Taboo
I find it rather curious
There are some things we don’t discuss,
not even with our closest friends.
As if our peace of mind depends
on the pretence that we won’t die.
Despite its crass stupidity
We know it is a certainty
but do not know the reason why.
Why is to talk of death taboo
.Except to the enlightened few.
Who believe that death is going to
set them free to start again.
Death is a door we all pass through
we should not fear it but we do
12-Dec-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Lady in waiting.2011
I live alone, my family
and all my friends are long since gone.
There’s no one left who cares for me.
Others have problems of their own.
I’ve had my share of happiness
and known the depths of misery.
My life now seems to matter less.
So I am waiting patiently.
For death to come and set me free.
Each night I pray I will not wake..
I think that death’s forgotten me
just overlooked me by mistake.
I’d welcome death quite happily
but even deaths abandoned me.
Friday,18 February 2011
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Conforming
I cannot unilaterally,
decide to do what pleases me.
How very easy life would be
if that was satisfactory.
Although it makes me furious.
I must confer, debate discuss
until it is unanimous.
I find it rather curious.
It seems your free will is not free.
Although you think it ought to be.
In order to live peacefully
as part of our society.
We have to voluntarily
place limits on our liberty.
05/11/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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What Is Death
death is love,
death is peace,
death is all the non-violent things around you,
death will hunt,
death will kill,
death is a fallin' angel,
death is what you will receive,
death is all around you,
death is love,
death is peace,
death is the killing angel of peace,
death will take every last soul,
death will vanish the day we leave,
you can run but you can from death,
he will find you no matter where you go,
death hunt by fear,
death is love,
death is peace,
death is all round.
poem by Jaqualen Roberts

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Death and I
When death comes
I’ll need not love –
Consumed,
No wreath or dove
Could offer me salvation,
Not when I’m no more.
A weathered stone will bear my name –
Identity of once a being
Living out existence in
A world of risk, and never seeing
Sense of why we’re here.
My genes will die away thro’ child –
Hue of eyes and hair, the way of thought,
Will quickly dim with generation –
Bow to future dominance –
Memories of provenance
Resigned to curious few.
When death comes
I’ll need not grace
Below; no grieving face
Will call my resurrection,
Not when I’m at ground –
Death and I so bound.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
D eath Crawl
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poem by Mark R Slaughter

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Death’s Too Near
Death, you’re standing rather near!
Don’t you understand the fear
You trigger deep within my soul–?
The terror sprung by such a ghoul
Of dark and hideous hue!
Now you’re rattling on my door!
I’m sure I threw you out before –
Methinks you really need to learn!
So leg it please and ne’er return
To haunt me ‘gain, now shoo!
Gain a sense of social pride, and
Keep your bearing far and wide –
Perform the deed when I am done –
Be free and loose to have your fun
When I’m too frail to turn and run,
But now I’ve living to do!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
Death, death, nearing death, death, death nearing death
Death, death, nearing death, death, death nearing death
Death, death, nearing death, death, death nearing death
Death, death, nearing death, death
Death, death, nearing death
Death, death, death
Death, death
Death
Death, death
Death
poem by Mark R Slaughter

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La cucaracha for lady Phoenix Rain
.
I have a cockroach for a friend.
I may just start a whole new trend
But when you're pent in the death cell
it makes it difficult to tell.
My friendly cockroach visits me.
He's not afraid to let me see
he wants the leavings on my plate
Though he’s polite prepared to wait.
I have no other friends who care
my leavings I will gladly share.
And when they strap me in the Chair.
I know my cockroach will be there
He will be waiting faithfully
to have his last free meal on me.
8-Jul-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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It's Death Again
It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
The Reign of Death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
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Death death death death death death death
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Death death death death death death death
poem by Mark R Slaughter

