Related quotes: Red for blood

A Take on Red

Red for blood –
Pumping out a life;
Paling in a death;
Blushing in a feminine face –
Flushing out her puberty;
Stain a presage for the mother ready.

And red, a flag of hatred in the eye –
The brutal other side –
Blood-release of war;
The sundered heart!

But then the red of simple dress
To give a beauty all she needs –
And flaming hair
And flimsy lace of underwear
And passion in the wanton heart
And dreams of crimson stockinged legs apart –

The rawness in the fantasy that
Only red can be.

And I? To only seek for Autumn
Bleeding in her many hues
Of red and other sister colours –
Those of tiring summer;
The fall of evening chill,
To wake with mist of morn,
Until cerise of dawn
Presents another day.

red red red
red red red red red red
red red red red red red red red red
red red red red red red red red red red red red
red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Battered Doll

A red dress for blood spilt,
Torn blouse for flesh rent;
Ladders in the stockings –
A rung for every callous blow landed.
Scuffed shoes winked about the kicks –
After all, bruise-gorged eyes can’t –
Just permanently closed.

Burning tears were scant warmth
Against a chill from ugly cries.

Lipstick smudges on the chin to
Nullify all vestiges of beauty –
Those that constituted rare patches
Of purest cream skin, from
Days of feminine joy, telling once
Upon a time there was an angel…
But now, a battered doll.

woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman
woman woman
Woman
No more...

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Pirouetting Autumn

The tree blushed - a rude blast of air
Betrayed a shapely bough.
My saddened heart aware
That Nature's clock was chiming,
I froze upon the twelfth
Clanging tone, caught alone,
Staring at a creaking door -
Left ajar for dancing, coloured Autumn,
Pirouetting in her leaves,
While agitated summer creatures
Backed away resignedly,
Sighing in protracted breves.
I turned; gave company;
We stood together, watching
Summer slowly blow away.

A utumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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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.

The March of Death

Death death death death death death death death death death death

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Making Love With Memories

You poked my blurring eye,
Let me lift your mushy breast.

We aged onwards
While you stroked flaccidity –
Recalling decades of
Blood-gorged coming, shuddering to boot.

I kissed a venerable mouth
Crammed with falsities –
Once brilliant keys
Guarded by crimson lips
Washed by a sensual tongue.

And so we writhed in wrinkles,
Tiring effort, and
Memories.

Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Premeditation

Oh blade you'll warm tonight!
Awash in crimson-purple flows,
Your sheen will dull with aching flesh:
Palpating anatomic mounds
Caressing, dancing, writhing round
Your metal form-
Whetted ‘gainst a lonely bone,
Then to probe the pounding, begging heart.

And all the while the prey will howl
Before they crumple; greet the mud-
A taut and unbelieving jowl
Will open out for giving blood-
A vent from down below,
Once a brutal show
Of metal in the man.

murder
murder murder
murder murder
murder murder murder murder murder murder
murder murder murder murder murder murder murder
murder murder murder murder murder murder
murder murder
murder murder
murder

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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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.

nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature
nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature
nature nature nature nature nature nature nature
nature nature nature nature nature nature
nature nature nature nature nature
nature nature nature nature
nature nature nature
nature nature
nature

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Why is there Oil?

Why is there oil I asked one night,

and a startling answer came into sight.

It’s Mother’s Earth’s blood, that is what oil is,

It’s Sacred and my blood to share.

Be wise in your pumping

Man is not to do wrong with this blood,

For it’s not to be shed so humans end up dead

for here is what she seriously said:

“You are pumping the blood right out of ME,

Which makes ME very Sad,

The spilling has greatly affected

My Land

and my Ocean,

Which has caused a commontion
.
There is a better way,

Let Your

CONSCIOUS take the LEAD…

…Please take heed.'

THE END

poem by Suzae Chevalier
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She and Drugs

Freshly spawned,
Brain dumps
Bleeding grey:

Reflections of a mind
That wavers thin
Along the line
That savours pain -

A pond of skin
Devoid of breast -
The pad a feign:
The nothing
Underneath your bra
At best
Is your imagination

Spread across a narcoleptic world
Suchlike survival
In and out
Of haunted woods;
In and out -
You're in and out
As blood transfused -
Pumping on
To ooze at pace
Upon another haemorrhage

And there! a goblin
Here! a goblin
Care to entertain a goblin
In the lair
That is a mind
Of drugs? -

We know it's you -
It's you we know.

