THE MIDNIGHT BIKER

 As an enthusiastic longstanding biker and an equally enthusiastic digital artist newbie, I've recently combined these two interests of mine by launching my first pictorial blog – RebelBikerDude's AI Biker Art (click here to view it), in which I present a very diverse range and ever-increasing number of galleries containing my biker/motorcycling-themed digital artwork – the creation of which, incidentally, has proved not only very enjoyable but also extremely therapeutic while I've been dealing with the stress of ongoing medical issues. Moreover, it has also inspired me to write the following brand-new biker-themed poem earlier tonight – at midnight, appropriately enough – which I shall in turn be illustrating accordingly via a gallery of images in my RebelBikerDude art blog very soon (one of which appears above), so be sure to look out for it there [29 May update: I've now completed my Midnight Biker gallery of images - so click here to view it]. As for the Midnight Biker: my concept of him is as a sinister, supernatural biker who seeks to steal and ride away with our vital life-force, our very soul, while we lie asleep at night. But can he be quelled? Read this poem and find out!

THE MIDNIGHT BIKER

What if Midnight were a biker,
Cruising the back streets and alleys
Of our subconscious as we sleep,
A dangerous, dominant darkness,
Lustful and louche in leather,
Slouching dissolutely against a streetlamp-lit wall,
Or sitting astride a twin-wheeled monster of menace,
A dread shadow hag-riding our prone somnolent slumber
Beneath the silent setting of the sun,
Confrontational and confident, powerful and purposeful,
As he gazes down disdainfully upon our weak, submissive mortality,
Pitilessly upon our drowsing dream-led ramblings
Through the cryptic hinterlands of our hidden soul?

But even as he steps forth from the subtle shades of evening,
Ever-changing yet ageless, embodying our primeval fears
Of darkness, of dwindling, diminishing, and ultimately of death,
And now about to claim and to conquer,
To overpower and overcome,
With chilling, all-consuming certainty,
Another soul to steal and ride away with
On his steeled, wheeled steed of steel,
The first flush of Dawn appears upon the horizon,
A new day inexorably approaching,
To banish all nocturnal soporific phantoms from our mind –
And the Midnight Biker is gone,
For now…

 

FIVE YEARS AGO

Five years have gone by since the passing of my dear mother, Mary Shuker. Sometimes it seems like only moments ago, other times an eternity, a different life in a different world. How I miss you Mom, how I love you and wish with all my heart that you were still here with me, sharing my life, making it worth living again, a real life instead of a sham existence.

FIVE YEARS AGO

Five years ago today, Mom, you left my life, you left this world – and my life, my world, was left lifeless, worldless, without you. So it remains today, and so it will always remain, until we are together once more, all of us, our family, reunited at last and forever. Friends tell me that you have never left me, that you are still here, all about me, always. I am reminded by their words of other words - those attributed to Hakim Sanai, a 12th-Century Persian poet:

Unable to perceive the shape of you,

I find you all around me.

Your presence fills my eyes with your love,

It humbles my heart,

For you are everywhere.

How I wish, how I hope, how I pray that this is so, and, above all else, that even if only once ever, but at least just once, I could know this for certain, beyond any doubt, beyond any shadow or whisper or flicker of hesitation, know that you were indeed here still, filling my soul with your love that was always there for me when you lived beside me in my life, when you walked with me in my world.

Then again, perhaps it is a test, a test of faith - just like Orpheus faced when walking out of the Underworld in the fervent hope that his deceased bride Eurydice was indeed following behind him, but Orpheus failed to win her back when he finally gave in to the temptation of doubt and looked behind him to make sure that she really was there, and, in so doing, lost her a second time, and this time for all time. Perhaps my test is to draw upon and have faith in my memories of your love for me, upon my certain knowledge that as long as you are in any way able to stay close by, you will indeed do so, never leaving or abandoning me, but instead always here for me, watching over me, guiding me as ever, until my own time here is complete - and that as long as I believe this to be so, so shall it be. Only if my mortal doubts overcome me will I lose you here again, a second time, Mom.