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Death is not the end For M'lady Ernestine
Death is not the end.
A ray of sunlight penetrates
the quiet gloom of the sick room
Wherein a dying lady waits.
For death to call impatiently.
She has no fear she is content
To know that soon she will be free.
For ninety years she’s done her best.
To her the sunlight seems to be
A sign that she has passed the test.
The ray of light eventually
illuminates her final smile.
She passes over quietly.
Her empty shell lies peacefully.
Almost as if she slumbered still.
Her spirit soars triumphantly.
Towards the light she hopes to see.
Remaining faithful to the end
She goes ahead confidently.
She has outlived her family
and all her friends are long since dead.
She lived her life successfully.
She lived and died competently
and she passed on with no regrets.
To start a new life hopefully.
Wednesday,30 June 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Bereft for M lady Allison
Alone, alone, all, all alone
lost in a sea of misery.
Gone all the happiness I’ve known
because my love is gone from me
She did not volunteer to go.
When our call comes we have no choice
the only certainty we know.
When my call comes I shall rejoice
I know that you will wait for me.
Not even death can break our bond.
We swore to love eternally
until time ends and far beyond.
Without you there is nothing left.
I sit alone and weep bereft.
10-May-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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O' Death
O' Death, why have you taken everything I loved,
O' Death, why do you keep taking my friends.
O' Death, why do you always stand at my side,
O' Death, why don't you release me when angels are calling me to heaven,
O' Death, why do you always leave me behind.
O' Death, can't you take me away from this accursed place,
O' Death, you don't hold any fear for me,
O' Death, you have seemed to be stalking me all life,
O' Death, I have grown so old yet you still spare me,
O' Death, can't you take me to the land of eternal peace.
poem by Christopher Tye

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Optomist 08
Optimist 08
Although it’s not a certainty.
There is a possibility
that I will reach a century
and then I will quite probably
Review my choices thoroughly.
Should I give in graciously
or dismiss death contemptuously.
The only thing that worries me.
A problem which I can foresee.
Will I retain my faculty?
still contribute coherently.
Will still know that I am me?
I do not think I’d like to be
a burden to my family.
I think I’d better wait and see
and not decide impulsively
I still have years ahead of me..
I have to think positively.
26-Jul-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Thankless Task.
Thankless Task.
Death never takes a holiday.
He has too long a waiting list.
He has to work twelve hours a day.
Because we humans will persist.
In fighting wars for no good cause.
We cannot learn to live in peace
We always think that sheer brute force
Will overcome our enemies..
It seems that we will never learn
violence begets violence
and hatred will hatred return
We seem bereft of moral sense.
When friendship can pay dividends.
Why human beings choose to fight
Make enemies instead of friends.
When they could do the opposite,
Death never takes a holiday.
Although really needs a rest..
He has to work twelve hours a day.
He has good reason to protest.
Perhaps when the last man dies.
Then death can take a holiday.
He will rejoice at our demise.
And who could blame him anyway.
Thursday,25 March 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Disingenuousness
Here lies another box for nature,
Carbon ready;
Black to eyes down here,
Where death is at its job.
Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob
Or two from living yet-to-dies –
A humming lacrimoso –
It all but cleans the eyes:
Forget it –
The dismal show of grief –
Life is only chemistry –
Our stay is only brief.
It’s we who hype it up!
Diaphragms jerk again;
The jet monotone of hearses
Feeds the disingenuousness
Of undertakers –
They seem to stare at something up ahead –
For them, it’s in the blood,
To taxi off the dead.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
The March of Death
Death death death death death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death death death death death
poem by Mark R Slaughter