We know you're through.

Life repeats itself as

life life life life life life life life
life life life life life life life life
life life life life life life life life
life life life life life life life life
life life life life life life life life

so draining life

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Why is there Oil?

Why is there oil I asked one night,
and a startling answer came into sight.
It’s Mother’s Earth’s blood, that is what oil is,
It’s Sacred and my blood to share.
Be wise in your pumping
Man is not to do wrong with this blood,
For it’s not to be shed so humans end up dead

for here is what she seriously said:

“You are pumping the blood right out of ME,

Which makes ME very Sad,

The spilling has greatly affected

My Land

and my Ocean,

Which has caused a commontion
.
There is a better way,

Let Your

CONSCIOUS take the LEAD…
…Please take heed.'
THE END
Copyright 2010 Christina Sunrise

poem by Christina Sunrise
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Mighty Sun

Sun so hot, our desserts sear, give struggling life so much to bear.
Sun so bright, you clear our skies for us to see with sparkling eyes.
Sun of violence: in great warfare you lash afar with solar flare.
Sun so kind, you keep us warm, and dry us aft of squally storm.
Sun of power, driving flora – food of life for grateful fauna.
Sun of beauty: paint our morn to mesmerise with blushing dawn.
Sun mystique: electrify our lofty sky for Northern Lights to beautify.
Sun of calm: give hazy days to doze in shade of lazy rays.

O Sun, you mighty Sun! fire your furnace just for me –
Those flames of giants must always be!
And awesome though you truly are,
I pray, remain our blessed star!

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Punishment

There never really was a place of sanctity
For you, the mortal entity.
You thought you had prosperity,
The while you thrived and were.

Angels don't exist, you see.
You lived without a guarantee
Atop your brutal Earth.
Still, you had a birth.

And whither now, your crying whim -?
Answered by a tearing limb-?
Are you contrite; your valour slim?

And will He care...?

'Tis down to Him.

Death has come, has death Death has come, has death
Death has come, has death Death has come, has death
Death has come, has death Death has come, has death
Death has come, has death Death has come, has death
Death has come, has death Death has come, has death
Death has come, has death Death has come, has death

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Were There Hope

I was never in a league of noble gentlemen
To whom she'd cast polite and flitting smiles,
Only distant hope and dying dreams for me!
Or perhaps descent into a game of wiles

To give a chance of sipping wine on heady nights
With her angelic presence to declare;
Above, an aura playing out hypnotic hues,
And I in awe of blonde cascades of hair.

But no! my tiring soul is sinking in a mire
To haunt me for an age and evermore, for
How could I expect to hold her silken hand
When I am but a soulless ghost of yore?

Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope, hope?
Hope?
Never

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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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.

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
The final part

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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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.

D eath Crawl

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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Summer Melanoma

‘That's nice, ' I said, as Juno bathed me
In her sun.
Soon, a bronze Adonis - ogling girls!
It must be done!

I rolled over; bared a snowy skin
To bake and burn and sear beneath a din
Of ultraviolet rays…

Now I'm on the ward, I count the days to
Lesser pain, torrential rain; accepting
I'm a fool to be so vain!

I bore an awful mole, you see -
A growth, a blighted entity
Presenting as an ugly melanoma!

Oh! how tricky life can be
When unprotected by the sea, to
Sizzle with a barbecue aroma!

summer summer summer summer summer
summer summer summer summer summer - what a bummer
summer summer summer summer summer
summer summer summer summer summer - what a bummer
summer summer summer summer summer
summer summer summer summer summer - what a bummer

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Snobbery

A solitary rose in red attire
Condescended:
A fleeting glance -
She apprehended
My affections,
Turned away
From me, a stray -

Stubble weed -
Genes to build an oddity:
Common seed -
Happy-go-lucky entity
In dull array.