So, on this day, of all days, I must overcome any doubts, any fears, and for all time, because I will not lose you again - never! - and henceforth I will continue, in whatever role God intends for me here on His Earth, until in His mercy I am finally at peace and at last restored to you, to all of us, in His Heaven, never more to be parted.

God bless you, Mom, may I always be worthy of you, as the son you loved so much when you lived beside me in this world, and as the son whose love for you lives on in this world, and always will do, through all the days of my own life here, however many or few those may be.

My mother Mary Shuker (© Dr Karl Shuker)

MY LADY OF DARK DESPAIR

For some, depression is a Black Dog that pads resolutely alongside them, a hound of shadow and sorrow relentlessly stalking their steps, unable to be shaken off or shooed away. For me, it is a Lady, a Lady of Dark Despair, whose great wings enfold me unexpectedly in their terrible shadows of doom and doubt.

MY LADY OF DARK DESPAIR

My Lady of Dark Despair, why have you encompassed me once more

With your black-plumed wings of grim shadow and spirit-numbing gloom,

Their enveloping, all-embracing pinions of cool ebony extinguishing all light from my life,

All wisdom from my world, all memory from my mind, all salvation from my soul?

I feel your icy tears like disconsolate, dispassionate dewfall,

Trickling ever deeper into the warm, sunlit sanctuary of my heart,

To freeze it in crystalline cemetery night-chill,

Until its very beating seem stilled and silent.

Am I as pale, as pellucid now, as your own pallid complexion and reflection,

As isolated, as insular, as the sorrowful realm in which you reign supreme,

Alone, apart, aloof from the mortals whom you torment with your denying of hopes,

Your destruction of dreams, your despoiling of memories?

Or will I find the strength within my being to dismiss your dread visage,

To discount your intrusive murmurs of doubt, to disdain your grey forebodings of doom,

And turn away from your darkness, from the sadness that your presence imbues,

And step back into the laughter and the light of the world once more,

Where the sun still shines, the moon still shimmers, the stars still sparkle,

And my soul awakens anew, renewed and restored,

Raised up once more upon the bright wings of recalled, recollected, resurrected Hope,

To greet a new day's golden dawning, with all of its wonders awaiting me there?

THE PEACOCK CAT

(© Worth1000.com)

I have always been fascinated by the flamboyant beauty of a peacock's train, each feather proffering a veritable eye gazing down upon an adoring, venerating audience – an audience that equally would worship and has indeed worshipped in awe the aloof but ever-seductive entity of mystery and midnight that peruses the world through the golden eyes of a cat.

So when I encountered online this spectacular photo-manipulated composite of the pavonine and the feline reproduced here, what else could I do but compose a paean of praise in poetry to its esoteric extravagance?

THE PEACOCK CAT

The peacock cat purrs softly amid the fire of the firmament,

Its burnished plumes glowing and gleaming in blazing beauty

As its glorious train sweeps downward to trace across the face of the world.

Each eye, every ocellus, gazing forth from the splendour of its emerald feathers,

Peers with timeless stillness and silence upon the lands beneath,

All-knowing, all-seeing, all-dreaming, all-being.

The lands receive its hues, its light, its shades, and its shadows –

Multicoloured, varicoloured, parti-coloured, many-coloured.

A kaleidoscope of ever-shifting, ever-shaping patterns embellishing our world.

Life surges, satiated, inebriated, by polychromatic potions and elixirs

Cascading in torrents of tinctures from the prismatic palette of its exquisite soul,

As its train lies settled awhile, an ever-watchful extension of its feline being.

And then the peacock cat moves on, withdrawing its divine train of turquoise and topaz,

Of sapphire and sardonyx, carmine and cochineal, agate and amber,

Ultramarine, aquamarine, cobalt and emerald, drawn out and away from our world.

