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Poems By Poet Mark R Slaughter  8/5/2015 3:25:43 AM
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  Best Poems From
  MARK R SLAUGHTER (1957)
 
 
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  289.     

Greyness

Sir is teaching to the ears, the eyes,
And what’s within the brain,
Struggling, pulling all together –
Transduction reconstituted.

Jibber-jabber clutters, judders thought
Inside the daydreams of lotus-eaters –
Hangovers heavy on the head
Of night-lagged teens
Stuck inside the outside of school,

Where the first-time experience
Whets the young skin,
Tweaks the consciousness,
Enlightens, challenges,
Pleases, tantalises,
Tempts, plays, dares,
Calls for more –
No care of risk
Flaring for the flesh –
Experimental worlds
Warming up to adulthood.

But here they sit atop the greyness –
Plastic platforms –
Stagnant sound waves pounding
The young mind under lesson,
Stultified.

They tolerate, wait their time.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2012
 
Mark R Slaughter
   
 

   
   
 

  290.     

Hair

At the barber’s chair
the spent hair fell
I balked at yet
another depth of grey

age will pay
for Death is winking
and as it caught my wrinkles
with coarse and wiry haulms

it jeered and sneered in fun
another run
towards a keen but
patient stone

denoting where
so soon
I’d lie alone.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
 
Mark R Slaughter
   
 

   
   
 

  291.     

Hatred

Heavy hangs this drunken curse
Assuring Man’s demise.
Take him down by doleful hearse
Reflect now as he lies,
Educate before ‘tis worse,
Decree that love must rise.


Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
 
Mark R Slaughter
   
 

   
   
 

  292.     

How I Play Guitar

Lost
I struggle through to
Find a weary gin

Her taste, her fumes and I
Just love it at the bottom

Smoky leaves
Hummin’ in the mind –
Well worn
With well-worn strings

I change
Loosen under
Coffee-black

And after noon
I come to terms with life
In quaint ephemera –
Never did I find the now –

The tone-wood structure
Greets me in the corner

She sits upon the stand
Like the ever-patient mutt
Waits for dinner

Anti-war folk-blues
Call the palate
Rasping in the grey creams
That constitute our
Smokey haze

I lift her
Love the feel
She slots in hands gentle-rough
Antiphony breaching harmony
That balances out the off-key
Rough-shod blues

And on, I take the chord
Growl the feel

Age of nothing
Takes control
And all I do is I take the strain
Finger harshly
Under pain

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2014
 
Mark R Slaughter
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Mark R Slaughter