Forest walking,
Self talking,
Rain falling,
Birds calling,
Breath taking,
Hands shaking,
Alone feeling,
Strength stealing,
Anxious being,
Death seeing,
Tree crashing,
Claws slashing,
Teeth biting,
Beast fighting,
Blood dripping,
Mind tripping,
I’m dying,
Anxiety lying!
Forest of the Mountain King
A great mountain looms over these antique lands,
Mysterious and proud the stone giant stands,
Its snow-capped peaks have a perilous beauty,
Climbing to the summit is an impossible duty,
Behind its back is an endless ocean scene,
And in its shadow are lands pastoral and green,
In its ancient forest, the air is heavy and old,
Fern trees and giant mushrooms grow uncontrolled,
It’s said that trees often walk the forest floor,
Gathering in sacred spaces to discuss forest law,
If you stay hidden you may hear them creeping around,
But if they find you, you’ll be crushed into the ground,
Few animals dare to venture into this forgotten place,
And any men who enter vanish without a trace,
So, choose wisely before you visit the forest of dreams
For the mountain is King, and his soldiers are trees.
A Moment of Dreaming
In the distance, a crystal ship adorned with vivid white sails glistens against an azure sky,
The tranquil surface of the clear blue ocean invokes a serene feeling of comfort and home,
Soft white sand underfoot shimmers like powdered diamonds in the warm midday sun,
Closed eyes feel the radiating warmth, while a fresh ocean breeze caresses the hair,
The gentle washing of water onto the sand accompanies serenading white seabirds overhead,
The earthy scent of lush green grass and sweet wildflowers dances on the breeze,
This moment of dreaming, with its peace and serenity, is alien to the dreamer’s waken world
Aphelion
Existing in a brilliant white light, orbiting at perihelion, bathing in the warmth of the sun’s glow,
Basking in pure bliss, this should last forever, however, the mind drifts into deep space,
Thoughts fire like lightning bolts, sparking imagination, and conjuring forgotten memory,
Doubt appears through tainted thoughts, and erodes the perfect white edges of the mind,
The memory fragments, thoughts float away, and the last bright white vision fades to black,
Unseen hands pull from deep space, the mind drifts away, far from the sun, and into aphelion,
Icy darkness freezes thought, and the only light left is a glimmer of stars through icy shards.
This poem was the foundation for my ambient electronic album Aphelion, which is part two of my Interstellar trilogy of albums. I released all three albums in 2023, you can listen to the album in full on Youtube and it is also available on all music platforms.
For Reference: Aphelion, in astronomy, is the point in the orbit of a planet, comet, or other body most distant from the Sun.
Ode to a Sweet Glade
Oh sweet glade, a hidden yet open shining place,
Surrounded by dark trees, yet within you, flowers and grace,
Silver ferns surround your soft grass, and keep your boundary in order,
Giving weary travellers beauty, the gift of rest and a pond of cool water.
Oh sweet glade, I close my eyes and can still smell your bouquet,
It was your fertile green clearing, that enticed me to stay,
With birdsongs, bright flowers, and the mushrooms you gave,
Healing my inner wounds, with warm comfort, my life you did save.
For I was not planning on leaving the forest that day,
I was to hang from roped branch, and in the cool winds I’d sway,
A corpse, was the gift I intended to leave for the creatures and earth,
To feed the fertile forest floor, the body of a man with no worth.
Oh sweet glade, you showed me something worth living for,
You gave me light and hope, where my eyes saw only darkness before,
Your greeting of sunlight and soft scents, as I stumbled from the dark,
Set my life on a new path, one lived in happiness, on which I now embark.
Gentle is the morning light
A golden morning sunlight pours through black window lace,
The world seems silent, bright and serene, nothing stirs,
Anything seems possible at this moment,
Tired eyes and mind are awakened from long slumber,
Gentle is the morning, not yet revealing the days secrets,
Several sparrows busily appear outside the window,
Their frantic chirping soon fades and silence returns,
The warm spring sun brings tree leaves to a splendid glowing green,
As the morning dew is devoured by tidy lawns and flowers,
The outside world seems renewed, any anxiety of yesterday erased.
