For me, the end of the work year brings internal changes,
All creative endeavours feel virtually impossible,
The urge to do something imaginative is strained,
It takes time for the scars left by the year to fade,
Time is required for the anxieties of life to ease,
This is a dangerous time for the imaginer,
When the fires of the creative engine feel all but out,
It is important that some creativity must still happen,
But a passage of time being unproductive must also occur,
A period of zombified browsing, grazing, or dozing off,
Reconnecting with the imaginative core, laziness,
This behaviour must be indulged to allow regeneration,
A time to heal, rest, reinvent and renew interests,
Before another year begins, these are dangerous days,
Caution must be observed to avoid a terrible complication,
Where a psychological blackhole, the void, opens,
It’s vast and can completely engulf a creator, obscuring hope,
Negatively affecting the entire upcoming year.
The Daydreamer’s Gift
Today I sat on the bank of a cool forest stream,
And under lush green tree ferns, I began to dream,
That I lived in this forest wild and free,
And my home was the trunk of an ancient tree,
I spent the day searching the forest far and wide,
Returning home that night to comfortably hide,
And admire the jewelled treasures I’d discovered,
Then, the next morning when fully recovered,
I followed the stream right up to the mountain,
Where from its rocky edge a waterfall fountained,
After drinking its waters and healing my soul,
I read magical words from an old paper scroll,
I thanked the mountain for its bountiful gift,
Before sitting quietly to let my mind drift,
To get home I imagined that I’d shrunk down so small,
That I could float on a leaf, powered by the waterfall,
I was delivered home safe, gentle and true,
With a leaf for a boat and mountain stream as my crew,
When I opened my eyes to the real world once more,
I smiled seeing tiny footprints, and a leaf on the shore.
Forests have a special magic, and as this daydreamer knows best,
They’re a good place to put imagination to the test,
So, lock up my daydream in your mind like a jewel,
And may your trees grow tall, and your waters run cool.
Dan Verkys 