Creator / imaginer: Dabbler in art, literature and sound.
In a forest glade, several bodies lay,
Half buried by a killer,
He comes back each week,
To take a peek,
At the trophies he has made.
They lay there dead, in a mushroom bed,
Arranged in his secret place,
Where only killer and forest know,
About his trophy bones,
And the madness in his head.
Thunder rolls through late-night air,
The power is cut, a home is left in darkness,
It simmers in the residual heat of the day,
A weary sleeper tosses and turns,
Lightning flashes through an open window,
Rain pours down, as the wind shakes the trees,
Tonight will not be restful,
Dogs bark madly, they echo in the distance,
As thunder cracks and churns above,
Sweat beads on the forehead, restlessness,
Sudden silence, as the rain and wind cease,
The lightning and thunder disperse instantly,
All dogs are hushed, but the heat remains,
Within the restless sleeper, the nightmares endure.
Today I am an albatross soaring through the air,
Above an ocean of people flooded with despair,
Everyone seems lost and scrambling, searching for some meaning,
While I’m up here in the clouds, far from all their screaming,
There’s no need for air conditioning, with the ocean breeze upon my wings,
As I soar so high above reality, far from all the heated human things,
That made me want to kill myself and leave it all behind,
It is better to be an albatross, far away from humankind.
There’s a place in my front garden, near a bright elm tree,
Beyond the elm’s dark shadow where nobody can see,
It hides behind the ivy, creeping on the floor,
Just behind the climbing rose, next to my home’s front door,
There’s a black wicker garden chair sitting out of sight,
A place of contemplation where I imagine things to write,
Sometimes I put a record on, or sit with a cigar,
And let my mind go wandering, be it near or far.
Here I saw a butterfly gently land upon a soft red rose,
Delivering a secret message to the flower that it chose,
Its delicate wings avoided damage, from the threatening thorns around,
Two juxtaposing entities coexisting six feet from the ground,
If such simple parts of nature can achieve this perfect balance,
Why can’t humans do the same thing, with our amazing talents,
Stop the wars, remove dictators, and their greedy hate-filled thoughts,
Because with little effort, peace and kindness, future leaders can be taught,
Do they need a place to imagine a world, where things are better than they are,
Perhaps a chair by a bright elm tree, with thoughts wandering near and far,
The idea of thorn and butterfly, should not be so easily dismissed,
Because we face a planet filled with ashes, of those too stupid to coexist.
It’s early morning around my desk, it’s peaceful,
The summer heat still hangs in the air from the night before,
The sound of pouring rain dulls the songs of early birds,
The garden drinks its fill, after several hot days in the sun,
The rain falls harder, and the tin and concrete roof tiles hiss,
The sun has nowhere to go this morning,
Bashfully hiding behind storm clouds,
Perhaps feeling guilty for the previous day’s temperatures,
I sip coffee in the white glow of my screens,
A car hisses past the house, a lone weary driver starting their commute,
I soon hear the engines of other cars kick over in the distance,
The world is waking up, and the rain keeps falling.
My morning mind is lost in dreaming,
Wandering forests where the creeks are streaming,
Where the Wurundjeri Woi Wurrung people reside,
Across a sprawling ancient countryside,
Through forests up to Camels Hump, above the Geburrh ranges,
And back down to Ngannelong, or Hanging Rock to visiting strangers,
Where Kangaroo’s live in grassy fields, and their mobs all peacefully graze,
Along-side foreign livestock who eat away unphased,
By these original inhabitants who gracefully bound around,
While the laugh of Kookaburras, fill the valley floor with sound,
My mind wanders home again, across open farming lands,
Back to my own small town, where my tree filled sanctuary stands.
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.
Hope shines into the heart of new days,
I’ll heal in nature, clearing both mind and airways,
With eyes closed I can see the illuminated leaves,
In our own sunlit garden, on its magical trees,
With the passing of Beltane, happier days seem ahead,
Far from Queen Winter, the monarch of the dead,
Warmth brings connection, and opportunity to grow,
It’s a time to return to the me that I used to know,
I must shake the bitterness that Yule has put in me,
And start living better, the way that I should be.
There’s a lot of work to do on my body and my mind,
I’ve abused both, so it’s time to heal, repair and unwind,
As I’ve grown older there’s one thing that is clear,
All things can change, except the turning wheel of the year.
I’m thankful for the springtime,
And how it brings our garden to life,
The morning smell of eucalyptus trees,
Its dewy mornings and its warmer nights,
Afternoon sun showers on freshly cut lawns,
The colour of the flowers makes me love it even more,
The songs of busy insects and the brightly coloured birds,
The sounds of springtime in the country are the best I’ve ever heard.
I cross my front garden to my favourite tree and sit down,
She has a thick leaning trunk and a beautiful green crown,
Soft grass at her base, welcomes my feet like an old friend,
The queen tree is the kind, a younger me would often ascend,
I’d climb to the top and feel the sun on my smiling face,
Above the world in her castle, my secret green hiding place,
Times have changed, and now I must admire her from below,
My bare feet in the grass, and the greying face of an old fellow.
Dan Verkys 