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Stupidity.
Stupidity.
We celebrate our dead heroes.
Their white headstones arranged in rows.
To mark where soldiers bodies lie.
They are no longer friends and foes
War cemeteries are tended well
in honour of the men who fell
It is the least that we can do
for men who died by shot and shell.
Each single death a tragedy,
each one recorded carefully.
To satisfy the bureaucrats
who collate deaths statistically.
I wonder why we cannot see.
That death alone claims victory.
Each new war adds to the score
of people dying uselessly.
Though we remember them with pride.
The countless men who sadly died.
Each thinking that their cause was just.
Involuntary suicide.
We celebrate our dead heroes
with white headstones arranged in rows.
Yet we still send young men to die
And always will do I suppose.
We do not learn from history
For no good reason I can see.
That wars prove nothing in the end
Except how stupid we can be.
Wednesday,30 December 2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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A Fresh Endeavour
So now I've taken leave of life,
I thought you'd like to know, I still
Possess a mind in love, oh wife;
A soulful eye to catch a show of
Silent beauty – ever yours;
An ear to pick the metaphors
Of tonal dance in words you say,
Grasp a thought in verse you pray
Inside your head, bemused of mind,
Softly mournful, intertwined with
Understanding tears.
I'll drift a whisper o'er to you
To tell that I am quietly calm;
Keeping time till your adieu
To flesh, upon the carol of a
Psalm of consummation. Now!
A fresh endeavour – we're forever
One together, resting yonder,
Cross our open plane of blue.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
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poem by Mark R Slaughter

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Scared to death for Friend Konstantin
Whilst in the throes of some nightmare
you find your limbs are paralysed.
Your enemies are every where
and danger lurks on every side.
Held in the grip of mortal fear.
You dare not even look behind
although you know it’s drawing near
You’re terrified of what you’ll find.
You cannot run although you try
your legs will not co-operate
Your heart beats at a furious rate
You’re certain that you’re going to die.
Sheer terror helps your mind to break
the chains of sleep so you are free.
You suddenly start wide awake
in your own bed as you should be.
Returning to reality
You are convinced it was a dream.
But things aren’t as they seem to be.
Nobody hears your final scream.
14-Mar-09
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Time to be,
Steal away quietly meditate
You can spare time enough. For a while
silently hide away. Contemplate
who you are, what you are thoroughly.
You may find peace of mind, leave behind
the pressures and distress easily.
All you need to succeed is concede.
You can fly if you try earnestly.
You will see, you can be really free.
12/07/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Until we meet again For MY lady
When I am dead just bury me
in a deep hole and plant a tree
Without any ceremony,
whats left behind’s no longer me.
If I go first it’s not by choice
so do not weep, rather rejoice.
You know that we will meet again,
My leaving’s bound to cause you pain
I’ve run my race I can’t complain
I’ll join you on some higher plane.
If I go first it’s not by choice
so do not weep rather rejoice.
Should you go first then I will know.
You had no choice you had to go.
Though I will weep I’ll weep for me
because I know you’re flying free
But I will wait impatiently
for friendly death to come for me
It’s my belief that we will be
together intermittently
in other lives in different roles.
Remaining always kindred souls
The bonds we have death cannot part
we have been twin souls from the start.
My love for you, your love for me
will last beyond eternity.
Because we are one entity
as we were always meant to be.
8-Dec-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Fare you well
Fly free proud spirit on your way.
Towards the truth you sought to find,
No need to tarry or delay.
You know I’ll follow on behind.
The bonds of love death cannot break
For love will last eternally.
We’ll meet again make no mistake.
I will rejoin you presently.
We’ve lived and loved and died before.
I have no doubt we will again.
Each life we learn a little more
although each parting is a pain.
With my blessings go your way
until my call comes I must stay.
22/04/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Final solution
The countless dead unburied lay beneath a covering of clay.
The good earth turned to dark red mud mixed with the best of soldier’s blood.
It mattered not how many died for death could not be satisfied.
Brave men who fought for their country. Death chose amongst them randomly.
I lived although my comrades died. Death often took them from my side.
Why did I live? So I can tell the world about the living hell
wich we endured knee deep in mud. I think it fitting that I should.
So many died on either side. Involuntary suicide
To fight a war they could not win, to no more see their kith and kin
Like every war it proved to be a total waste, a mockery
The cream of Europe’s fighting mem would never see their homes again.
What did it prove the First World War? Nothing we had not known before!
Though we remember those who died. The lessons learned are not applied
for men still battle constantly to prove superiority.
It seems mankind can’t live in peace, that wanton killing will not cease
Until death has added to his score the last man and there are no more.
I think that then and only then the world will be at peace again.
16/04/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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