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Poems By Poet Mark R Slaughter  10/31/2014 7:03:05 AM
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  Best Poems From
  MARK R SLAUGHTER (1957)
 
 
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  85.     

Mist

Entranced in mist –
Mind mist; kind mist –
In a lea near woods –
Child woods; wild woods,
In shade serene –
We intertwined,
Exchanged a kiss.

Regal plumes of wings
Fluttered off and on
Attractive blooms:
Perfumed whores with
Nectar bribes.

The lea was our escape –
Innate – as of a child’s imagination;
Our psychotropic fantasy –
Legendary dynasty,
Silent in a deafening
Bliss of nature.

We – a creature paired
In one through coupled hands,
Caracoling, jaunting over
Grassy calluses –
Forgot about the world –
Cruel world, hard world,
In merciless extreme.

For now, we were the dream.




Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
































































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
   
 

   
   
 

  86.     

Beldame of Death

A crunch: afoot a dead arachnid
Spanning once a serving plate –
Oh! that others be alive
With such as me for spider bait!

I slunk along the silent hall
Of ancient ore attired in grime –
Feculent beyond the nose;
No bearing here, nor feel for time.

I shuddered in appreciation –
The ambience would mortify
A feeble mind, aghast, opined
Of murky thought, and typify
The will of Belial err I brought
Upon myself to loathe and dread
Exquisite retribution: to linger
Oftentimes alive, then dead.

Compulsion saw me edging on
Toward a narrow door of oak.
Behind, I knew, a greater evil
Waiting in her fusty cloak.

A choice of nil upon the table;
Aught of leave, I had to face
Alone the shrew – her flaming aura
Angling me; my deep disgrace
From ugly deeds I dealt in life,
A heinous world I honed in glee…

'Now take a crooked path to death,
For I have come to torture thee! '

Out of eyes of orange flame,
A piercing glare, then here it came –
The cackling cry of chanting song:

'You thought you'd die alone in pain
The once – nay nay! you'll die with me,
And so a catch: you'll die again
Ad infinitum - ever be!

Your soul to curse, my heart we'll gore,
Your liver to draw and quarter;
A sadomasochistic pair,
We'll slither together in slaughter! '

I answered only with a scream, from
Sensing near her craving lust.
My crimes to answer; wrongs annul;
Renounce my soul and turn to dust...

On an evening cool and quiet,
Stretch an ear to listen tight –
Are you lucky of a moment –?
Hark! my clarion call of plight.


Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009


Notes on this poem can be found at:
http: //succumbedtothinking.webs.com/featuredpoems.htm



































































































































































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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
   
 

   
   
 

  87.     

Making Love With Memories

You poked my blurring eye,
Let me lift your mushy breast.

We aged onwards
While you stroked flaccidity –
Recalling decades of
Blood-gorged coming, shuddering to boot.

I kissed a venerable mouth
Crammed with falsities –
Once brilliant keys
Guarded by crimson lips
Washed by a sensual tongue.

And so we writhed in wrinkles,
Tiring effort, and
Memories.


Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
















































































Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory
 
Mark R Slaughter
   
 

   
   
 

  88.     

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