Timeless this walk has been, Upon the plateau of broken dreams, High above the sleeping sea, Where starry skies have carried me.
Now far away in the land of dreaming, Where warm white sands wait gleaming, Scented winds blow a gentle breeze, As I sit on the beach of the dreaming sea.
Crimson birds float through azure skies, Serenading dreamers with lyrical cries, But they fall deaf upon my sullen ear, As whispering waves call me near.
Under the emerald ocean I now wade, Down where the saddest dreams are made, It becomes so dark that I cannot see, And I’m lost once more inside of me.
The coal-stained silver lined clouds rumble, Restlessly churning above a black range, A symphony accompanied by the caw of crows, Cemetery stones jut through mist like broken teeth, Marking the empty husks of men and kin cowering within graves, Screaming tree hollows drum with the sound of steady rain, As the dried lungs of empty creek-beds breathe once more, An intense feeling of static electricity fills the air, As bright cobwebs of lightning flicker across the sky, A heavy hum vibrates deep within the bowels of the land, Something that once slumbered has awakened, Stirring, timeless and immense with insatiable hunger, A leviathan no longer content to remain darkly dreaming, Once secreted away within the ocean realm of sleep, This ancient is of the stars, of the land and sea, A shapeless colourless world devouring entity.
At times, my mind feels adrift at sea, Lost, with no stars left to guide me, Disconnected, suspended between directions, Where every horizon holds the same bleak view.
So where do I turn to now, When true north feels unattainable, When my thoughts circle like currents, Pulling me between fear, grief, and exhaustion.
Do I follow the fading light, or sink beneath the weight of the storm? Do I keep calling into the dark? In the hope that something calls back.
The ocean within feels vast and unnavigable, I drift, emotionally disorientated and restless, I lack clarity or trust in what may come next, Struggling to find something solid to aim for.
Perhaps the question is not “Where do I go?”, But,“What part of me can I anchor to”, A place where I can take a breath and refocus, Where I can hold my head above these crushing waves.
Under full moon ten wolves came skulking, With silent step and black fur hulking, To infiltrate a village sleeping, For its children they came reaping.
Some were devoured and two brothers were taken, Back to their den where they’d awaken, And feed upon the savage teat, Of mother made of fang and padded feet.
Hidden beneath an old dead tree they wallow, Nurtured beasts in a cave-like hollow, Growing with time into wolf-like men, Worse than wolves, when they left that den.
In the deepest forest where a cottage hides, The brothers killed two men but spared their brides, They claimed this den and the women within, To make them their own and breed their kin.
News reached the castle from across the land, A tale of wolf-men and their carnivorous clan, The King was disturbed by this horrific event, And to the shadowed wood his finest were sent.
With silvered blades and torches bright, Six brave knights rode through the night, Through twisted briar and raven’s cry, Beneath the pale and watchful sky.
They found the cottage black with dread, Its doorway stained a sullen red, Where the brothers rose with a sinister grin, Human without but beast within.
When dawn at last embraced the glen, No howl remained of wolfish men, The women freed from fear and grief, Were led to warmth and sweet relief.
So ends the tale the old tongues tell, Of wolves that dragged two boys to hell, And knights who rode where nightmares tread, To keep the living from joining the dead.
“The Werewolf or the Cannibal” Lucas Cranach the Elder, c. 1512
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.
Dan Verkys 