Creator / imaginer: Dabbler in art, literature and sound.
Vibrating ship engines hum gently,
Sleek panels, white and shimmering,
Reflecting bright starfield bursts,
Silently slipping through an interstellar expanse,
Internally cool, all occupants are draped in white,
Large bay windows framed by great white rooms,
Where the last remnants of mankind gaze out,
Into endless black sparkling emptiness,
Wondering where they will arrive next,
This sanitised environment, clean and carefree,
Is home, the earth is but a distant memory.
Spare a thought for today,
As it relentlessly endures against the odds,
Battling ice, sunshine, and storms of wind and rain,Â
Cast into service, eventually succumbing to darkness,
Enslaved, doomed to repeat it all again tomorrow,
Spare a thought for today, for it’s a lot like you and I.
Autumn arrived this morning, cold and desolate,
Frost blankets the garden, as a blue sunny sky laughs above,
I feel my own depression today, it’s heavy, like a weight,
I try to connect without success, I ache in every joint,
Verbal communication seems difficult, I feel gagged,
It’s a work celebration day today, it took months of effort,
And I couldn’t be more emotionless towards it all,
I’m a relic of past days there, my presence feels like irritancy,
I could be more sycophantic, be the yes man they like,
But I no longer have the energy, the place is a necessary cell,
I feel cold inside, like the leafless trees of Autumn,
Why can’t I shake this melancholy, life has no substance,
I reminisced about childhood with a friend yesterday,
And could only remember days of sunshine and simplicity,
Backyard cricket, BBQ, bikes, pets and outside fun,
I’m sure reality was very different, but now, all I feel is empty,
Life today is the numb cycle of existing, it is unrewarding,
Work, pay bills, still be broke, have bad sleep, repeat,
I feel blindfolded, grasping at the warmth of life past,
There’s beauty outside my window, but today it feels frozen,
And the past looks warm through my rose coloured glasses.
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.
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.
The sweet floral scent of blue lotus flowers, rides the night breeze,
Warm golden sands, are a soft powder under bare feet,
They rise gently upwards becoming domed dune peaks,
Beyond which lays a velvety black and star-studded sky,
As a full moon slumbers, vivid, white, and luminous,
Beams shimmer across the sands like glittering diamonds,
There is a calming silence, it provides a sense of distance,
From the constant whispering call of the ocean of dreams,
This dreamscape is safe, here the sleeper can walk freely,
This realm is for the hurt, the weary, and the broken,
Its misty confines offer protection, a private place to heal,
So sleep now, and awaken healed, replenished, in the morning sun.
The clouds are clearing from my mind this morning,
I have been lost, in what felt like a sandstorm,
Walking blindly, poorly attempting to protect myself,
Rather than find shelter, I have pressed forward,
Sadly to my own detriment, but that storm is passing,
My mind is a little clearer, and I can see with some clarity,
So now, for the sake of my mind, I am taking shelter,
It took a week for the turbulent seas of my mind to calm,
Unfortunately, that stillness arrives in time for another storm,
Work and personal related stress, anxiety, self-worth,
The perfect storm that we can all easily get lost in,
Getting to the other side without damage, is a challenge,
I don’t like the night, disturbed is an apt word for my dreamtime,
With each new morning, I can breathe, I can take stock,
And I can continue this journey I am on.
I can feel myself slowly drifting into unease,
As autumn colour broadens its embrace,
The landscape shifts, trees become skeletal,
Lawns are covered in a blanket of the fallen dead,
Cold mornings arrive, giving way to brilliant sunshine,
While cold nights invoke a fear of the coming winter,
The impending solitude and confinement weigh heavy,
Seasonal inertia creeps, with a deathlike silence,
The state of mind the ice season brings is sobering,
A time when the elderly pass, and the young suffer,
Winter brings fat billionaires, rubbing their grotesque trotters,
While all hibernate to survive, until the next change of season.
The streets are dark and desolate at this time of morning,
The cold wind whips up dust and discarded plastic,
A street pumper hovers into place, and dirty yellow hoses are ejected,
Ground bolts secure the pumper as it empties its tank,
The dirty, pale, unshaven operator puffs vape smoke,
A dim white light from inside a visor, illuminates his bearded face,
The operator stares emotionless at a passer-by,
The blue glow of the walker’s umbrella cane is distracting,
Blue light reflects in the puddles and on wet window glass,
Clad in a long unassuming black coat, the pedestrian walks on,
Passing beneath the super structure of a building, and into a lane,
Posters of desperation and entertainment combine, covering the walls,
Phosphorescent kanji graffiti adds a glowing additional layer to the path,
A narrow slit of white light, and construction waste lines the pavement,
Rain puddles, provide shimmering beauty amongst the chaos,
Sudden colourful bursts of neon advertising buzz and alternate,
Reflecting in the dark glasses and on the expressionless face,
Stepping out of the lane onto the main street, the walker waits,
As two teen punks on illuminated hover scooters zip past silently,
Crossing the street and back into the shadows, the journey soon ends,
At a large black metal door, unlike the walls, it is graffiti free,
Wind momentarily shifts the pedestrian’s coat, revealing weaponry,
Dark glasses are lifted, a red retinal scanner beam confirms entry,
A display reads, é»’ Kuro Syndicate member 32549 entry granted.
The door unlocks, opens, and a new workday begins.
*Excerpt from 'Infinite Black: A Grey New World'.
In this metropolis the sky is made of constant rain-soaked night,
Reflecting neon, shines in puddles and on pale weary faces,
The city streets are crowded, as people escape cell-like apartments,
Some shelter under awnings, or huddle, begging in doorways,
Many face the rain beneath illuminated umbrellas, or dark hoods,
People are the landscape, they pack pedestrian bridges and fill arcades,
They shout from balconies above, fighting to be heard,
Shady deals are made in the sprawling city’s dark corners,
Under skyscrapers covered in illuminated signage that pierce the clouds,
The narrow street markets burst at the seams offering their wares,
What you can’t afford to buy, you must trade to obtain, or steal,
Becoming overwhelmed is easy, commercials float in the sky,
Digital advertising, posters, speakers, announcements, music, sirens,
A million plus sounds all echoing at once,
The darkness delivers exceptional sensory bombardment,
City stench is pungent, street cooking combines with vehicle fumes,
Litter lines the streets, stirred by slow ineffective street sweeping vehicles,
Busy crossings speak and beep, police with LED batons direct traffic,
There’s nothing you can’t get here on the black market, crime is rife,
Life here is sickening, unemployment is high, and desperation fills the air,
There are red-light districts, body modification districts, and worse,
Everybody here is hustling just to stay alive, this city eats people up,
Homeless die silently in alleyways, addicts overdose on pavements,
It’s one of the last remaining fully intact cities following the machine war,
This is Grove Zero (G0), Central City, the murderous heart of the new colony.
*Excerpt from 'Infinite Black: A Grey New World'.
Dan Verkys 