And what is left? No colour, no light, no subtle hues or vivid vibrancy.

Look around at all that is gone, all that is lifeless, listless, and lost,

Our grandiose achievements strewn in Ozymandian folly, unseen and unseeing.

The vast void of eternity encompasses us in its sable spider-webs of dreadful darkness,

Nothing but nothing remains, where, formerly, yet all too briefly, there was colour, and life.

The peacock cat is gone, and now, and forever, so too has what had once been our world.

I SAW A SEA SLUG

A few moments ago, I felt like writing a poem about a sea slug, as you do, so I did, and here it is - you can thank me later.

I SAW A SEA SLUG

I saw a sea slug, a sea slug I saw,
Known as a nudibranch on the sea floor,
Stolen nematocysts bristling and armed,
All those who touch them will truly be harmed.

So, sea slug, slither in safety, serene,
Dazzle with colours of orange and green,
Yellow and turquoise and violet and red,
Rainbowed molluscan upon the sea bed.

THE DREAM-CATCHER

When I saw the above image online, it immediately suggested to me the concept of an otherworld dream-catcher, a silent preternatural being standing unseen beside us as we sleep, ready to capture the dreams that we shall dream that night. So that is what I wrote.

THE DREAM-CATCHER

The dream-catcher stands unseen, still, beside our beds,

Powdered skin as pale as bleached bone upon a beach,

A tippet of swan feathers around his shoulders,

A dense ruff of white owl plumes encircling his neck.

His long fingers snatch at the dreams that flutter by,

Like ghostly moths in the miasma of midnight.

Then he blows them softly inside our sleeping minds,

Keeping watch over them, and us, through the dark hours.

And when dawn comes, when the bright sun wakes in splendour,

He is gone, leaving no dream nor any trace here,

Gone away to ensnare new dreams for new sleepers,

Until our dream lives are over, our dream lives done.

THE GREEN ELEPHANT

On a number of occasions down through the years, I have been inspired to write poems and verses after seeing beautiful, bewitching works of art online. And today was another such occasion, in which I penned the following poem after encountering the spectacular illustration presented above.

THE GREEN ELEPHANT

I dreamed one night that I had seen

An elephant, but it was green.

It stood amid a leafy glade

With light and shadow overlaid.

A patch of sunshine on its brow

That glowed like gold, I know not how.

Its opalescent tusks glowed too,

A pale, pellucid, pearly hue.

It gazed at me with stately calm,

A scene suffused with leafy balm,

A green cathedral, still and bright,

A place of wonder, dreams, and light.

Serene and silent, arched and tall,

So too its guardian of all.

Majestic in the mellow mist,

Where dreams can linger, hope exist.

Its trunk rose up in slow salute,

Its sunlight-sprinkled message mute,

Yet eloquent inside my mind

Before I left its realm behind

And woke once more within my room,

No green or gold amid its gloom.

Just fading memories remain,

Until one day I'm home again.

THE FRACTURED GOD

Here is another short poem that I wrote after encountering a remarkable example of artwork online, in this instance the fascinating illustration presented here.

THE FRACTURED GOD

Behold the fractured god in fragmented florescence,

His turquoise-tortured visage tormented by its trace.

His eyes by shade are shielded, lost in lidded languor,

His mad mind dreams our fancy, our fear, our form, our face.

DINOSAUR DREAMS

As soon as I saw this wonderful illustration when browsing online several weeks ago, I knew that one day it would inspire me to write a poem – and today it has done, so here it is.

DINOSAUR DREAMS

Verdant but still is the path through the forest,

A study in sadness, in silence, in shade.

Its trail stretching on, its limit unending,

A realm with no gladness, no gleam in its glade.

Dead as a dinosaur, all my dreams done with,

Enveloped in verdigris, mould, and decay.

