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Poems By Poet Mark R Slaughter  3/5/2015 4:23:00 AM
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  Best Poems From
  MARK R SLAUGHTER (1957)
 
 
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  69.     

A Winter Pond

Sting-chill of winter matt -
Her frozen hand caressed us all;

And calming bleach of silence
Pressed upon the rustic scape
To leave an ashen underbelly -
Once raging summer chroma.

Even Winter's gelid lungs laboured
Under heavy drag of flakes -
Their pilgrimage: to stay a deadened floor
In crunch-white peace.

And round about, the weight of time
- Collapsing under Winter's drag -
Transmutes to grey: it's three o'clock -
No lights pricking black out here! -
Even the night globe,
The Great Reflector - stonewalled;
Camouflaged by lead-laden cloud
Lolling in the claustrophobic noon.

At ground, a farm pond -
Seized in a dark hiatus -
Offered up repentance -
Why, it dared to harbour life!

I forgave it in my desperate gaze
Upon the crazy-paving surface,
That sealed in the black-chill temperature,
Where at bottom, something nithered
Still survived.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010






















































































Winter Snow

winter winter winter winter winter winter winter
winter winter winter winter winter winter winter
winter winter winter winter winter winter winter
winter winter winter winter winter winter winter
winter winter winter winter winter winter winter
winter winter winter winter winter winter winter
winter winter winter winter winter winter winter
winter winter winter winter winter winter winter
 
Mark R Slaughter
   
 

   
   
 

  70.     

An Early Day in May

May soothed
– sensual breeze caressing.

Snug, she cooed in floral chroma;
Gave artistic license – dressing up
Pubescent fields, teenage woods,
Jaded lanes; embellishing
Craggy watersides.

Warmth was kind – sun tempered,
Lifting life; erecting bluebell swathes
For good measure: late-spring treasure.

At hill’s base
A mirrored lake, brooding,
Bathed in halcyon haze –
Yet hectic life scurried,
Spurred on by procreational drive,
To see it all survived another year.

Back home, garden tulips flared,
Thrust aloft on rigid stems, and
Under day-time brilliance,
Open goblets, clustered,
Sought out heavenly guidance –
Lauding hallowed Tulipa gods.

May is Nature’s intermission –
Bridging April’s go-ahead
With hothead June.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010



























































spring spring spring spring spring spring
spring spring spring spring spring spring
spring spring spring spring spring spring
spring spring spring spring spring spring
 
Mark R Slaughter
   
 

   
   
 

  71.     

Bloodlust

Blood is but a trickle thro’ her veins;
A tear – but only that it feigns
A look of sorrow; the sigh, she had to borrow;
To know, in acting hurt she all but reigns!

A perk of siren head to draw him in;
He melts – a waning from within.
Her clever snare: he marries with her hair.
But now the kiss - a taste of her cuisine!

She in torsion paints a torrid tale -
See her callous grin upon his wail!
- Be the torture, swallow down the pain -
His burden gone, no life must he sustain.



Revenge on Man! Her loss of trust had
Wrought an evil whored in lust:
The crafted vintage e’re the thrust
Behind her ill champagne.



Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
































































Blood of lust
Lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
Lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
Lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
Lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
Lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
Blood drips
 
Mark R Slaughter
   
 

   
   
 

  72.     

Were There Hope

I was never in a league of noble gentlemen
To whom she'd cast polite and flitting smiles;
Only distant hope and dying dreams for me! -
Perhaps descent into a game of wiles

To give a chance of sipping wine on heady nights
With her angelic presence to declare;
Above, an aura playing out hypnotic hues,
And I in awe of golden plumes of hair.

But no! my tiring soul is sinking in a mire
To haunt me for an age and evermore, for
How could I expect to hold her silken hand
When I am but a fading ghost of yore?



Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009















































































































Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope, hope?
Hope?
Never
 
Mark R Slaughter
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Mark R Slaughter