Mark Swaine
Mark Swaine Poems
The beat bangs heavy on the gravestones.
It’s time to live, so they hear the deep heartbeats,
of the Mardi gras so its time to get up.
Flat laid concrete coffins, slowly open beneath a safe moon ray.
...
Harmonica got soul,
She’s the slim shiny black lady
Dancing in the dark near the dusty brick wall,
Swaying in her own space,
...
In a time of calm a tale of old orient begins,
Set in a world of misty planes where death was bestowed
Upon honour and shame.
Evil is a well hidden secret and dark disfigurement comes
...
The Fire Swifts arrive in the Village with
crackling wings flapping urgent news.
Flying a circle round the Watchman
telling a story of dread with flaming streaks
...
Gliding slowly forward the demons cloak
Blows violently in the wind.
Grey covers the last hopeful rays of light,
As the day is dimmed.
...
I few seconds pass when I wake up in the same clothes.
I feel dead and I don’t know why,
But a little bit of dread.
This the way it goes as the pain,
...
She has nothing to say,
The world has just ended.
There’s only one place that’s still standing,
Inside is the only room left,
...
The Best Poem Of Mark Swaine
The Day Of The Dead
The beat bangs heavy on the gravestones.
It’s time to live, so they hear the deep heartbeats,
of the Mardi gras so its time to get up.
Flat laid concrete coffins, slowly open beneath a safe moon ray.
Skeleton fingers don’t take long to find a rhythm, tapping away.
Tapping away to the call of soul city.
Pretty loud souls are waking the dead so the earth churns,
The world won’t turn, so bodies break free from the ground,
They shake off the orchids and it’s time to smile for the lost and found.
Back to life they brush the dirt from their shoulders and straighten cool ties,
Grateful for knowing some things never change,
as they stare in awe and wonder at the star filled skies.
With integrity they walk, they greet each other,
Like it was only yesterday, the air is crisp with spirit
And warm in souls on this magical day.
They breathe in the new age and breathe out with relief.
This night they live again, tonight they love again,
Many eras of cloth slow dance again.
No thoughts remain of judgement, blame,
Or any past faults, only the mist exists,
To circle round the classy dressed dead as they waltz.
They stare into each others skulls and gently hold each others bony hands,
as the sound of their own celebration shakes their own forgotten land.
Dusty black shoes still move with grace
and the look of love and joy is relief and relaxed on every corpses face.
They enjoy their one night a year, because they’ve never felt so alive.
They love the planet and spirit world, they hold them both near.
Its time to sleep now, they go back grateful,
With no sadness and no goodbyes,
They hold their loves returning in peace,
On the day of the dead nobody dies.
The last couple stand beneath a stony archway,
Next to high old gates creeping with vines,
They sharing a lasting kiss then head back on full stomachs before knocking back Tequila offered with the roses laid by the crypts.
Nacho’s, Taco’s, dips’ n chips, they grab a little something leaving nothing but scraps on plates, and the spirit world is kind while smiling as it patiently waits
N: Below is a link that will take you directly to half of my Novel partially based on this short Poem http: //dayofthedeadlegendoftheredsunvillage.blogspot.com/
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4/26/2024 9:23:31 PM # 1.0.0.1119