The past lies behind, its door closed and cloistered,

And as for the future? Who knows - who can say?

And so I plod on, alone and regardless,

'Midst trees, leaves, and bushes, viridian friends.

Their foliage beckons, soon to embrace me,

To take me back home when my journeying ends.

THREE YEARS AGO TODAY

Mom and I at the top of Sugar Loaf Mountain in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, 2007 ((c) Dr Karl Shuker)

Yesterday I penned the following lines, marking the third anniversary of the passing of my dear little Mom, Mary Shuker.
God bless you, Mom, I've missed you so much during these three long, sad years, and I always will do, every moment of every day, through all the days of my life.

THREE YEARS AGO TODAY

Three years ago today, Mom, was the first time in my life that I reached for your hand but no longer found it there for me, ready to hold mine with its loving, comforting, caring touch, as it had always been in the past.

It was the first time in my life that I looked for your smile but no longer saw it there for me, ready to dispel any shadows of doubt with its loving, comforting, kindly reassurance, as it had always been in the past.

It was the first time in my life that I listened for your voice but no longer heard it there for me, ready to lift my spirit with its loving, comforting, cheery encouragement, as it had always been in the past.

It was the first time in my life that I sought you but no longer found you there for me, ready to stand beside me, to walk beside me, to share my life beside me, as you had always been in the past.

Three years ago today, Mom, was the first time in my life when the future no longer mattered to me, when the present no longer interested me, when only my memories remained dear to me, enabling me to return to you and relive our countless happy days, weeks, months, and years together, as there will always be in the past.

MORE STAR STEEDS AND OTHER DREAMS - THE 2015 EXPANDED EDITION OF STAR STEEDS - HAS NOW BEEN PUBLISHED!

I'm delighted to announce that a new, greatly expanded edition of my poetry book has just been published! Entitled More Star Steeds and Other Dreams: The Collected Poems - 2015 Expanded Edition, and published by Fortean Words, an imprint of CFZ Press, it contains two entirely new chapters of my poetry and other lyrical writings of mine. To purchase it directly on the UK and USA Amazon sites, click here for details and direct clickable links to those Amazon sites. Hope you enjoy it!

WHO KNOWS...?

(c) Anne Wipf

The following verse wrote itself inside my head while I was gazing online at this wonderful fantasy artwork produced by Anne Wipf - so here it is:

WHO KNOWS...?

Who knows what wonders
And miracles be
When no-one's watching?
Not you, and not me...?

IF ONLY...

Mom and I at Hong Kong's Cat Street Markets/Galleries, Summer 2005 (© Dr Karl Shuker)

How often it is said that Time is a great healer. Two years have now gone by since Mom's passing, but for me Time's ministrations have been to no avail – the pain of grief, of loss, of separation, of the grim, heart-wrenching knowledge that I shall never see my mother again in this world remains no less raw, searing, or crippling.

I wrote the following lines to mark today, the second anniversary of that darkest of all days, and I must keep faith in my cherished belief that through God's good grace one fine bright day not too long coming we shall indeed be together again, with all of our family, forever.
I love you, little Mom, always.

IF ONLY...

If only my tears could be the footsteps that lead me to where you now are.

If only my grief could light my way there, a lantern with which I could see.
If only my faith could bear me upwards to Heaven's bright portal afar.
If only my love could find you waiting, and bring you back homeward with me.

Two years ago today, Mom, you left my life, but you also took it with you.

You left my world, but you also took it with you.
Only your love and my memories remain, but they are the happiest of companions,
And in my sorrow I must draw upon their shared happiness
To gain some of my own.
If only I could find a way of doing so -
There must be a way, somehow, somewhere...
God bless you, little Mom - 
How I wish that you were here with me still.
I always will.

SANCTUARY

Seeing this lovely illustration online and the expression of sublime peace on the face of the fox, knowing that it was perfectly safe in this tranquil, magical place, made me think of how many ways can sanctuary be defined, and what sanctuary means to me, which in turn inspired me to write the following poem.

