dances in swirls,
As a weary dreamer’s legs cross a cold open field,
The dead grey grass beneath the white blanket is sodden,
The landscape is flat, barren and desolate,
The grey cloudy sky seamlessly melts into the ground,
Whispers on the cold gentle breeze meet curious ears,
In the distance, the black skeleton of a lone dead tree calls,
Its contrast pierces the grey landscape, like a thorn in the skin,
Its obtrusive appearance is the only visible feature,
Each gnarled branch features a wide staring eye,
All of which slowly turn to focus on the approaching walker,
A thick twisted black trunk boasts a large gaping mouth,
As though silently screaming, through jutting rotted teeth,
A long black tongue slowly unfurls upon the surrounding mud,
Inviting the walker to enter the exposed mouth hollow,
Gelatinous grey liquid squishes beneath bare feet,
Each step towards the opening, sees the tongue rise,
Lapping at the walkers back, encouraging them forward,
Once inside the cavity, the mouth snaps shut, sealing them in dim light,
The dreamer begins to descend, sliding down a dark wet throat,
Tree roots and mud line the dripping filthy tunnel,
The speed of descent increases before the tunnel drops away,
As they freefall into a black abyss, their fearful screams echo,
Before they wake in their bed, sudden and confused, heart beating,
With the smell of putrid burning wood filling their nostrils.
Xylophilous (pronounced zy-LOF-uh-luhs) an adjective meaning, growing or living in or on wood. The term is commonly used to describe fungi, insects, and other organisms that are attracted to and thrive in wooden environments.
La Dame Du Clair De Lune
In the embrace of the full moon, she is radiant,
Raven haired, beautiful and untouchable,
Her pale skin shimmers in the midnight bloom,
Stars dance like fireflies within her dark eyes,
Her lips are supple and beguiling in the moonlight,
Her sweet floral perfume, is a powerful intoxicant,
Even if the earth was ablaze with fire and chaos,
It would take but a momentary stolen glance,
And the slight hint of a smile at the edge of her mouth,
To become ensnared in a trap that no man willingly escapes,
Just watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest,
Generates a passionate warmth kindled deep within,
Without saying a word, without even the slightest touch,
La Dame Du Clair De Lune bewitches and enraptures,
Her mere presence is pure opium for the senses,
And within a death-like silence, she will leave you wanting,
Wanting for the love of a heart that you will never have.
Love Labours On
Last night my late grandfather came to me in a dream,
Dressed in the dust coat he wore when gardening,
After planting sunflowers, he was slightly out of breath,
I placed my hand on his chest, and I felt his heart beating,
He coughed, put his bucket down and said my name,
With tears in his eyes, he hugged me, I could smell him,
I could feel his cheek bristles against mine, it was so vivid,
He kissed my cheek and patted my back as he once did,
Repeating my name as the embrace ended, his voice changed,
His Lithuanian accent replaced by one more familiar, as I looked up,
My hand was now on the chest of my father, he was smiling,
With happy tears saying your mum called me, she’s coming today,
I don’t remember the last time I saw him this happy,
Certainly not in the last 31 years since she passed away,
He placed his hand on mine, and told me he loved me,
I awoke, with a tear in my eye and my hand on my chest, alone,
But there was no joy in the dark, only sadness, and mourning,
I placed my hand gently on my wife’s chest as she slept,
I could feel her heart beating, as she held my hand.
Dan Verkys 