Tag Archives: horror

Dummy

In the darkened gloom

of a wooden tomb,

you kept me smothered

in a dank ,musty cloth,

my burial shroud wrapped around me,

like nightmares wrap themselves

around my dreams

were I be allowed to dream,

to suffocate on my own dust

passing time watching iron nails rust,

distant noises muffled

my own screams caught in a throat

that cannot issue its own currency of speech,

my counterfeit visage

its motionless mouth,

my fugue turns a darker shade of night;

until,

until,

until you release me

on parole again;

and as I sit obediently on your knee,

the applause reaches its crescendo

and you bow your head

as Charles did upon the chopping block

to which my thoughts stray

and before you put me back

into the wooden tomb,

I know now,

what I must do…

With Good Intentions

Tears welled in his eyes as his failing concentration felt respite at last. His breast filled with inexpressible relief with the knowledge of yet another young life saved; A three hours long emergency operation fraught with unimaginable risks had been successful.

He silently gave thanks that his surgical skills were again exonerated despite the excruciating cramp around his fingers and stiffness in his joints;

He reflected momentarily on the ineluctable fact that he was Master Surgeon still; after all these very long thirty years of exemplary service and adherence to duty.

He had initially greeted the move to this provincial town after his inaugural sojourn in the imperial capital-having attended the Kaiser Franz Josef himself on several occasions- as something of a demerit.

And yet, shuffling wearily down the marathon corridor, his gaunt shadow cast almost majestically by the billowing, flickering gaslight made it seem inexplicably brighter still.

Eyes wearied by concentration, he barely recognised the faces of those nurses and his fellow surgeons who congratulated him with undue but welcome muted applause as he proceeded with rising spirits to the waiting room area.

He had saved a very precious young life; one that had he not stilled his recurring and unpredictable hand tremors with a small dose of laudanum beforehand, might so easily have attained an altogether less favourable outcome.

That knowledge aired only in his internal silent monologue that accompanied his footsteps like a silent drumroll of a conscience long since unacquainted with mere frivolous compassion.

Approaching the large waiting room area out into the fading late afternoon light was a great doctor who had fretted and performed near surgical miracles and was about to impart and share welcome news with the anxious parents who had now so many long hours ago rushed their child to this hospital and into the care of this master surgeon.

Face to face with the anxious ,waiting Mother, he of the wizened countenance and pedantic professional demeanour and she a complexion masked with tiredness and etched with a maternal hope beyond hope, something he had witnessed hundreds and hundreds of times for so many years.

She broached the question in a still, small voice that he scarcely heard though he knew what they were.

“Is He..? ”

“He is fine, there are no complications”

“When we brought him in, I thought he might die”

“No worries dear Lady, I’m sure your son will enjoy a long and happy life”

Tears of inestimable gratitude welled momentarily in her kindly eyes,

“Thank you Herr Doktor”

“Good day…Frau Hitler,”

A Mexican Interlude

The town,
its labyrinthine streets
unthreaded,
shrouded in cordite
machine-gunned bodies
drape over the fountain,
their sangre lending
a certain hyperbole
to an otherwise
lacklustre afternoon;
The guns’ kinetic burlesque
unrehearsed and inevitable,
exhausted their lives
of possibility;
leaving them mime artists
now without animation,
residue of others’
ulterior motives,
counters spent in
an inexplicable game
where primeval forces
rigorously determine
the fate of unfortunates
and the market price
of certain produce.

Alien Nation : Alienation

We went into the Valley of Elah

looking for victory and reasons to carry on ,

when we got there those reasons had gone ;

they’d quietly slipped away

leaving us with nothing more to say ;

when we got back

we didn’t recognise ourselves ,

we looked at our faces in the mirror

that only showed someone else ;

all our words too had their meaning changed

for something that we couldn’t understand ,

and we who were born here

became strangers in our own land .

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.