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Poems By Poet Mark R Slaughter  5/22/2015 6:38:31 PM
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  Best Poems From
  MARK R SLAUGHTER (1957)
 
 
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  29.     

Release

When you think about our lives -
Screaming kids and nagging wives:
'Can't smoke here - no! not there -
Your bloody fags, they drive me spare!
A second bottle? drunken slob,
Off your arse and get a job!

You never take me for a spin -
A little cruise from all the din! '
'You're the bleedin' noise' I scream
Inside my head. I only dream
Of shouting out for fear of what you'd do -
If I could only ball 'F*ck you! '

No, the only way that I can manage
Bearing up against your visage, is
Watching films with hero Arnie -
While drowning in a greasy sarnie.

'Oh to be! ' I wish in sighs:

Arms like his would suit me well -
I'd bust the walls; escape this hell
In which I only just exist;
Getting through by staying pissed.

Agh! the bloody screams again!
And so I crack.
Hang on Arnie,
I'll be back…

Now where's the friggin' telly?
Go on Arnie, give it welly!
Thunder on; it's a-okay -
See how quiet she is today?


Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009




































































Life life life life life life bloody life
Life life life life life life bloody life
Life life life life life life bloody life
Life life life life life life bloody life
Life life life life life life bloody life
Life life life life life life bloody life
Life life life life life life bloody life
Life life life life life life bloody life
Life life life life life life bloody life
 
Mark R Slaughter
   
 

   
   
 

  30.     

Salad Is Incompatible With Life

Yes, my waist is fifty inches -
Big for me because I'm short.
And yes, I like my cheddar cheese
When partnered with a vintage port.

Okay, okay, that double cream
Is always served with pud,
And cake and biscuits with my tea
Are just no bloody good

For my poor hardened arteries,
But see my point of view,
Please dear wifey if you please,
A Salad makes me spew!

I'd rather eat a bowl of air
Than crunch away on greens;
Drink water from the toilet bowl
Or nibble on my jeans!

But salad! Are you there?
You know it makes me snappy -
So let me fill my face with grub,
Stay fat, and die young happy!





Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009




































































































food food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food food
 
Mark R Slaughter
   
 

   
   
 

  31.     

Alcoholic

Red bled the sun upon a dying day.
I was red across the dial – in denial –
Purple bags bemoaning alcoholics’ eyes –
Blind, they still portray a depth of ruin
You’ll never understand.

I boozed away until another trial,
Always doing wrong inside a wrong
Inside a wrong – forgetting all the rights –
Fretting, drinking, pinking up, stinking:
Ah! the meths; I drank another round.

Red eased into the night; black scoffed.
I was black across the eyes – no surprise!
Ethanolic fumes resumed their nightly play.

I couldn’t pray,

So crimson haemoglobin gave display
Of flush as vessels opened wide.
Red gushed – oesophageal varices
Teased, eased the endothelium;
Brought it all to split.

Erythrocytic fire flared across
A park of haggard flesh.
I choked in red; died like a fish
Ripped, stripped by a shark
Artistically in dance through
Gritty clouds of death-blood.

Red spread the cold and solid ground.
I was cold – a deathly mound
Surrounded by an audience of shuffling feet.
Replete, my corpse had played its role.

No more the alcoholic porn;
No more the savaged soul.


Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010



























































































life life life life life life life life life life life in strife
life life life life life life life life life life life

life life life life life life life life life life life in strife
life life life life life life life life life life life

life life life life life life life life life life life in strife
life life life life life life life life life life life to take the knife
 
Mark R Slaughter
   
 

   
   
 

  32.     

Her Hidden Treasure

Her flame was only for the women –
Not for us unlucky men;
A weakness lay for feminine way:
To feel an even fairer skin
In silky slide.

Her lips were for the satin love that
Only flows from rising breast;
The creamy tan was not for man
To pull towards a chiselled chest
In weathered hide.

Her hidden treasure down below
Would shy away from macho length
And only rouse upon the blouse
Undone by other sapphic strength –
In time, inside!


Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010























































































woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
 
Mark R Slaughter
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Mark R Slaughter