Creator / imaginer: Dabbler in art, literature and sound.
The wind blows the grey gum trees outside my window,
Reminding me of the ocean in the distant south,
The sound is like waves crashing on a beach,
A brief rain shower falls on the green spring grass,
Activating the scent of a fresh countryside morning,
The sun is rising over the tree line now,
And, as the gum trees bend and sway in the north wind,
An orchestra of birdlife swells into an overture,
And the country awakens.
It’s a cold blue skied September morning,
The first coffee for the day has gone,
The heater is on and slowly warming,
And I feel myself finally waking up,
I perform the daily curtain opening ritual,
Bright pink cherry blossoms catch my eye,
Our garden is beginning to come alive for Spring,
The thought of an end to winter makes me smile,
As golden sunbeams pierce the tree line,
My room illuminates, and I rub weary eyes,
It is quiet, a blessing of country living,
My mind is also quiet, unready for workday stress,
The world feels so far away from me this morning,
And the thought of that distance makes me smile,
Apart from sparrows squabbling outside my window,
The fan of the heater is the only sound,
Right now, I could be the last man on earth,
And I would be ok with that.
I can feel the tomb of Winter opening,
The locked vault releases its frigid lifeless air,
Preparing for the colour and warmth of Spring,
A return of the honey eaters, monarchs and flowers,
No longer locked in the realm of the dead,
The grey clouds clear, and my mind feels hope again,
A time for drowned sorrows to dry and bloom,
To feel the sunlight again on my tired face,
To smell in the country air, a blossoming world revitalised,
Instead of cold darkness, and memories of death,
It’s a time for birth, art and light,
Breathing in fresh air, after holding it for a season,
I step out into the sunlight and I look older and greyer,
The season of ice has taken so much from me,
But today already feels different,
I hear my wife laughing in the garden, I see our hounds play,
And I feel for the first time in so long,
That everything is going to be ok.
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 sound of ocean waves drives out the death-like silence,
Awakening, as the body sinks beneath the surface of the ocean of souls,
Screaming in silence, it is taken by the dark creatures it now belongs to,
A thousand Invisible arms, wrap, constrict and pull at their prey,
The lungs fill, the scream continues, subdued, and eyes sting in salty brine,
The sky is lit by a million stars that sparkle and dance upon the surface,
As the sea floor is reached, a cloud of black sand swirls and cloaks,
Still staring, still screaming silently, the final resting place has been procured.
New growth leaves the earth,
Soft during its virgin spring,
Not yet a thorn, until it dries,
As spring passes, death beckons,
Now sharp and hardened, they pierce,
They cut and tear, death is overwhelmed,
And summer is born.
Two rivers born of a sister star,
Are parted by green mountains far,
At great distances, they remain aware,
Timeless is the love, that they both share.
The rivers will still flow, after both stars fall,
An endless journey through time they’ll crawl,
Finding peace in their waters ebb and flow.
For time means nothing to the bond they know.
Although the rivers meet and part too soon,
They are connected by the very same moon,
Up in night skies, where sister stars shone,
They are two rivers divided, but they flow as one.
They will meet again, when their journeys are done,
Leaving behind creeks and streams, that forever will run,
Into the ocean’s great mouth, where all good rivers flow,
Together finding peace, beneath the moon’s nightly glow.
- For my cousin Kristy
Two hearts bound by a family tie,
Each one a cousin, that lands divide,
Tho farewelled tears fall in silent times,
Our eyes remain young, as old age chimes.
To be a river in the next life would be,
Busy, refreshing, timeless and free,
The water rushing, swirling, passing all by,
While on my banks, beautiful trees sway,
Colourful birds screeching their calls,
Fly up and far away.
My banks cut through bright green fields,
I can see busy machinery and people cutting wheat,
While nearby sheep and cattle meander down to drink and wet their feet,
I’d be sorry to leave behind the quiet countryside,
Further along my banks I’d find a hectic busy loud city,
Finally, here I am, the end of the river mouth to pour into the sea,
Timeless this river, never an end,
Another new life for me.
This poem was written by my late mother, Christine Elaine Verkys, while she fruitlessly battled a terminal disease to stay with us. She was the very lifeforce of our family, and after she passed, sadly so did everything else. Personally, there have been few happy days since. Me a River features on her memorial stone, which stays with me to this day.
Here's to you, and another year without you.
A dreamer’s eyes open, suddenly and wide, accompanied by a gasp for air,
It feels as though the sleeper has been brought to life for the first time,
The confusion passes, and they acclimatise to this new red sunlit world,
Standing high on a dune, the dreamer looks down on a black city lit by red lights,
This world of exploration is dusty and dim, as the dreamer enters the city limits,
It seems lifeless, countless tall glossy black metallic buildings stretch upwards,
Every dark doorway is scarlet lit, there is no sound here other than the wind,
No birds sing, no sounds of human commotion, just an empty silent expanse,
The dreamer stands in the middle of a sand-covered road, paved with dark stone,
The wind whips sand into the sleeper’s eyes, as the sound of a low deep hum rumbles,
From the bowels of the earth, the dreamer feels the vibration through the road,
And as the sun begins to fall, the darkness brings sinister tidings,
From the black alcoves along the street, countless glowing red eyes appear,
The glowing eyes follow the dreamer while they cautiously walk among the black towers,
Again, the deep horn rumbles with a hum, and the sound of 1000 whispering voices begins,
The whispers are almost deafening, it feels as though they are inside the dreamer’s head,
With ears covered, the run begins, a left turn here, a right turn there, and into a side street,
Black metal streetlights line the roadway, all glowing with a vivid red glow,
In the dusty darkness at the end of the street, crooked black creatures with red eyes spill out,
They cut off any escape, they rapidly approach, driving the dreamer back towards the dunes,
The pavement soon becomes deep sand and a steep incline, where feet sink and slip,
The creatures are still in pursuit, the whispering intensifies as the dreamer struggles to move,
Coal black arms burst from the sand clutching the dreamer’s clothing and limbs,
Many unnaturally long arms clasp and pull the dreamer face down onto the dune side,
The sand below the dune begins to give way revealing an enormous gaping mouth,
Tentacle-like arms begin to drag the dreamer into the mouth from where they originate,
In an instant the dreamer is devoured, the mighty jaws snap shut before sinking into the sand,
Silence falls, the city empties, the red sun rises, and on the top of the dune,
A new pair of eyes open, suddenly and wide, accompanied by a new dreamer’s gasp for air
The cycle of the dead city of dreams continues.
With her comb of flame and purple,
Pointed beak of titian and green,
A goddess with countless emerald wings,
The bird of paradise outside my window,
Is one of my favourite things.
Dan Verkys 