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Poems By Poet Mark R Slaughter  9/1/2014 8:45:23 PM
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  Best Poems From
  MARK R SLAUGHTER (1957)
 
 
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  9.     

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
   
 

   
   
 

  10.     

'Alone! ' I cried

'Alone! ' I cried again.
'Alone I am with me!
Lonely in a world of mist
Alone, I reach to touch your wrist
And see if I am thee.’

To be alone beside a soul
Afloat, adrift; an empty ghoul
Alone in woe; the yearning flesh
To fill a thin, contorted mesh
Diffuse atop an icy floor, alone.

So much alone in fact, I lack
The tonal vibrancy of life:

I am a song without a tune
alone;
A greying sky in June
alone;

The blueness of a sullen moon
– waning in a starless night–
alone;

Coasting down a weedy pass
alone;
The only image in the glass
alone;

To meet a certain heavy fate
– to turn and shut the knurly gate–

…alone.



Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009

















alone alone alone alone
alone alone alone alone
alone alone alone alone
alone alone alone alone

alone alone alone alone
 
Mark R Slaughter
   
 

   
   
 

  11.     

February Rain

To be the mud, the bog, the mire;
To soak the bones in February –
Eons from the autumn shower–
Even from a summer berry!

Sparrows chirp a desperate call,
Darting questions at the cows –
Oblivious to the dousing squall, they
Churn the sludge with pastern ploughs.

The crying air was lost in rhythm:
Drums incessant in the drops;
Not a chance for rainbow prism –
Even if the hammering stops!

Metallic chills entrap machines –
Tractors hushed within the shed.
Inside the house, a full cuisine
To bless with mead – and little said!

But out across the tiring field,
A sodden fox is hunting down
His prey of sorts – but nil of yield;
Perhaps he’ll starve; perhaps he’ll drown.

Still the clouds are hammering,
Hammering home their dreary aim –
A chatterbox in constant yammering,
Drenching all to make a claim.



Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010





































































rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain
rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain
rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain
rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain
rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain
rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain
rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain
 
Mark R Slaughter
   
 

   
   
 

  12.     

Violin

She cried for all the broken hearts,
Painted everlasting winters -
Floral patterns etched in ice;
A frozen tear to
Soften up the bastard bones.

Bow made love to needy string
In cooing fling - wanton whispers
Fondled under pianissimos,
Caressing callous hearts.

Melodrama swayed in satin sound -
Yet the player wasn't there,
Only creamy song - soothing, yearning,
Teasing bitter minds.

I sensed her persevering loneliness
For beauty of an evening,
Romance of a tune - laughing,
Sobbing at the fire.

Then a climax -
Writhing passion cutting deep -
Wounding macho flesh;

And all in a work of musical art:
Ephemeral stories, yarned of music
Honed impossibly through her tones.




Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010










































music music music music music music
music music music music music music
music music music music music music
music music music music music music
music music music music music music
music music music music music music
music music music music music music
music music music music music music
music music music music music music
 
Mark R Slaughter
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Mark R Slaughter