|
|
|
Best Poems From
MARK R SLAUGHTER
(1957)
|
|
| |
|
|
1.
|
Bitter Blow of Love
Love! you dealt a bitter blow
You lay me cross the mortal plains,
Bedewed, bedimmed amongst a show
Of tearful clouds: eternal rains
To weep at my enduring foe
Of harsh reality searing pains of
Destiny: dependable propensity
To fool myself repeatedly
That I could ever triumph over love!
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Love love love love love love love love love love
Bitter blow
Love love love love love love love love love love
Bitter blow
Love love love love love love love love love love
Bitter blow
Love love love love love love love love love love
Bitter blow
Love love love love love love love love love love
Bitter blow
Love love love love love love love love love love
Bitter blow of love, oh love
Love love love love love love love love love love
Love love love love love love love love love love love love
Love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
Love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
Love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
Love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
Love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
Love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
Mark R Slaughter
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
2.
|
Agony
I lost my arm, a leg; the head
Of once my brother fell to me.
I caught it with a scream caressed with
Bowels, anointed with our blood
Arterial of crimson zest
Ethereal in oxygenation.
My mother whined a haunting dirge
Of Why? and Will this never end?
I answered with my bluing lips
And gurgles of antiphony.
Dying in our agony,
We make a sorry nation.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
war war war war war war
war war war war war war
war war war war war war war war war war war war
war war war war war war
war war war war war war war war war war war war
war war war war war war war war war war war war
Mark R Slaughter
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
3.
|
Ditty
O! love to me is but a season
Seldom does it overstay,
And tho' I pain to seek a reason,
Like the dream, it fades away
To leave me once again in awe
Of how the heart can render raw
In loss of love; but then to soar
Atop anew! and hail adieu!
To her who fled from chance I gave
To see us wed: Then on,
To court another fairer face
And lose again in end of chase!
I curse the seasons evermore
They tease me thro' their metaphor:
Starting fresh, their vigour young,
Yet oversoon, the ditty sung.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
It's Raining Love
love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
Mark R Slaughter
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
4.
|
It's Death Again
It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be
'
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
The Reign of Death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Mark R Slaughter
|
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|