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.
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
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.
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.
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.
Dan Verkys 