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| Robert Maddox-Harle |
Cast Shadows
The
abandoned building beckons
a
bleak bridge to the past,
paint
flakes the wall
falling
like downcast eyes,
an
eerie dull light seep insipidly
from
a crescent moon,
a
flickering dull-bright from
the
cracks beneath the antique doors.
Damp
musty scents waft over me
the
presence of coal gas menacing,
somewhere
a clock ticks loudly
reinforcing
the curse of mortality,
Plath’s
ghost sighs deeply
trying to recite Sheep In Fog,
impossible
this side of the bleak bridge.
The
one-armed cook smirking
stirs
the blood-filled stew
and the broken stove creaks,
dinner
for the Laid Off
half
warm - soon.
the
boy’s clock chimes his return
his
broken lamp lifeless
casting shadows on nothing!
(Inspired by “The
Club of the Laid Off” (1989) is a short 25-minute stop-frame animation movie
masterpiece by Czech filmmaker Jiri Barta)
***
Shrouded Coffin
The
intrapsychic coffin is shrouded
a
sickly white-grey mist obscures its plaque,
the
coffin’s presence a mystery,
it
suddenly materialising remains unanswered.
Throwing
the Tarot yields The Moon,
four
golden Yods fall from her body
two
towers are the gateway to Resurrection
the
dark flux of night dominates ….
this
coffin is deceptive,
search
past the falsity of the obvious
is
the wisdom of this Luna card.
The
mist lifts and reveals an inscribed plaque
“Within this tomb
lies the answer,
the answer to the
illusion of space-time reality”,
to
open the coffin an esoteric key is needed ….
a
ventriloquist’s phantom chant
echoing
an incantation harmoniously,
an
incantation from the heart of the Golden Yantra.
The
chanting slows and softens
the
dark flux of night
is
drawn apart by slivers of moonlight,
in
the yellow gloom the coffin lid opens,
an
effigy of Salvador Dali grins,
a
golden clock balances on his chest
the
time …. one minute to midnight.
***
The Hospital
An eyelash clears a cinder trapped beneath its rim,
the chained slave is a never-ending burden
in different shades of bruised blackness,
then consumable luxuries send intimate messages
extremely crass,
56432-1
so the goose kills the loquacious and inaccessible
whores
and everlasting vows are abandoned.
La Saltp├кtri├иre – Explosive!
gunpowder blasts transmute to deranged screams
Enter Edvard Munch!
The plough rejects the earth
shrill birds mocking,
this ultimately floats into infinity
all ignoring an oboe's desolate plea.
Next we find the pawnshop of numeric tourism,
this well-considered defence strategy opens the
technological almanac
raising the hospital's permit
and the hysterics are silenced,
SILENCE .. SILENCE .. SILENCE
The soft-hearted and worn-down procurements float
as doubt settles into the abysmal lace,
the best-seller an abomination of retrospective lies
answers as the phone rings abruptly.
Hallo!
47 Boulevard de L’hopital.
A mysterious painting hangs abandoned in the hall
its piety risks exposure
functioning as a mirror for psychosis
all creatures disintegrate before its reactive
tendrils.
(From:
The Blazing Furnace.)
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