I think writers, by nature, are more observers instead of participators.

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Mist Upon the Placid Morn

Bleed out your beauty, Autumn –
Give up a gentle wrist, and smear
Your bloody hues atop the green.

Cast a calming throw of heady peace
Upon the cooling land.
And as you grant the sun a final fling of warmth,
Charge the silent air
(Now lolling on a foliar deathbed)
With earthen whiff to intimate the fungal push.

Soon you’ll send a shiver down the watery spine of
Quivering ponds, punctual brooks, and
Listless lakes, to warn them of the freeze to come.

Behold! your mellow spirit
Hanging as a mist upon the placid morn –
A sight that draws a sneaking tear or two – forlorn
Observers are we all of colder climes to view!

Autumn Lady, must you be the summer waning –?
Our adieu to fairer-weather life?
Ah well, at least you hum a warming tone, ensuring
Nature’s rhythm still abounds.

But now you must prepare the mind for chilly times –
You know the drill –
Guiding us along a sloping path
To ease our psyche in to sleet and snow –
The blue-ice bite of winter.


Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010


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Nelson Mandela

If the United States of America or Britain is having elections, they don't ask for observers from Africa or from Asia. But when we have elections, they want observers.

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Ralph Waldo Emerson

We are by nature observers, and thereby learners. That is our permanent state.

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Caricatures

There are writers great and writers small
And writers on the spree;
And writers short and writers tall,
And bards of low degree.

There are artists small and artist great,
With lines both bold and free –
It takes a Low to illustrate
Us bards of low degree.

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Most Writers

Most writers 'twould seem have moments of self doubt
But they never go short of things to write about
And to become a top writer of one a big ask
And to succeed as a writer for many seems too daunting a task.

Most writers do not write for wealth or for fame
And despite lack of success they pen on just the same
For every one hundred thousand writers perhaps one writing millionaire
Amongst the ranks of the wealthy the writers are rare.

Few writers can hope for to scale success height
For the love of writing they only do write
Few writers get published and fewer know of success
But in their writings on paper their thoughts they express.

Most writers will never know wealth and renown
And they are not even well known in their own Hometown
They never will be known beyond their home shore
They write for the love of it and little more.

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I think the special thing about Python is that it's a writers' commune. The writers are in charge. The writers decide what the material is.

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Lillian Hellman

They're fancy talkers about themselves, writers. If I had to give young writers advice, I would say don't listen to writers talking about writing or themselves.

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Good writers borrow from other writers. Great writers steal from them outright.

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The Amazing Wonders Of Nature

The more that I learn about Nature the less of her I know that I know
And the more that I learn of Nature the more my wonder of her does grow
One can only live in awe of her wonders she does seem amazing to me
Scarce a day goes by that in Nature a new wonder one does not see
The artists and writers are inspired by her she is one not hard to admire
And of singing our Earth Mother's praises I feel that one never could tire
I am not a student of Nature though that's something I wish I could be
Her ways I do find fascinating yet she does seem too complex for me
Since she hides from us her many secrets all in Nature is not what you think that you see
The birds and animals have their survival methods which they do guard with secrecy
The different ways of the different creatures of land and of river and sea
On the ways and the workings of Nature the experts even disagree
The more that I learn of Nature so little of her I know that I know
So marvellous and so amazing and my wonder of her only grow.

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Though Much About Nature's Ways

Though much about Nature's ways some claim to know
Our wonder of her only does seem to grow
Without effort great beauty she does create
The artists and writers her does celebrate
Her beauty is everywhere all around me
The magpie larks birds known to some as pee wee
Builds a cup shaped nest of mud on branch of tree
A marvellous wonder of Nature to see
Though Nature's wonders beyond me to explain
Such marvellous insights from her we do gain
When the frogs are singing in the pond and the drain
And the swallows fly low Nature's saying it will rain
Us air breathing life forms are born to die
But Nature lives on since the facts never lie.

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Four Main Types of Writers (personal opinion)

The Lonely Writer

Some writings tell me
This person is lonely
And is reaching out
For the touch of a friendly comment
These writers are sad, solitary,
Isolated, but good persons
And quite often very good writers

The needy juvenile writer

Some writings contain words
Or language meant to shock
And to offend.
These writers are lonely also
But in a different way.
These writers are simply saying
Like a little child
“hey! I exist! Someone better
Acknowledge me! ”
These writers can often write well
But usually don’t, can’t, or choose not to

The Spite Writer

This writer can be of either gender
But seems to be in a female majority
They’ve been spurned or rejected
Two-timed or lied to.
And they are going to vent their ire
In the most public way they can.
These writers can also be very good writers
But too often let their anger get in the way.

The Religious Writer

These writers show people passionate
And zealously devoted to singing the praises
Of the Lord and goodness and charity.
They’re probably austere, honest people
Who almost always write very well.
For the most part these writers seem
To want to spread the word and
At the same time tend to be rather singular
In the subject matter of their writings,
Rarely attempting other genres.

