Field Of Thought Poem by Mark R Slaughter

Morning mangles,
Drags in the coffee craze;
Eyes hang heavy –
‘Tis a cast of hoary fags
To court my nicotinic lungs;

And I fall to Earth again.
Outside,
The world remains
Fresh-air drenched

Heady swathes of yellow-ochre flowers
Preaching to the wind
Try to tell me all is well –
O how they lie! –
Maybe once
Upon a while
Upon a day
In cool winds
I’d play across a file of strings –
Resonating tonal airs caressing words
To render songs of careless climes

Back Inside
My head-clock
Digitizing periodicity,
I stretch, recoil towards it
Through introversion,
See it waning in the backdrop –
The plane of black
In which my head rests;
And as you know,
Nothing in a brain aglow
Is all it ever seems:

Echo eggs bounce along the sand
In duple time;
Yonder,
Yolks, that are the folks –
My goal, to toast –
Would offer up a loan,
For I am on my own
Toying on a ragged plain of memories

Over here, across a field of thought,
Cerebral blues hail! –
My winter cometh
(In all seasons!):
She sees I never heal –
Even in the beauty of
Her icy scene
She’ll not save this myocardium –
My little engine
Giving life

So please don’t wreck me
In my illness –
My brain, it falters
Under pressure of its cranium.
Strife,
Misunderstanding
(I’ll never get to grips with
Existentialism) ,
Beg to rule

Now we see internal gatherings –
Their meeting place: My Head…
A parasite is warming in the flow of nerves
Begetting memes –
‘Tis I,
In DNA!

And on…
Tho’ green, ‘tis long,
The song
That I have been –
And O! the words –
I nearly pray…

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2014