The rose glowered,
But in ascension
Slipped a view of blight
Upon her regal greenery:
Black spot!

In all her bold perfumery
And blushing flower,
The sheen of vulnerability in jet
Reminded me how snobbery
And haughty shower
Tarnish with an underlying debt!

She wavered in her shallow play -
Man-bred -
Hardiness foregone.

The rose no longer shone.

Life creeps:

life life life life life life life life life life life
life life life life life life life life life life life life life
life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life
life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life life

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Mark R. Slaughter

Just like the dahlia
Death comes in all its beauty

And so I stroke her petals
Push my feet root-deep
Into the composted soil
As weary clouds unite
Coalesce
Darken through the greys
In preparation

Incontinence prevails
Lachrymose in empathy

They cry for me
Sharing tears
Mortality brings
As twilight closes

I rot
(They fade)

To be the plant
(They'll water)

I, denomination Mark R. Slaughter

Struggle thro' my fantasy
To seal the state of mind

That I of soul
Remain eternal

Back on the windowsill
A daffodil stretches
From a bulbous foot

Flirts like a ballerina

STOPS

Wonders of the world

My cat hears the brassy thoughts
From yellow trumpet
Pricks up his ears
Iridescent eyes
Focussed on the future

I'll wait
For his appraisal

A Trail of Death

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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First rose

A heart of youthful year was yearning,
Crying out the pain; the burning
Tears would e’er remain until
An answer from the man would see them die.

A sympathetic mirror blessed her –
Softened up the curves, caressed her
Skin to help regain a calm –
Assuage a heaving breast and blushing eye.

And through a struggling mind, a chiming:
Someone at the door; the timing
Perfect and exquisite in the
Reconciliation of her woes.

She took the oak to make the parting,
‘Here! ’ a presentation startling.
Drawing deep through radiant lips, she
Kissed her very dream: a crimson rose.

rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Autumn Dreams

Can you smell the morning mist
Roasted leaves cannot resist
The chilled wind of change.
As colours rearrange
That thrill
In orchard dawn the senses fill.
The wine of Autumn dreams to spill.
With scented smoke
Memories evoke
A childrens choir
Around bonfire.
Will you wake to winters' cold
To frozen lake
With skaters bold.
That silent death of ageing year
The bated breath of Christmas cheer.
But is all that glitters what it seems?
I'll find my gold in Autumn dreams.
Where nature set by silver streams
Great art to fade away.
No gallery could ever display
The beauty that the heavens spray.
I know you reminisce
Of Summer love
Or Springs' first kiss.
The frosted snowman moonlit bliss.
Or lonely beach hung with moon
To capture rapture of your hearts tune.
I love the ocean catching beams.
Yet I seek forever Autumn dreams.

poem by Kevin East
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One-On-One Skirmish in War

Lend me a crushed ear,
A juicy smear of dermis, and
I shall blast ye of your world
Upon a barrel furnace
Flaring orange of an instant!

Now first, please rip apart my being:
Sunder me, O! plunder please the
Writhing flesh upon my bones and
Leave it naught of
Living life - kill to
Bleeding cinders, embers of an ex.

Recuperation? Never! no!
Otherwise to suffer minds -
Bowels and all to wither
Aren't on offer -

Only desperate tears to flee! Now
Let me in and I'll remove
Your rhythmic timer - the
Pumping tinderbox to feed
A vox humana pleading for its life;
The reaper's chimer

Sees you burn,
Hears you spurn your soul -
Your screaming head - top flesh;
Dead mesh - mesh of death! No
Breath from breast! No
Beat or heat from rising ribs -
How neat, the meat in
Death together!

war war war war war war war war
war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war
war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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En.Citatepedia®.ro

A Take on Red

Related quotes

Battered Doll

Pirouetting Autumn

Disingenuousness

Making Love With Memories

Premeditation

Mist Upon the Placid Morn

Why is there Oil?

She and Drugs

Why is there Oil?

Mighty Sun

Punishment

Were There Hope

In Death, My Final Part

Death and I

Summer Melanoma

Snobbery

Mark R. Slaughter

First rose

Autumn Dreams

One-On-One Skirmish in War

En.Citatepedia^®.ro