On Hearing Of A Death
We lack all knowledge of this parting. Death
does not deal with us. We have no reason
to show death admiration, love or hate;
his mask of feigned tragic lament gives us
a false impression. The world's stage is still
filled with roles which we play. While we worry
that our performances may not please,
death also performs, although to no applause.
But as you left us, there broke upon this stage
a glimpse of reality, shown through the slight
opening through which you dissapeared: green,
evergreen, bathed in sunlight, actual woods.
We keep on playiing, still anxious, our difficult roles
declaiming, accompanied by matching gestures
as required. But your presence so suddenly
removed from our midst and from our play, at times
overcomes us like a sense of that other
reality: yours, that we are so overwhelmed
and play our actual lives instead of the performance,
forgetting altogehter the applause.
Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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The Stage
If the world is just a stage
and we're the actors in it,
why do the same ones get to play
the lead roles every minute?
For once I'd like to see a change
take place upon this stage
where the lead characters are the poor
stepping out of their cage.
Where all the minor roles would be given out
to all the power players
who've controlled this drama from the start
having never said their prayers.
And as the curtain rose each day
we would look and see
the poor and needy in front row seats,
the rulers in standing room only.
If this is just a stage we're on
and life is just a play,
then wouldn't it be ingenious
to see them all portray
us.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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To They Who Are Hauted By The Spectre Of Death
Do not fear death because death is not to be feared.Death is the bride of every household therefore welcome her with open arms.Death is inevitable therefore do not deny yourself the pleasure of having a nice time while you're still alive.Death is a stage through which all of us must pass.Death is necessary and this old life would be very boring if we would all live forever.Accept the inevitability of death and die gratefully with less worry lines on your death mask, There are no worries in the other world and over there they offer you virgins to pamper you to compensate for your undeserved suffering in this world.Therefore be willing to die young and have a good looking corpse
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Love Sonnet 47 My love did write me notes of loneliness
My love did write me notes of loneliness,
Her tears smudging the margins of the page,
But left an ending of such sweet caress,
As though bowing, to curtsy on a stage;
If it is true that life is but a show,
We must have acted scenes for quite a while,
And countless times, for me, her face would glow,
But nary once I saw a put-on smile;
Though roles only mimic reality,
When following the dictates of a play,
They acquire the cloak of sincerity,
Imbued by hearts with apt truths to relay;
......But chance may leave unspoken every word,
......Yet hearts still understand while in accord.
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
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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
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Ritual One
As I enter the theatre the play is going on.
I hear the father say to the son on stage,
You’ve taken the motor apart.
The son replies, The roof is leaking.
The father retorts, The tire is flat.
Tiptoeing down the aisle, I find my seat,
edge my way in across a dozen kneecaps
as I tremble for my sanity.
I have heard doomed voices calling on god the electrode.
Sure enough, as I start to sit
a scream rises from beneath me.
It is one of the players.
If I come down, I’ll break his neck,
caught between the seat and the backrest.
Now the audience and the players on stage,
their heads turned towards me, are waiting
for the sound of the break. Must I?
Those in my aisle nod slowly, reading my mind,
their eyes fixed on me, and I understand
that each has done the same.
Must I kill this man as the price of my admission
to this play? His screams continue loud and long.
I am at a loss as to what to do,
I panic, I freeze.
My training has been to eat the flesh of pig.
I might even have been able to slit a throat.
As a child I witnessed the dead chickens
over a barrel of sawdust absorbing their blood.
I then brought them in a bag to my father
who sold them across his counter. Liking him,
I learned to like people and enjoy their company too,
which of course brought me to this play.
But how angry I become.
Now everybody is shouting at me to sit down,
sit down or I’ll be thrown out.
The father and son have stepped off stage
and come striding down the aisle side by side.
They reach me, grab me by the shoulder
and force me down. I scream, I scream,
as if to cover the sound of the neck breaking.
All through the play I scream
and am invited on stage to take a bow.
I lose my senses and kick the actors in the teeth.
There is more laughter
and the actors acknowledge my performance with a bow.
How should I understand this?
Is it to say that if I machine-gun the theatre
from left to right they will respond with applause
that would only gradually diminish with each death?
I wonder then whether logically I should kill myself
too out of admiration. A question indeed,
as I return to my seat and observe a new act
of children playfully aiming their kicks
at each other’s groins.
poem by David Ignatow
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The Play
Hey look at you now
Don't cry, pick yourself off the ground
You say you're through with love and..
