By the general process of epic poetry, I mean the way this form of art has constantly responded to the profound needs of the society in which it was made.

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But the development of human society does not go straight forward; and the epic process will therefore be a recurring process, the series a recurring series - though not in exact repetition.

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A moment's thought shows that man's feeling of isolation has no foundation, biologically or sociologically. We grow out of the Universe, we are an expression of it. The iron in our blood comes from the high temperature fusion of stars. We constantly interact with our environment. The force of gravity keeps our feet upon the earth and has a vital effect upon our metabolism. The air we breathe comes form the seas and the leaves, and the sun allows the process to take place. Society gives us all that makes us human our culture, our symbols, our concepts and our values. Without society, the notion of the individual would have no meaning.

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A Modern Communication System!

Everything has been simplified for want of time now!
Communication devices encourage brief messaging;
Long instructions for management or information stop
Superseding to small message servicing already here.
New form of writings has come up according to time;
Poetry has more scope than articles or stories in big size.
After seeing various forms to blank verse poetry comes
Now in the form of free verse depicting individuals style.
Mechanical, fundamental poetry writing is orthodox now;
Natural, pure poetry composition has prominence no doubt.
Exposing whole truth to the society is the job of journalism;
Governance of the people to prosperity is the job of politics;
Exploration of truth and wisdom is the work of philosophy;
Poetry composition combines all these to communicate to all!

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With several different kinds of poetry to choose from, a man would decide that he would like best to be an epic poet, and he would set out, in conscious determination, on an epic poem.

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Poetry Made Me Diving In You!

Poetry made me thinking
Poetry made me playing
Poetry made me hiding
Poetry made me riding
Poetry made me surviving
Poetry made me diving, in you!

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Poetry in Motion

Poetry is like the ocean
Poetry in Motion
Poetry is like a potion
Poetry in Motion
Poetry is like an explosion
Poetry in Motion
Poetry is like some soothing lotion
Poetry in Motion
Poetry is a form of devotion
Poetry in Motion
Poetry represents emotion
Poetry in Motion

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Poetry is Everywhere

To all my friends who say –
Poetry is not my cup of tea,
I’d strongly recommend that
they watch “Dead Poet’s Society”.

Poetry is in your cup of tea,
poetry is in every wave of the sea,
poetry is in the song of a bird
poetry springs forth from each of your word.

Poetry is in the smile of a baby,
poetry is in the redness of a ruby,
poetry is the union of your heart and mind
poetry teaches you to be soft and kind.

Poetry is the song of your soul,
poetry reminds you of your life’s goal,
poetry is in a game of cricket,
poetry is in the sound of a cricket.

Imagine life without poetry -
What an empty life it would be!
Imagine a world without poetry -
What a dull place it would be!

09 June 2010
! 2: 50 pm

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That Book Of Poetry....

there is no need
to pay
a semester of poetry
from any
teacher of poetry

who teaches whom?
can poetry be taught?
can poetry have
a dictated form?

no one teaches whom
and it cannot be taught
neither can it have a form
for poetry is here
deep in the heart of man
embedded in the mind
felt and then
whether you like it or not
becomes written

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An act of poetry

Ruin is what we need –
Despair is what we feed
Upon in poetry

A shock resets the nerves –
Helps remould the curves
Of written art

Catharsis helps portray –
Acting out a play
On expurgation

Tears or hidden fears
Release the bottled years
To ink a page:

The pen be our salvation.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010


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The Future, Unknown

Within the dread of the moment
I must dought that Shakespeare
Sat up all night, Writing his plays
Knowing they'd be timeless
One man
An epic in writing
By accident
Maybe one day
Once I have long since passed
Someone will come across
The pages I breathed life into
And maybe, out of mere curiosity
They may read my words and find symbolism
That I never meant to include
Maybe, in 300 years
I shall be an epic in the world of poetry
(If one still reads poetry by then)
And maybe I'll become famous as Shakespeare
Or Edgar Allen Poe; maybe I'll be known
For something I never meant to do
Myabe I'll be known for this

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Epic Poem

This poem is epic
so I named it so
it's more epic than wind and snow
which are in there own respects quite epic
snow could be described as ghetto
and wind can take on epic forms
like a spinning tiger with legs made of iron bars
that would be pretty epic
infact I think that happened in outer mongolia
to a young girl how got hit by the iron bars
sadly she died
but the type of death was one we all wish for
over exposure to pure epicness
like viewing a snail with a lightsaber who flies over mountains made of cheese
that's bleedin' epic
imagine it if you can
can you?

I imagined it so according to the ontological arguement
it exists
im scared now
it may be coming to get me
and although I will suffer the best kind of death
it will be death still
and what is death without life
it is simply death
that was mock epic
those statements aren't as deep as you think they are
they are meerly the ramblings of a crazy man
you fell for it did you not
I know you did for I can see you
your PC moniter is actually a camera

If you're paranoid then you will be scared now
and for that reason I laugh
I can see your fear
I smell it
it is like raspberry ripple ice cream
your fear is wierd
I don't like you anymore
this poem is bleedin' epic!

