Tag Archives: horror

Sticks and Stones

They’d taken me to A&E around 4 a.m. Not a good time to get sent to the hospital, Saturday before dawn, the morning after the night before. Drunks, junkies, vagrants, the knifed, the shot, the battered, the bruised and confused.

They were waiting for me, waiting for me to die, but not on their shift. I could tell immediately. I’m intuitive that way. I could tell that they don’t fancy doing the paperwork that my dying on their shift would entail.

Their words hurt me alright, worse than any sticks or stones if you come right down to it. “ Chest pains!” some intern or other announced as he waved a clipboard at me in the cubicle, the cubicle with its curtain left agape for the morbidly curious.

What chest pains? My badly timed interjection to the dominant medical narrative caused a furious raising of the hospital staff’s eyebrows and an increase in their patronising tones.

Well excuse them but they have tests to run, degrees to measure,percentages to ascertain ; so my p.o.v. didn’t really count. Not in this cubicle, not in this medical facility’s A&E and sure as hell not at 4 in the forsaken morning with blood, vomit and worse decorating the environs of this most sacred of places.

First I had to be disempowered, brought under their stewardship,my critical reasoning was to be set aside ,so that I can be assigned ,consigned ,designed to fit in with their industrial logic.They were waiting for me, to consent to my own incarceration ,so that they could transform me into one of their votive offerings on one of their altars dedicated to their idols of weakness and incapacity.

If I could only feel strongly enough the urge to discharge myself ,and I went ahead and did just that. Then maybe their words would hurt me less than sticks and stones..But they’ll still be waiting for me,waiting for me…..

Flashpoint

FLASHPOINT

It’s Aiko’s birthday today. Just as the new chrysanthemum dawn begins to beckon, she awakens and her naïve sleep-filled gaze is captivated by the spreading dawn that’s only an hour or so into its ineluctable theatre of nature. Its flamingo-hued fingers are drawing back the veil of night; a clarion call if any were needed to announce that today is little Aiko’s birthday.

An auspicious day with celestial harmony and tranquility prevailing. Later, once this nascent day has matured into full morning, Aiko will show her draughtsman accurate hieroglyphs to the school-teacher and he will smile, applauding her endeavour.

Having breakfasted with special treats her Mother made and fastidiously donned her uniform, Aiko accompanies her grandfather holding his hand on their stroll to school. Looking up, far up in the early morning sky, the observant Aiko says that she can see a silver kite drifting slowly, slowly across the azure canopy. Her grandfather squints and knows it cannot be a kite. Though from that”kite” a tiny silver sliver appears to begin to somersault endlessly earthwards.

Momentarily transfixed, Aiko pulls impatiently at her grandfather’s sleeve, and in that moment he understands that all the rumours were true and that this moment would forever be separated from all the other moments and all the other times and all the other places would be separated from this time and this place by this silver kite.

Without knowing that to-day is Aiko’s birthday and she would show her classroom teacher her draughtsman perfect hieroglyphs, that silver kite brings with it an inauspicious augury. Aiko will not be celebrating her birthday today, the day when time itself will come to an end, and it will foreclose on all birthdays. On this sixth day of August. 1945.

A & E

Accident & Emergency

They’re waiting for you ,
they’re waiting for you to die ,
but not on their shift ;
They don’t fancy doing the paperwork
that you dying on their shift entails ;
They have tests to run ,
degrees to measure ,
percentages to ascertain ;
First you must be disempowered ,
brought under their stewardship ,
critical reasoning has to be set aside ,
so that you can be
assigned ,consigned ,designed
to fit in with their industrial logic ;
They’re waiting for you ,
to consent to your incarceration ,
so that they can transform you
into one of their votive offerings ,
on one of their altars dedicated
to their idols of weakness and incapacity ;
Should you feel strongly enough
the urge to discharge yourself ,
and you go ahead and do just that ,
They’ll still be waiting for you ,
waiting for you…..