The hiss from a passing car, cuts through silence, ending peaceful contemplation.
And as the sun rises past the window frame, this blue skied Sunday can begin.
What am I looking for?
Sunlight flickers through the gum trees lining the road,
Low clouds creep down the dark mountain outside my window,
What am I looking for?
Grey chimney smoke whisps through the ferny undergrowth,
As black cattle graze on the lush pastures outside my window,
What am I looking for?
Scattered thoughts race through my mind, nothing feels solid,
I can’t connect, I can’t engage, I feel like a man out of time,
What I am looking for is nowhere.
The Whispering Spring Forest
There is a place where tall trees whisper, their voices dance on the wind as they sing,
With rustled leaves and creaking branches, that stretch in the midday sun of spring,
Where green farmlands are sweetly fragranced, creating soft beds for small white sheep,
The warm spring sunlight stretches lazily, across pasture rich and forest deep,
Where scent of eucalyptus on the gentle breeze, seeps into my lungs and heals,
And hungry bees seek sweet nectar, that colourful wildflowers reveal.
A mountain rises from this place, where the fern tree canopy glows bright green,
Because the sunlight kisses both frond and leaf, that line a mountain stream,
High on the peak tree trunks reach up, great columns seek the sun they recognise,
Their branches teem with new life that sleeps, comforted by whispered forest lullabies,
The mighty ironbark trees greet the stars each night, and farewell the moon each dawn,
This is where my heart feels full, my thoughts are free, and on my face a smile is worn.
Distant are the Green Trees
Distant are the green trees, the tall cypress, the waving amber, and the swaying gum branch,
Far away I find myself, confined, restricted, encased in concrete and glass,
I’ve long been its weary inmate, obligated to dig from under a financial avalanche.
I feel days less now as I’ve grown older, my time runs out and days pass with such speed,
Often forgetting what day it is, surrounded by the young shore footed minds,
I feel foolish, angry, I resent the required spectacles that are now my only way to read.
Distant are the green trees, the long grass, the wildflowers, my home near the mountain.
From where I sit, I spy a river of concrete and bitumen, the water is a sea of cars,
They flow forth, a stream of people on their way to where happiness can never fountain.
There is so much sound, when did I become this sensitive, why am I so homesick?
It’s an illness of the heart perhaps, I miss the open spaces between this world and mine.
There is too much of too much in this place, the people and the air are claustrophobic.
Distant are the green trees, the cool streams, the fern forests and the quiet.
Seven more hours shall pass before I can exit from this city to where I belong,
Away from false people, fake laughter, their greedy ambition, to my beloved countryside.
Songbirds on the Peninsula of Sleep
Kneeling, the dream-walker reaches for the fulvous velvet grass at their feet,
Energised bands of light envelop the arms and soon become a full body corona of colour,
The newfound energy begins to gently elevate the walker into a hover,
Floating effortlessly, they cross the bright peninsula, as the warm ocean laps at the cliff sides,
Large round turquoise boulders rest beneath weeping lapis trees, their branches laden with birds,
The songbirds with their vibrant glittering indigo plumage, fill the air with their sweet music,
Large white cranes fly silently sunward, their departure signifying the end of a great journey,
Vivid dreams have led the hovering guest to the heart of the peninsula, a flat fragrant and floral field,
Its only feature is a massive ancient white tree, its vine covered trunk revealing a large hollow,
Beams of alternating light cycle from within the tree hollow, pulsing, bidding a warm welcome,
At the centre of each flower growing on the vines that cling to the great tree, is a single gazing eye,
As the songbirds begin to trumpet full throated music into the spiralling peppermint sky,
All eyes watch as the visitor hovers forward, silently fading into the light laden tree hollow,
The bird songs echo into silence, all colour diminishes, and the traveller is emersed in brilliant stars,
The stars soon fade, as the dreamers’ eyes open, awakening them to the glow of a new morning sun.
Dan Verkys 