It tore you down
And you tried to stay and take it somehow
Your whole life's ahead now
Don't let it get to you
There's no real reason to
Carry the weight of the world
Hey, it's not what we say
It's how we act here today
It's all in the play on the stage
Hey look at you now, you smile but I see you hurt
You can't hide that from me
You tell me you know
But that's not the way things have to go
When love breaks you down
Don't let it get to you
There's no real reason to
Carry the weight of the world
Hey, no it's not what we say
Its how we act here today
It's all in the play on the stage
Life can be so cruel
Love makes us play the fool
But there'll always be better days
Don't let it get to you
There's no real reason to
Carry the weight of the world
Hey, no it's not what we say
It's how we act here today
Cause we're all in the play on the stage
song performed by by 38 Special
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You are the Producer and Director!
Stars and galaxies,
The meteors, comets and planets,
The sun and moon,
All look silent!
You will be one among these
silent travellers,
You were not active,
The love of Earth,
you were brought on this stage.
Look silence is your own nature,
But the nature made you tour
here,
act, Sing and dance here!
Some day you feel what you
were,
what you are
and what you will be,
Nature sends you to greenroom,
Then only you Remove all robes
and makeups,
Sit and watch nature's play,
which was your own play too,
You were the producer, director and shapes and roles,
You were that,
you were that Truth,
Gave life to all,
You are that Lord of birth, life and death!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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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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A World Filled With Hate
This world is filled with hate
Hate against life
Hate against your friends
Hate against your pet
Hate against the rain
Hate against a busdriver
Hate against your teacher
Hate against your parents
Hate against your brothers and sisters
Hate against a difficult game
Hate against your job
Hate against the way you live
Hate against your body
Hate against a withering flower
Hate against a not-working car
Hate against someone hurting you
Hate against a child that doesn't obey
Hate against the cloudy sky
Hate against God
Hate against the death
So much hate in everyone of us
We're filled with it
But only a little dropp of love
In this hate filled world
Could overcome every bit of hate
poem by Angel of Death
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In Shadows to Escape
After players have left the stage,
And the lights with excitement have dimmed...
On terrific performances given by them.
Cast away are masks adorned...
With emotions to address,
And no shoulder for one wished to lean on!
The ensemble finishes...
To scramble and move on!
Applause and ovations,
Given and received.
Actors breathing life...
Into characters believed!
And the curtain call is finished...
To leave a packed house emptied and cleared!
As a cigarette is lit,
To silhouette not happiness but regret.
Accompanied by tears!
This 'star' left living in a reality...
Unscripted and unspoken,
Unsuspected...
Or thought to conceive.
Walks to sit on a barren stage...
Unrehearsed to collect a peace of mind,
Cherished to protect away from an allotted time.
In shadows...
To escape a crowding maze.
And those who could pick moments to critique!
Or question why blocking seen,
Is kept restfully discreet!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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On The Life And Death Of Man
The world's a theatre. The earth, a stage
Placed in the midst: where both prince and page,
Both rich and poor, fool, wise man, base and high,
All act their parts in life's short tragedy.
Our life's a tragedy. Those secret rooms,
Wherein we 'tire us, are our mothers' wombs.
The music ushering in the play is mirth
To see a man-child brought upon the earth.
That fainting gasp of breath which first we vent,
Is a dumb show; presents the argument.
Our new-born cries, that new-born griefs bewray,
Are the sad prologue of the ensuing play.
False hopes, true fears, vain joys, and fierce distracts,
Are like the music that divides the Acts.
Time holds the glass, and when the hour's outrun,
Death strikes the epilogue, and the play is done.
poem by Francis Quarles
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Night (This night, agitated by the growing storm)
This night, agitated by the growing storm,
how it has suddenly expanded its dimensions--,
that ordinarily would have gone unnoticed,
like a cloth folded, and hidden in the folds of time.
Where the stars give resistance it does not stop there,
neither does it begin within the forest's depths,
nor show upon the surface of my face
nor with your appearance.
The lamps keep swaying, fully unaware:
is our light lying?
Is night the only reality
that has endured through thousands of years?
Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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Death, Inevitable Death
Death, inevitable Death.
So now You come to show Your world,
Hence the blackened cloak – unfurled.
And peering down upon my form
– Bereft of pity – Your eyes of storm.
Death, inexorable Death.
‘When? ’ The only question out of Thee.