A Quiet Place

Quiet as sunlight on a window pane

quiet as a snowdrop falling in winter,

quiet now the Earth stands

the Earth stands still;

all our years have passed us by

and are gone into the abyss of nostalgia;

Every waking moment is a baited trap,

should your grasp loosen,

should your grip fail,

should your foot slip;

Only silence offers hope,

and hope causes the heart to beat louder;

hush now,

they’re listening..

Les Autres

When winter’s cadence sounds,
burn their pictures
the photographs of the dead
burn them,
so that they shan’t
trouble you again
when winter’s cadence sounds;

the gardens are shrouded
in snow
upon which no earthly foot
will fall,
and the door chimes dormant
hang suspended by a thread
of your own disbelief;

an imperceptible menace
waiting for a breath,
a snap of cold winter’s
air to cut the thread
and send it crashing,

crashing onto the floor,
where you shan’t hear it
except in your imagination’s
ear firmly fixed on the
sound of winter’s cadence.

Snowblind

Hollow eyes

see the snow drift

slowly drifting;

their vacant stare

no longer dares

read a history etched

on withered parchment

as the snow drifts

slowly over them;

hollow and bleak

the day’s remains

remain abandoned

till Winter comes to

take them away;

watched by hollow eyes

watching the snow drift

drifting slowly;

our existential cries

muffled

in the suffocating

sclerotic

snow-caped

landscape,

where Winter has buried them

all.

 

The Death of Stalin

Sergei Ivanovich was once “tovarich”

and hummed along to the “Internationale”,

he once was nearly bloodied at

at the barricades,mentioned in official

despatches he became a Party “hero”;

Sergei Ivanovich grew accustomed

to snap-heeled salutes in the

Kolyma Peninsula,1936 or thereabouts,

supervising prisoners’slashed-vein evenings

and their bowls of tepid soup

and the twenty kilo boulders being

passed along hand to hand:

and then,

They came for him;

the official ZIL saloon arrived

bringing with it The Silver Braid,

who lit their cigarettes tracing

scarlet arabesques in the gloomy dusk,

Sergei Ivanovich didn’t keep them waiting,

bowl-spasmed funk robbed him of

his steadfast demeanour as he opened

the door and the ZIL saloon

with its incense of iodine and

brown leather slinked back to

the wolverine forest where in

the night memories lose themselves,

and in the morning are found,

covered in quicklime..

 

Author’s footnote:-

I originally posted this as “Stalin Calls” on 19 July 2011.Only the title and featured image have been “re-booted”.

Daily Routine

Every evening at 5.09
he leaves the office,
takes the streetcar
into town,
goes for a stroll
down to the park
by the canal;

there he sits
on the bench nearest
the ornate water fountain;

He dreams,
of a lost childhood
long summers ago
by the sea,
days filled with singing,
laughing and
crying;

Crying now,
the little girl
by the fountain
who has lost her way,
golden hair,eyes of grey,
reflected in his thick lenses;

As he watches her
he dreams,
of long summers ago,
a childhood by the sea
filled with laughing
and crying;

now in the park
he lies beneath a summer sky,
side by side with
the golden girl
and
she lies
very still.

The Library at Alexandria

What words were they

that were lost amid

intolerance’s rage?

Whose verses,knowledge,wisdom

were swept into oblivion

by the fires’ wrath?

A pyre stacked

with a million scrolls

the deeds and glories of Ages past

gone into the long forgetting;

and in the Now and Forever

Hypatia remains exiled

in the garden,

where the Sun refuses to shine.

22/3 : Westminster Bridge ( Kyrie Eleison )

( I )

Quiet now ,

the day’s storm

has passed ,

and we

and we all ,

are out of harm’s way

for now ,

and that is all

we need for now ,

to be out of harm’s way

now that the day’s storm

has passed

and all is quiet.

( II )

Silent ,

the waters lie undisturbed ,

and they

and they all ,

are gone forever

though their memory abides ,

and that is all

there is to say ,

for now ,

that their memory abides

and they are gone ,

and the waters

lie undisturbed now

and silent.