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The Goddess Of Nature Will Be Living On

When all who live now to the reaper have gone
The Goddess of Nature will be living on
Like the Seasons the generations of people they come and they go
But Nature's own Goddess of death will never know,
When i am not here in some future Spring
The pee wee in the old Town Parkland will sing
And where wild things do live and where wildflowers abound
The Goddess of Nature she is to be found,
The stillness of death awaits you and i
But the Goddess of Nature she will never die
The beauty she creates all around us to see
And her birds chirp and whistle on shrub, bush and tree
And she has inspired writers to story and rhyme
The Goddess of Nature who does not age in time.

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None Greater Than Nature

She has lived forever and will live forever more
And what can be said of Nature that's not been said before
Her beauty the artists and writers inspire
And of singing her praises could one ever tire.

None greater than Nature despite what many do say
And great scientists are learning from her every day
Yet of her well kept secrets we never will know
And the shroud of mysticism around her does grow.

It is a fact of life and facts never lie
That all of Nature's life forms are born to die
And us humans are life forms of Nature despite what many do say
For each one of us there's a last night and day.

The fruits of her bosom with us she does share
None greater than Nature with her none to compare
The one we live off of so much to her we owe
And we like her Seasons to life come and go.

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Novalis

The Art of a well-developed genius is far different from the Artfulness of the Understanding, of the merely reasoning mind. Shakespeare was no calculator, no learned thinker; he was a mighty, many-gifted soul, whose feelings and works, like products of Nature, bear the stamp of the same spirit; and in which the last and deepest of observers will still find new harmonies with the infinite structure of the Universe; concurrences with later ideas, affinities with the higher powers and senses of man. They are emblematic, have many meanings, are simple and inexhaustible, like products of Nature; and nothing more unsuitable could be said of them than that they are works of Art, in that narrow mechanical acceptation of the word.

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Writer's Drought

You've heard of a thing called writer's block and you've heard of writer's drought
But writers are never short of things on which they can write about
It's just at times their inspiration well does seem to run dry
And they cannot seem to pen a line though hard enough they try.

The writers drought it causes writers moments of self doubt
Till the words that seem locked in them eventually flow out
Through their pens to their notebooks their dry spells do not last
And on time lost out on penning words they seem to catch up fast.

Some writers in their writing drought cannot seem to feel inspired
To write even a single line they feel mentally tired
But when fresh inspiration comes to them much better stuff they do write
And feeling re-invigorated they sit and pen all night.

Most writers you will talk to of writers drought can tell
When there is no inspiration in their inspiration well
But when inspiration returns to them and their creative juices flow
They become much better writers and in self confidence grow.

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Each Creature Within Nature

From the great whales of the ocean to the garden snail in his shell
Each creature within Nature does serve it's purpose well
And the creatures we dismiss as vermin are not vermin at all
They contribute to Nature in some way though their contribution may seem small
What can be said of Nature that has not been said before
She is the one immortal she will live forever more
Many of her creatures gone to extinction but new life forms she create
The one the artists and the writers feel inspired to celebrate
The one who lives by her own law and does things in her own way
From our every walk in Nature we learn every day
'Tis not out of a sense of joy that the male bird sings his song
But to warn neighbour males of his own kind that this patch to him belong
The creatures us humans dismiss as vermin not so in Nature's eyes
And Nature's ways are far more complex than we even realize.

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I'm Always Learning From Nature

For many years I have loved Nature but little about her I know
My knowledge of her is basic I know a finch from a crow
Recognize some birds by their songs know a wallaby from a roo
Know a wombat from an echidna and a rosella from a cockatoo
Just basic knowledge of Nature her secrets from us she hide
Nature who lives in Townparks and gardens and who reigns supreme in the countryside
I find her quite fascinating artists and writers she inspire
I can only sing her praises of which I never do tire
Nature is for everybody for to learn of and enjoy
And for decades of years I have loved her ever since I was a boy
Her secrets she has hidden from me so mysterious in her own way
I'm always learning from Nature learning from her every day
Yes I'm always learning from Nature and my wonder of her only grow
Yet from me her secrets she keeps hidden and little about her I know.

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Thirteen Lines

A brain peered through stoic eyes;
Yet all it saw was rendered into
Flawed interpretation –
No honoured contemplation of a
Gluon, muon, quark of any flavour;
Nor a vision or conception of its world
Within a universe anthropic in its physical laws,
Inside a boundless multiverse.
All it gleaned and modelled
Bore parochialism well beyond belief! –
Delusional perhaps.
Survival only matters here on planet Earth –
Evolution saw to that.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010


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Black writers, of whatever quality, who step outside the pale of what black writers are supposed to write about, or who black writers are supposed to be, are condemned to silences in black literary circles that are as total and as destructive as any imposed by racism.

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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
Of Homo sapiens’ disrespect!

The humble ape must reconnect
With Gaia’s plan!

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010


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