Creator / imaginer: Dabbler in art, literature and sound.
A light for millions has gone out, leaving us in the dark,
Your music helped countless people to carry on,
To get up each day, inspiring us, helping us to cope,
Father figure to those who needed one,
A comfort to those struggling to find some hope,
A soundtrack to lives, a bond we can’t untie,
Even though your passing has left a hole in the sky,
Rest now in peace, while we all mourn,
Thank you for being you, Ozzy Osbourne.
Stressed is desserts spelt backwards,
I don’t find it sweet, I feel:
Pushed,
Restless,
Sleepless,
Sick,
Rushed,
Anxious,
Angry,
Tired,
Over emotional,
Pressure makes diamonds,
Not in a workplace, it increases mistakes,
Causes emotional burnout,
Creates a blur where there should be clarity,
Adding pressure makes no sense,
And no, I won’t put a pin in it and circle back.
When a painting starts to flow,
It is like breathing for the first time,
Every twist and turn of the brush,
Can be filled with memory and feeling,
Recently, I’ve tried to fall in love with colour,
But she doesn’t feel the same way.
Days can pass when I have nothing to say,
No news shared, no great achievements come my way,
The practicalities of life take over and they must be attended,
A down time, when the arts are begrudgingly suspended,
But soon I return with renewed creative zest,
These are the times in life that I love best.
I had a dream,
The image stuck with me,
For weeks now I’ve drawn it,
I close my eyes, and I see it,
I don’t know what it means,
I don’t know what it is,
But it is relevant somehow,
And my mind won’t let it go.
The authentic me lies hidden,
While the palatable me is on display,
A stand-offish, grumpy, prickly personality,
These are shields, masks, an odd armour of sorts,
It’s all fake, a ruse, a folly designed to trick,
The real me is too fragile, the real me I protect,
With tools of manipulation, I deceive to survive,
Not to survive you, but to survive a day as me,
Just enough so that I can get up again tomorrow,
The ruse has become permanent, now a fused mask,
It conceals the real me from all, lately, even myself,
But it is a mask I must continue to wear,
For I loathed me, long before it became fashionable.
I once fell apart,
Like a scattered jigsaw puzzle,
When I put myself back together,
Some pieces were missing.
Your everyday smile,
Warm and genuine,
A source of light,
I watched helplessly,
As hers was erased,
The day you had to go.
I feel that I am at my furthermost point in life now,
To help you understand, let me paint you a picture,
Close your eyes, visualise a vast solid black square,
A thin fibrous fading white line, lays perfectly straight,
Extending from the very edge of the black expanse,
Terminating at the centre, as a small emitting white dot,
That’s me, this is my current location, my headspace,
Currently unwell, intentionally disconnected, and very tired,
I am people tired, self-control tired, talk tired, and sick of ‘the show’,
Where do I go from the centre of my furthermost point,
I simply do not know.
These are dark days,
I’m not built for a world at war,
We tolerate too much,
We implement fools,
Knowing full well that they are the pigs,
Those who left the Animal Farm*,
Fatted and now feeding on the world.
*Animal Farm" is a satirical allegorical novella by George Orwell, first published in 1945.
Dan Verkys 