Selections from Archetypes of Doubt

Robert Maddox-Harle

Four poems selected from my latest book, Archetypes of Doubt. Published by cyberwit.net (India) - Robert Maddox-Harle

Archetypes of Doubt

 

In the remote village of raw emotions

seduced by the tyranny of time

wheeling photons mesmerise the unwary,

Shamanic visions invade the mind

mysterious unknowable forces

expose archetypes from the Prima Materia

delving deep into chthonian realms.

 

The Ouroborous materialises from nowhere

resonating violently with recurring trauma

challenging cultural memories

highlighting the philosophical effects of desire.

Removing the mocking mask

is a strategy for survival

for those seeking refuge in their poverty

and subservient in the pathological need of domination

by those with portfolios of power.

 

Violin strings vibrate harmoniously

exciting the four fundamental forces,

Fire – Earth – Air - Water,

Chaos dances in diachronic evolution

creating fractal archetypes of doubt

for those who are sensitive to constant iteration,

to the fall of the dangerous and deceptive Tarot

and a little too imperfect for eternity.

 

 

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!

 

 

 

Note From an Elder

 

Even the body meagre

ghastly, famished and cold

gently breathes in the prison of night,

it owes its existence to pure chance.

 

The hour hand moves slowly.

 

The tragedy unfolds each day,

stories and myths invented

every imaginable self-deception embraced,

the illusion of redemption

the illusion of salvation

the collusion of “the rapture”.

 

The hour hand moves a little faster.

 

The surge of time washes over,

rhythms of nature dance their dance

cyclic movements ebb and flow,

control and greed are idiot cousins

their characteristics wreaking havoc,

this miraculous planet is dying.

 

The hour hand is moving faster.

 

Indigenous peoples embrace ‘what is’,

symbiotic rapport with nature

no ‘town clocks’ to control and enslave

acceptance of limitations

harmonious empathy with daily cycles.

“No, we are not the pinnacle of evolution!”

“No, we cannot control earthquakes, cyclones and floods!”

“Yes, we flow with the flow of time!”

“We embrace the Tao!”

 

The hour hand is moving full-speed.

 

 

 

Silent Spring

 

The flat black glass begins to glisten

devices invade our privacy insidiously,

eyes squint and squirm unknowingly

but gaze in disbelief

heads bowed in addiction,

#despite #numerous #ridiculous #hash tags

social media remains vacuous and deceptive

but all invasive and powerful.

 

The public dumbed-down, subtly Somatised

always ready to activate the escape switch

but with no possible get away,

and the bird-song fades.

 

THE SILENT SPRING DEAFENING

 

echoing in the ears of the few who can hear,

publicly announced agendas of death thrive

the nightly News complicit in the killing.

 

“Now To Finance”

announces the puppet news presenter,

NYSE

the new church of unspeakable filth and evil,

silent, suited, faceless killers

the clergy of the new god.

Mammon rules supreme.

 

AND THE SILENT SPRING IS DEAFENING

 

All around the powder dry earth groans

suffocating in its dry lifeless toxicity,

the masses indifferent to the devastation,

another enchanted forest dies

indigenous hearts are weeping

as shareholders cheque their balances,

laptops sweating as the tension rises.

 

Retreating into artificial life,

artificial intelligence

artificial food

reflecting existence like a chrome-stained lithograph,

the indifference a hideous portent of extinction

a gravel pit of impossible futures.

I wonder if any will survive?

---

Setu, July 2025