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Poems By Poet Mark R Slaughter  3/5/2015 8:33:11 AM
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  Best Poems From
  MARK R SLAUGHTER (1957)
 
 
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  73.     

In Death, My Final Part

A tower grim; a glowering darkness,
And only brown of red the other hue
– I saw it in the distant eyes –
And yes, He knew, but focussed only
On the mortal soul of mine –
After all, He had a role to play,
And wine: my shivering blood to quaff!
If only I could Him betray –
To break the seal of destiny;
Escape the lone cacophony
That emanates from wailing minds!

Damn the fate of His – it awes and blinds!
But oh! the mighty hammer strikes a toll;
The slow approach of Him upon the knoll
Commences exudation of a dying heart.
Endorsing all, I honed my final part.



Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009















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
The final part
 
Mark R Slaughter
   
 

   
   
 

  74.     

Upon the Arid Lakes

Someplace
A field of flowers
Rousing under remnants of the dawn:
Out there! from death, I rose
Above the silent many –
A distant will-o'-the-wisp
Reflecting under airs of minor ninths –
How rich the ambience they threw!

What theme of prosody
Had rendered me? –
Tho’ silent were its words:
A broken soul in pulsing pain –
Thou mustn’t guess what goes behind
The sick and ghostly screen of war!

In sallow-grey and other ashen hues,
Disrobed of warming flesh
That reassures the bones,
A twisted pose
Portrayed my physicality –
Not unlike the carcass of a prey;

But as a cloud of thought, I mused,
Exacerbating woes
Collected in a life dispatched
In freely flowing blood,
Conferring crimson shades
Upon the arid lakes aflood
With glorious tides of nascent buds
Begetting innocence.

And as we glowed in ruddy shades,
I asked: ‘What future lies ahead?
What terror trades? ’


Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011






































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 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
   
 

   
   
 

  75.     

Brothers

Now man-to-man;
Once child and child
At play
Beneath our mother’s aura;
Brothers bound in innocence –

Mother’s tearful reticence was
Hiding in her smile.
Deeper hung the lead weight
Heavy in her heart

Oxidising:

The man she never mentioned
Slept between the beats.

We slept cuddled in the sheets.

We’d be older when she’d tell us that
Our father died at war –
The day the family ruptured; saw
The tired rings bless Mum’s kind eyes.

Now we’re grown-up brothers
Skirmishing with grown-up life.
And still the aura glows, tho’ distant;
Dimmer.

Mother knows we’re wiser,
Tighter
In our brotherhood of blood.
We sense it; sense her,
Sleeping
Comfy in the wood.


Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011





















































































































brother brother brother brother brother come to me
brother brother brother brother brother let me be
brother brother brother brother brother brother see?
brother brother brother brother brother you are he
brother brother brother brother brother brother, me.
 
Mark R Slaughter
   
 

   
   
 

  76.     

But For Being Lost

As black imbued black, so was rendered the pitch of darkness
That befogged this godforsaken yard of graves -
And too the dank, ‘til now forgotten chapel that
Did little to grace these forlorn grounds.

Yet here stood I, seemingly first to tread this weed-ridden soil
Since times of yore when life had erstwhile blessed this land.
But for being lost in solitude - as does a country wanderer -
Would I not have happened across this morbid landscape.

And though detail rendered barely visible to my naked eye –
For desperately had the moon tried to break through this jet fog –
A sense of something suffused the place.
Was it those tormented spirits desperate for absolution,
Or perhaps the gargoyles teasing me on whether they be of stone or living flesh?

I was drawn to the oak door as it enticingly opened in passage for me.
The organ called from down the nave and through the pale orange of unsteady light
- that which could only be mustered from the few discoloured, moribund candles.
Could I also hear a distant choir of stern voices, as if in effort to scold me?

As I approached, those tarnished pipes came into view.
Standing erect with gothic pride, they bore down on me with patronising air -
Exaggerated by the disjointed sneering of minor chords,
As if to state that insignificant I had henceforth no grant of solace.

In answer, I steadied my rocking legs and racing mind to wonder of this scenario.
And in doing so, I found myself waking from a cramped dream –
Whence the message dawned: mine had been such a claustrophobic life.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009























































































lost lost lost lost lost lost lost lost lost
lost lost lost lost lost lost lost lost lost
lost lost lost lost lost lost lost lost lost
lost lost lost lost lost lost lost lost lost
lost lost lost lost lost lost lost lost lost
 
Mark R Slaughter
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Mark R Slaughter