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Peace Proposal

Said General Clay to General Gore really must we fight this silly war
To kill and die in such a bore I quite agree said General Gore
Said General Gore to General Clay we could go to the beach today
And have some icecream on the way a grand idea said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore we'll build sand castles on the shore
Said General Gore we'll splash and play let's leave right now said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay but what if the sea's closed today
And what if the sand's been blown away the dreadful thought said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay I've always feared the ocean's spray
And we may drown it's true we may it chills my blood said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore my bathin' suit is slightly tore
We better go on with our war I quite agree said General Gore
The General Clay chanrged General Gore as bullets flew and cannons roared
And now at last there is no more of General Clay or General Gore

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The Generals

Said General Clay to General Gore,
'Oh must we fight this silly war?
To kill and die is such a bore.'
'I quite agree,' said General Gore.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'We could go to the beach today
And have some ice cream on the way.'
'A grand idea,' said General Clay.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'But what if the sea is closed today?
And what if the sand's been blown away?'
'A dreadful thought,' said General Clay.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'I've always feared the ocean's spray,
And we may drown!' 'It's true, we may.
It chills my blood,' said General Clay.
Said General Clay to General Gore,
'My bathing suit is slightly tore.
We'd better go on with our war.'
'I quite agree,' said General Gore.
Then General Clay charged General Gore
As bullets flew and cannons roared.
And now, alas! there is no more
Of General Clay or General Gore.

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I Dont Write Poetry!

i dont write poetry...
i sweat poetry, i drink poetry,
i breathe poetry, i make love to poetry,
i fight poetry, i eat poetry,
i bleed poetry, i crap poetry...
too often i betray poetry,
sometimes i dropp poetry.
once i tripped over poetry,
got angry and kicked poetry.
i rocked poetry on a sleepless night,
i buried poetry on the hill...
i lived poetry, for i am poetry...

no, i dont write poetry,
but poetry writes me!

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The Weight of Poetry

Poetry is core of arts
It’s not strange!
Not knowing that poetry is core of all arts
It’s not strange as well!
The many who don’t know that poetry is core of all arts
It’s not a strange at all!

Although the poets usually make foes against vulgarity
A city makes the poets wandering on the streets
Should utterly lack of the manner and style
A society brings the resentment to the poets
Should fully lack of consciousness

Solitude is the major topic in life
Solitude is poetry

Lack of poetry, art is a form of imitation
Lack of poetry, power is a presumptuous mediocrity
Lack of poetry, fortune is a wealthy poverty
Lack of poetry, love is a superficial organ

The extreme of love- solitude
The extreme of wealth- solitude
The extreme of power – solitude
The extreme of art- solitude
The extreme of climax - solitude
The extreme of world - solitude
The extreme of planets- solitude

Those who have never explored loneliness
Can write down the weight of poetry?

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The fact that we're all connected, the fact that we've got this information space — does change the parameters. It changes the way people live and work. It changes things for good and for bad. But I think, in general, it's clear that most bad things come from misunderstanding, and communication is generally the way to resolve misunderstandings — and the Web's a form of communications — so it generally should be good. But I think, also, we have to watch whether we preserve the stability of the world … We need to look at the whole society and think, "Are we actually thinking about what we're doing as we go forward, and are we preserving the really important values that we have in society? Are we keeping it democratic, and open, and so on?"

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When a man has done his best, has given his all, and in the process supplied the needs of his family and his society, that man has made a habit of succeeding.

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Poetries Travesty

Poetry is not such a pleasure
To those who live in reality
and it will forever be a leisure
To those who live in insanity

The world begrudges poetry with its whole being
For it involves a complex explanation
and from this we believe poetry is not worth reading
For it ensues exaggeration

Hearing poetry for many is torture
To poets this is an old calamity
What will come to them in the future
The great poets of this world’s society

One emotion shaped from a hand gesture
Made something in words; while dreaming
Yet even if poetry is not your pleasure
There will be a day we all will be believing

Paltry words speak of an insecure
Talent; tangible of tergiversation
and from this envoy we can ensure
That in this time there will be a transformation

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Poetry...Poetry...

Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the beginning of new life,
Poetry is in the tears of a child,
Poetry is in the warmth of mother's kiss,
Poetry is in the child's bliss,
Poetry is in the hug of a father,
Poetry is in the love of a dear,
Poetry is in the happiness of affection,
Poetry is in the pain of separation,
Poetry is in someone's loss,
Poetry is in missing someone very close.

Poetry...Poetry...

Poetry is in the first rain,
Poetry is in the cultivation of first grain,
Poetry is in the first light of dawn,
Poetry is in the drops of dew o the grass of lawn,
Poetry is in the blowing of cool wind,
Poetry is in the beauty of green,
Poetry is in the twinkling star,
Poetry is in the aroma of a flower,
Poetry is in thunder and lightning,
Poetry is in the heat scorching.

Poetry...Poetry...

Poetry is something more sweeter than sweet,
Poetry is something more closer to heart beat,
Poetry is something more than the most beautiful creation,
Poetry is something more than the depth of an ocean,
Poetry is something more higher than the blue,
Poetry is something more true,
Poetry is something more enjoyable than wine,
Poetry is something more shiner than sunshine,
Poetry is something more pure than air,
Poetry is something which is present everywhere.

Poetry...Poetry...

Poet ry is not just rhyme,
Poetry is but the voice Divine,
Poetry is not just Poetry,
Poetry frames History,
After so many lines,
Poetry still remains undefined.

Poetry...Poetry...

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Poetry On The Chin

You gouged my mind's eye,
Tantalised all inner thought,
Shocked from unknown angles;
Sold me, told me cold,
Unfolded, moulded;
Shouldered any harbouring
Of empty morals.

You spun me round; undressed -
Pestered me with background riddle -
Piffle came to gleaning meaning.
And you stripped out prejudice - for none
Must exist in poetry,
Lest you close up an open mind
And f**k up as reader;
Lest your heart is not a bleeder -
It has to be - let it flush out
Upon your sleeve.

You lay apart my thinking brain
And let in the literary pickings of a
Great poetic phallus.
Yes, poetry can be callous.


Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2010


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