 

SANCTUARY

Where might I find sanctuary,

Somewhere safe, secure, serene,

Where I could once again be loved,

Cared for,

Cherished?

Like a vale of green mists and golden shadows

Where a fox can lie and linger,

Undisturbed and unthreatened, a haven of peace.

Like a realm of leafy trees and fragrant meadows

Where tiny birds can sing in joy,

Beneath Heaven's bright, resplendent dome of glory.

Like the sanctuary of a mother's heart

Where a child can live and be loved,

Knowing that here he will always be safe, will always be home.

THE GREEN MAN

While browsing information online concerning the ancient European symbol of fertility and rebirth known as the Green Man for a future article that I am planning to write on this subject, I came upon these extraordinary, surreal images, above and below, which inspired me to pen the following poem.

THE GREEN MAN

Cometh the Green Man,

Stepping forth from the meadows of our ancient mind,

Shedding leaves of withered verdigris

As rebirth restores him anew,

To replenish, regenerate, reactivate, revive,

Reproduce and reassemble, recreate and resurrect.

Fertility, fecundity, his horns imbue their essence,

Erect and branching outward to embrace, enthral, encompass.

He strides from shade and shadow,

Confronting noontide sunlight

With viridescent swagger

And cuprous confrontation:

"I return, and return,

Every day I relive,

The world is mine for as long as I so choose it to be,

For as long as I nurture its nature,

For as long as I seed it, sustain it,

For as long as my beating heart revitalises its existence."

And then, he is gone –

Lost among the sunbeams and solitude

Of a bright, beautiful, golden afternoon,

Heading onward to the green twilight of tomorrow,

Where the cycle of rejuvenation, reinvigoration,

Will begin all over again.

So be it now,

And let it be so forever more.

LILAC LAKE FANTASIA

Sadly, for reasons of space, the following word-picture poem of mine could not be included in the original edition of Star Steeds and Other Dreams. So I am delighted to present it here instead, as a Star Steeds blog exclusive, its lilac and lavender hues of blissful tranquility offering a welcome respite from the furious frenzy of hectic everyday life.

LILAC LAKE FANTASIA

Morning's first sky-filtered sun-rays

Trace ellipses green and gold

On a lilac lake's clear waters –

Violet-tinged in rippling folds,

Each caressing amber fishes

Darting long in rapid flight

Through its purple undulations

'Neath the heavens' soft blue light.

And the fleecy clouds drift onwards,

Each reflected in its gaze

Of translucent violescence                                                       

O'er a spool of silver haze.                                                       

Shining shots of sapphire swallows                                        

Skim and rocket out of sight

As their sun-deflecting shadows
Stream in speeding, soaring flight. 
And the sun's auroral presence

Glows from deep within the lake,                                                   

As its silhouette of saffron

Shakes in fleeting golden flakes.

                                                                                                   

Now the deep blue vales of shadow                                      

Prom the willows bowed in grief

Dapple racing, circling ripples,

As a green uncurling leaf

Sailing round in swift gyrations

From the centre's spiralled sphere

Holds a single flashing dewdrop –

Or a willow's mournful tear?

And above each mauve reflection

Drift the souls of lakeside flowers –

Rosy, golden-wingèd cherubs -

Borne through fountains, groves, and bowers,

While the nymph of lilac waters

Moves unseen in dappled shade.

She, the naiad of the lakeside;

She, the spirit of the glade;

Gliding swiftly through the waters,

Cool and lucent as the dawn,

As this lavender enchantress

Through the countryside is borne

On the zephyr's ruffling shoulders

Through the heavens' violet shade,

As her countenance of beauty,

Past all mortals, is displayed

In the lilac lake's reflection,

Shining softly 'neath the skies,

Where the cerulean bluebird

Through the morning's shadow flies.