My dream retorts 'But ne’er for me! ’
But now awake, I bid you so –
My giving tears cry ‘Where to go? ’
Death, adamant Death.
You cast Your spell and guide me 'way,
For life and I have had our day.
And what of me? I prey You, tell!
Be glorious in Heaven or gnarled in Hell?
Death, ineluctable Death.
Oh wiry ghoul, I'm here to follow –
I leave my body grey and shallow.
‘Come! ’ You bid in thund’ring tones,
‘Beg farewell to shattered bones.’
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: I
When is life other than a tragedy,
Whether it is played in tears from the first scene,
In sable robes and grief's mute pageantry,
For loves that died ere they had ever been,
Or whether on the edge of joys set keen,
While all the stage with laughter is agog,
Death stepping forward with an altered mien
Pulls off his mask, and speaks the epilogue?
Life is a play acted by dying men,
Where, if its heroes seem to foot it well
And go light--tongued without grimace of pain,
Death will be found anon. And who shall tell
Which part was saddest, or in youth or age,
When the tired actor stops and leaves the stage?
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Falling Stars
Do you remember still the falling stars
that like swift horses through the heavens raced
and suddenly leaped across the hurdles
of our wishes--do you recall? And we
did make so many! For there were countless numbers
of stars: each time we looked above we were
astounded by the swiftness of their daring play,
while in our hearts we felt safe and secure
watching these brilliant bodies disintegrate,
knowing somehow we had survived their fall.
Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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In Death, My Final Part
A tower grim; a glowering darkness,
And only brown of red the other hue
– I saw it in the distant eyes –
And yes, He knew, but focussed only
On the mortal soul of mine –
After all, He had a role to play,
And wine: my shivering blood to quaff!
If only I could Him betray –
To break the seal of destiny;
Escape the lone cacophony
That emanates from wailing minds!
Damn the fate of His – it awes and blinds!
But oh! the mighty hammer strikes a toll;
The slow approach of Him upon the knoll
Commences exudation of a dying heart.
Endorsing all, I honed my final part.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
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The final part
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Temptation
Have you ever felt the need
To see more than you can see
Look into uncertainty
Reflections of treachery
Would you leave the world behind
Endless life is here to find
Can I interest you in lies
Sell your soul for all it buys
Play with your insanity
Shatter your reality
Pulsing in your blood
I can satisfy your greed
For now all your debts are free
I have all eternity
To quench all the death I breed
Recreate the rules of play
From now things are done my way
None have ever won my game
Crucified them all in flames
Play with your insanity
Shatter your reality
Pulsing in your blood
Have you ever danced with the devil
His temptation ever summoned you
Ever penned your name in blood
Let possession slowly swallow you
When you stand under full moonlight
The attraction mesmerizes you
Have you ever wondered why
It seems that evil you're attracted to
Reach out to my hand
Step back in time's sand
Genetic wasteland
Far beyond death
song performed by by Slayer from Seasons In The Abyss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dr Worm
They call me Dr. Worm,
Good morning, how are you? I'm Dr. Worm.
I'm interested in things,
I'm not a real doctor but I am a real worm,
I am an actual worm,
I live like a worm.
I like to play the drums.
I think I'm getting good, but I can handle criticism.
I'll show you what I know and you can
Tell me if you think I'm getting better on the drums
I'll leave the front unlocked 'cause I can't
Hear the doorbell...
When I get into it, I can't tell if you are
Watching me twirling the stick.
When I give the signal, my friend
Rabbi Vole will play the solo...
Someday, somebody else besides me will
Call me by my stage name, they will
Call me Dr. Worm,
Good morning, how are you? I'm Dr. Worm.
I'm interested in things.
I'm not a real doctor but I am a real worm,
I am an actual worm,
I live like a worm.
And I like to play the drums,
I think I'm getting good, but I can handle criticism.
I'll show you what I know and you can
Tell me if you think I'm getting better on the drums.
I'm not a real doctor, but they call me
Dr. Worm!
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Act the Part
I am an actor on this stage of life.
My role is factored into all the scenes
Beginning with an innocent delight.
My birth and babbling lines by any means
Directed all attention to this part.
A ham at birth and cute, I was a star.
The photographs and modeling apart
From some occasional fluffing thus far
I acted many roles that came my way.
Until my public image lost its lure
I found myself without a scene to play
Except the one where life shown me the door
A role I never played in my career
An empty lonely man, alone in tears.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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