Poetry: Robert Maddox-Harle

Robert Maddox-Harle

Broken Blossoms

Looking out from the hidden sepulchre

I see orchards littered with broken blossoms,

an eerie breeze blows

leaves twist back and forth

consumed by the encroaching dark.

soon night has eaten the last red-yellow rays,

Luna queen of the night appears

looming large and menacing over the horizon.

the trees like naked ghostly silhouettes

murmur stories of spirit guides

frightening screeches scream across the barren earth

the Witching Hour is fast approaching.

calm ….. quiet ….. peace

the still before the chaotic dance mesmerising,

ghostly creatures gather the broken blossoms

falling and rising

appearing and disappearing.

I stretch forward from the sepulchre

tumbling out onto parched ochre earth,

no sympathy rises from its dusty venom.

rolling towards the heavens

my hope to soar moon-wards,

instead I look terrified into hollow eyes,

the hypnotic eyes of The Grim Reaper.

***

Transcending the Quicksand

I struggle with tendrils of hatred

enveloping me like sticky spider web,

bruised by the lies spread mindlessly

the dark evil of the daily media

insidious,

infiltrating our lives and psyches,

deliberately and deviously.

I try to climb out of the quagmire

with head bowed attempt to pass by

the temptations of greed,

promises of the “good life”

promises of “eternal life”,

the tentacles mercilessly and unrelenting

keep dragging me into the foul quicksand,

the world an open bleeding wound.

Like Icarus I head towards the sun

only my wings are not wax,

but fashioned in golden threads of titanium

soaring through unknown dimensions

with shafts of light filtering through,

I realise transcending the morass

the foul mud created by human avarice

is the only possibility to avoid depression,

avoid feelings of impotence,

avoid thoughts of withdrawal,

to settle in a place of peace and harmony.

***

Homeward Bound

From the dark belligerent nightly news

a hopeless sense of misery engulfs me,

exploding forth with cyclonic fury

memories enshrined in my heart, agitated

like dead leaves jostled by a restless wind.

Then a spark of hope arises in my despair,

the sandstone and eucalypt hills surround me

yellow-red ancient stones

contrast the soft green trees

guarding and guiding the sacred river,

a silent place!

A sanctuary for a reclusive life,

the spirit of this Hawkesbury rift incessant,

“return to your ancestral home”

spirits beckon

“return to the hearth of creation”.

This is Darug-Darkinjung country

a place where the tides dominate,

the pulse and flow

a connection to unknown realms,

deep-water reflects rocky outcrops

dense mangroves,

the roots gnarled and tangled

bathe in the shallow liminal zone.

Sunrise paints a surreal scene

blazing orange-red cascades down the valley

reflecting image-perfect from the still-mirror-river

a new day has arrived in mesmerising splendour.

Serenity – Silence – Seclusion – Stillness

surround me.

I am home!

***

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Setu, July 2024