Loss Lost in Thought

Loss of love from your partner in soul:
A.k.a. jilt;
Loss of love from your bygones of souls:
A.k.a. mourning;
Loss of love which came from a dearth
Of love through rescinding love:
A.k.a. hatred;

Love to science in analysis be
Secretion of oxytocin in association
With an entity that leads to bonding - so boring:
A.k.a. must all suffer scientific explanation?

Loss of love, a catastrophe, nay!
So love, nurture love, and be loved!

Loss of nature from dear Mother Earth:
A.k.a. destruction;
Loss of greed in material world:
A.k.a. always opportunity for altruism;

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Spring Observations

Green slipped out from under the white -
Splashed in early other colours,
And gave up lambs, who
Bleated tirelessly on the subject.

Screams from the nearby park
Told of newly playful children, with
Bleary fathers, clattering mothers,
Undersense befuddled by a perfume -
It was the budding blossom.

And younger men perked up at
Early bosoms once again parading;
More blossom - audacious blooms:
Sexual selection back on stage.

It was happening with the birds,
Only there was more decorum,
More order - a greater sense of purpose,
Unwitting duty.

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Journey to Be

I think I'll journey out some day to wondrous lands afar,
Or even chart a journey to a distant blazing star.
But rest assured that when my journey begs to take its cue,
Always know that when I go, this journey takes you too.

We'll start our journey out from here by horse and cart of old,
The seaside docks - and journey pauses - where we shall behold
A noble schooner for the journey primed to launch as planned:
To sail with dolphins cross the seas then journey back on land.

And so our journey goes by foot to conquer mountains tall:
A chapter hence the journey reached, with scenes that should enthral.
But when we tire, let's rest our journey, stretched in fields of flowers,
And bathe atop the mountain from the journey - autumn showers!

Refreshed, our journey takes a turn - we'll venture back for home,
But first we'll let the journey take a tangent just to roam.
And in the winding route, this journey's bound to bide content,
But most of all take heed - let's make our journey life's event.

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Gaia’s Plan

Please, don’t sweep the leaves away –
Their essence gives to life’s decay.

Never hack the flowers down –
Their colours bless the laughing clown.

Now why the mowing of the lawn?
The severed grass will lie forlorn.

Let our flora live undressed,
Or under Man, will toil repressed!

I, the tree of standing still –
Erect and proud, and stout of will,
Aglow with motley bark of earth –
Advance my roots for all they’re worth,
Internalising Nature’s bowels
To snag the devil, tweak his jowls
And pull his hairs from whence they grow!
I’ll destroy his pagan show

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Cameron

Cameron the cat would never miss a trick –
Often in the garden on patrol.
Otherwise sleeping, though frequently meeting
His one and only love – that earthen bowl!

Cameron the cat took everything for granted -
Sure, the street lay under his control.
Contentedly snoozing – perhaps he 'd been boozing –
And toasting all that counts: his dearest bowl!

Cameron the cat would seek to take advantage –
His gullible owners often on parole.
Purring pathetically, and almost poetically,
He'd meow them into stacking up his bowl!

Cameron the cat was nonetheless a gem –
His owners saw him as their heart and soul,
But having to accept that he was so adept
At persuading them to fill his flipping bowl!

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Wife to Be (Petrarchan Sonnet)

I stroll along a fragrant country lane
With honeysuckle perfume on the air -
And feathered crooner's warble to revere -
Then cross a golden sea of flowing grain
In empathy - it seems to sense my pain
Of knowing all was done with my affair -
Her empty meaning now the solitaire
She cast away - betrothment all in vain.
But oceans team with many fish to catch
So I must up and hoist another sail
And seek the one that really waits for me,
For soon auspicious breezes will prevail
In guiding forth to find a truer match:
The one to take my hand as wife to be.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Rainbow On A Morning

Thanks Dark - for the nightmares!
Rain bleeding all over me,
Like swarms of needling gnats

God what a night!
I parted the curtains of my ragged tent-
My little hellhole

A single crepuscular ray
Sneaked through a small rent in the filth
Of crawling clouds

I stared cynically
But yep! I admit, the rain was dying down-
My canvas yammered less

Was Nature having a tea break?
Another ray, fewer drops, lifting hope:
A winning sun!

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Mirror Struggled

The mirror struggled; reflecting beauty such as hers
Prescribed a glory in the challenge – a fairytale
Or such as like! To shimmer back hypnotic hues
From auras of her skin – how do mirrors cope?
Hoary tales of pretty adolescent buds
Could never hope to match the tomes of dreamy
Pulchritude apprising us of such a belle as she.

The mirror shone; and as it worked itself, a moment –
Did it overlook the hidden melancholy?
Were melting eyes bedewed–? Florid lips imbued
With mournfulness? The hindrance of the silver glass!
Oh! to seek – to know the meaning of the sorrow!
She (with tearful hair, an image out of heaven)
Never opened up her heart. The mirror struggled.

Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Soldier's Ghost

I bled for you - would you for me?

I blessed a skin in blazing fuel
Then took a bullet in a duel of
‘He or I to Die.'

I often question ‘Why? '
Do you?

My country was my life to give -
Would you for country cease to live?
Sinking in a mire of death,
You have no choice -
So while you're still alive,
Rejoice!

I cried in failure - did you care?
And as I waned, were you aware of
What I did -?
Fighting for my country while you hid

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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One-On-One Skirmish in War

Lend me a crushed ear,
A juicy smear of dermis, and
I shall blast ye of your world
Upon a barrel furnace
Flaring orange of an instant!

Now first, please rip apart my being:
Sunder me, O! plunder please the
Writhing flesh upon my bones and
Leave it naught of
Living life - kill to
Bleeding cinders, embers of an ex.

Recuperation? Never! no!
Otherwise to suffer minds -
Bowels and all to wither
Aren't on offer -

Only desperate tears to flee! Now
Let me in and I'll remove

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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