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Poems By Poet Mark R Slaughter  9/1/2014 4:00:08 PM
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  Best Poems From
  MARK R SLAUGHTER (1957)
 
 
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  5.     

Teacher

The teacher taught;
The pupils never bought the notion.
Now distraught, he
Slammed the door,
Stomped the floor,
Seeing red.

The noise, the
Whole commotion,
Brought the Head.

‘You need your bed - you're full o' drink! '
He boomed.
‘Cripes! ' the teacher cried
- A stink of booze across the room -
‘You mean that I'm denied
My nightly bottle, comfy whisky?
I'll have to throttle naughty you.
Risky, true -
To see you dead! '

By now the kids had left the room -
Smoking - drunk - singing in the bogs.
‘Annoying little dogs! ' Our teacher screamed,
Dropping the Head -
His face completely cyanotic,
The situation now chaotic.

‘Now that'll do, ' the teacher laughed.
‘I might be daft, but I'm alive
To preach again - surviving those vicissitudes of life:
The challenges; laying down the
Lessons to the brats -
I'm the boss, they're the rats! Give ‘em strife!
I'll make ‘em take exams
Throughout the night - what a fright
They'll have. But first I'll round ‘em up to
To shift the Head.'

They dumped him in the garden shed
Behind the mower
And other paraphernalia
Used to keep the grounds in order.
The kids were good - no disorder
While they did the master's evil deed.


The teacher smiled; he'd been freed
From persecution, diminution
Of his rank: a lowly grade of scholar.
‘Thank you, pupils, what an honour,
Now the Head has gone,
But now I have to see to your
Extinction too. After all, you
Never listen - never do!
And so it's time for you to earn
A just reward - a trip to Hell! '

However, the kids were luckily saved -
Yes, you guessed - the clanging bell that
Ended period two. Depraved and
Sweating like a pig, the teacher
Froze - took a swig anew of gin -
The Deputy Head was coming over:
Teacher had to wipe him out
As well!

The pupils took advantage: scampered,
Screaming.

Finely poised, the Deputy
Crooned: ‘What's the meaning, Teacher-?
And where's the Head, suspicious creature?
Answers came from Teacher's cane -
The heavy-duty rod was in attack -
Poor old Deputy staggered back -
A massive blow had bruised him badly.

Sadly, as he fell, he bashed his skull
Upon the ground - and that is where
The janitor found his body -
What a sight - pitifully shoddy!

But then the pupils cottoned on:
Should they call upon the staff
To see the teacher one-to-one,
The kids would end up having fun,
Since all the school would have to close,
As all the staff would come to blows with
Psycho-Sam -
The name the kids had given to this
Strange demented man.

So that is what they did -
The faculty, sequentially,
Exterminated;
The kids were rid of staff and
Free to roam, though
The teacher lost all interest and
Drove himself back home.

Knocking back a litre bottle of gin, he
Sung a song about the sin
Committed - emitting a din -
And what grin - hideous!
He even wondered where he'd been
Upon that brutal day.

Back at school, in disarray,
The kids were happily psyched again,
Smoking funny cigs, or eyeing adult flicks -
It's how they got their kicks!
At least they weren't a bane
To any staff -
What a laugh!




Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
































































teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher
teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher
teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher
teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher
teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher
teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher
teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher
teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher
teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher
teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher
 
Mark R Slaughter
   
 

   
   
 

  6.     

Lonely Life

Lonely on the land I walk,
Lonely cross the sea I sail,
Lonely air of beach I stroll –
This lonely life doth take its toll.

Lonely trek of woodland trail,
Lonely mist in haze o’ dawn,
Lonely spies the bird of prey
In lonely circles all astray.

Lonely be the dark of night
When sleep is but a yearning wish,
To dream of sweet companions close,
As wine would pair with diner's dish.

Lonely do these thoughts me make
That draw my blood of precious life;
Replace with stream of flowing pain
To bless my veins with coursing strife.

Lonely years are now my friends,
Lonely cries bereft of sound,
Lonely tears that cool my face
In lonely life of sullen pace.


Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
All rights reserved

















































































lonely lonely lonely lonely lonely lonely life
lonely lonely lonely lonely lonely lonely life
lonely lonely lonely lonely lonely lonely life
 
Mark R Slaughter
   
 

   
   
 

  7.     

An Illusion

Speak to me –
Speak thro’ drifting clouds

O! sing to me –
Sing as if the sun would throw a flare
To give to harmony

Then call to me –
Call across the drowsy valleys –
Spread the word you care!

Now come to me –
Abandon now
My inner dreams
That lay illusions bare.

Then pray for me –
Pray that I recover
From reality:

But no! I ask, how could you,
For you were never there.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
















































































































It's Drizzling Dreams.

dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream
dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream
dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream
dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream
dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream
dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream
 
Mark R Slaughter
   
 

   
   
 

  8.     

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






































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war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war
 
Mark R Slaughter
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Mark R Slaughter