Tug out the henge stones like loose teeth from wet earth
And hear a low moan of dread from the spent earth.
Baked, bare souls kick up rising dust. Dark eyes are
Used to the sun’s grim ache and finding coins in red earth.
Fat cherubs coo down from a cathedral sky
Framed by stars like milk splashed on jet earth.
The one thousand arms of a lover hold flowers
Dripping putrid oil on eyes, mouth and dead earth.
An old woman gurgles a “thank you” or “yes”
As she is lowered into sacred earth.
Impress ‘Cecily’ into dry sand with a shoot
Plucked from a remote garden of unfettered earth.
In this poem I wanted to convey a sense of the gothic found in many Psychological Thrillers. I was also interested in the way that ‘clues’ work within the genre to enable the audience to come to their own conclusion and form their own understanding. The different stanzas can be seen to hopefully act as these ‘clues’ – often the director/writer only gives the audience only glimpses of a greater whole.