I’ve sat with my inner silence today, Numb, Lost in thought. Writing a few words may help. This poem is an activation activity, Not one of imagination. A spark against a reluctant engine. A few words to get me moving. A moment of clarity. A chance to breathe. Who knows? Perhaps I’ll feel better. I’ll ride that wave While it lasts. Writing is speaking without voice. I prefer this. Just as the Candy Man says: “For some moments in life, There are no words.”
Today, I shall spend the entire day writing, Lost in my dream realm, calm, undisturbed. Absorbed by imagination and creation, This evening I hope to rest with a sense of achievement.
Having mapped regions of my inner self previously unexplored, Finding deep within me, that inexhaustible well, That great cavern of riches that must be exhumed, Its treasures uncovered, recorded and shared.
It is currently 11am on a cool June Sunday morning, Although my eyes are weary after an embattled sleep, I have already crafted several memorable tales, Birthing new lands, strange creatures and dreamy sights.
Why do you come here, is it for the gloom? For the restless shadows of my darkened room, I’ll make no apology, for I prefer to write, With words of melancholy that arrive like night.
Over softened themes dressed up in colourful bloom, Where joy survives untouched by grief or doom, I’ve seen everything colourful eventually lose lustre. It does have a place, but it won’t pass my muster.
My mind drifts dim where others shine bright, Here, darkness looms never far from sight, Even as a young boy, I could never bring, As Poe wrote, my passions from a common spring.
My mind can be dreary and abnormally bleak, And I prefer others to use light and flowery speak, But if like me you find some comfort in gloom, Stay with me a while here, in my dark little room.
I have just uploaded a new short story to my newly reshuffled Writing area. I believe subscribers to this page are only notified about posts, so I thought I’d let you know in case you’re interested. The story was written a couple of years ago and is very brief. I’m a fan of packing a lot into a few words. I like a quick literary hit, so I can go away and think about it, or read it again without too much of a time investment.
Between You and I (conversation with a ghost) The narrative explores the experience of a deceased soul residing in Limbo, observing the living world from a dark alcove behind a curtain-like veil. The soul shares their role as a custodian of the family, assisting a newly deceased ancestor in crossing over while warning of the dangers of becoming trapped in the living realm.
The ghost from the story ‘Between You and I’ written by Dan Verkys.
Dusk falls across a tired, dusty rural landscape, The long shadows of late afternoon have faded into grey.
In the distance, the bright lights of Central City flicker to life, Illuminating the sky as the distant chaos of the metropolis rises to a murmur.
There is comfort in being isolated, Distant from humanity, away from the energy, constant sound and movement of the city.
Technology still exists in this rural space, But it is subtle, used where needed, functionality valued above convenience.
Out here, technology is for survival, There are no unnecessary body modifications or implants, although some city escapees still carry them.
Out here, chop-shops are largely a city thing, The people of the Groves have little interest in replacing flesh simply because they can.
Grove 18, or G18, lies some distance from the hot spot of Central City, G0, And since the war, most people here remain cautious of machines and what they are capable of.
Yet salvaged technology has found a new purpose, Repurposed for farming, transport and survival rather than destruction.
Various forms of hover vehicles have replaced the wheels and tyres of the old world, An important development when the surviving roads are overgrown, broken and slowly disappearing.
Hov bikes belonging to raider crews can still threaten isolated farming communities, But the Syndicates keep them in check, for a price.
A cut of your proceeds.
That is the arrangement.
Pay your Syndicate, And your property remains standing.
Don’t pay, And your farm may burn.
Or worse, You and your family may be deleted.
It is an uneasy peace, But peace nevertheless.
Beyond the settlements and cultivated fields, Nature remains savage and beautifully untameable.
Forests reclaim the dead townships, Their roots pushing through concrete and rusting machinery, creating new habitats and hiding secrets beneath the canopy.
Wild creatures move through abandoned buildings, While moss and vines slowly consume the remnants of the world that came before.
The grey new world is brutal and unfair, But there is something honest about its cruelty.
Nothing here promises to be kind.
Nothing here promises to be safe.
Yet the sun still sets, The forests still grow, The hovs still hum across the broken roads,
And somewhere beyond the distant glow of Central City, Another night begins.
Beyond my machine world the Infinite Black, exists 'A Grey New World', a dystopian future set following the war with the machine hellworld as outlined in my art series, and book I co-created with Jeff Oliver.
I have been (very) slowly fleshing out all aspects of this new post apocalyptic world for a while now, and I will continue to release parts of it here. The final product will consist of poetry, art and short stories.
