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Best Poems Written by Mari Sloan

Below are the all-time best Mari Sloan poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Masquerade Ball

Masquerade Ball

Dress up ghouls
Death's Masquerade Ball.
Each ghastly dance
Creates the queue.
A death head prize
For willing waltz.
A looming grave
The victory taunts
A dying knave,
A pyrrhic flaunt.


by Mari Sloan
copyright May 2010

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Saving the World

Saving the World

I wanted to write a poem
That would change the world.
Incite deep thought.
Spur others to action!
Save the world!

I could see my words
Crossing swords with evil perps!
Scathing missiles unleashed from the
Molten fires of my sharp mind.
Exploding fallacies, lies, brutal falsehoods.

The reservoir of my wisdom would remain
To guide the youth of Always,
Instruct citizens of Now
And correct mistakes of Yesteryear.
Forge a better place.

Until I realized that today
The fires are out.
The sword is sheathed.
The silo is blocked by a dump truck
Of ordinary.

My coffee is good.
My husband is laughing by my side
And the cat is purring niceties
As he rubs against my legs.
Maybe tomorrow.

by Mari Sloan
copyright November 2009

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The Warrior, the Artist, the Healer and the Cop

The Warrior, the Artist, the Healer and the Cop

The blood of my ancestors
Flows strongly through four
One is my child
But there are three more.

One is the warrior
Who leans far right.
One is the artist
With visionary sight.
One is the healer
Disease to stop.
And one is my daughter,
The cop.

Each one of these is better
Than we who raised them, deserve.
They’ve survived the fires
Fanned by our lost nerve.
They’ve taken our mistakes
Transcended them all.
And then, more, or less,
Forgave us.

Somewhere in the line
Of those from before
Were brilliant, strong humans
Who opened the door
To these fine children
Who grew up un-sutured
To make the adults
Who will save our sad future.

Mediocrity may rage
And an ocean of angst
But these fine young adults
Will rise from the ranks
Hold high their individual
Strength and resolve
And each, in their own way
Their life problems solve.

We did everything wrong
But somehow they are right.
With compassion and love
Justice and second sight.
I fear my tomorrow
But when things get rough
I thank those before me
Who gave them the right stuff.

Mari Sloan
Copyright November 2010

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Bamboo Lady

I awoke to the pressure
Pushing me inward this morning.
Sticky. Moist air immersing me
In sodden memories.
Blast from the past.
Humid awakenings from a life
No longer mine.
Rusty time.

Displaced. Confused. Spinning.
The shoe and not the foot.
Not striding forward in confidence
But trod upon.
Sole flapping in weary protest.
Every motion orchestrated for
Survival.
No revival.

I think I shall become "Bamboo Lady."
Roses lost with my past.
No hothouse plant but green,
Swaying with the changes.
Common woman thriving on
Nutrients and water.
Alive
And learning.

by Mari Sloan
copyright 2011

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Peter

Peter

"Peter picked a peck of pickled peppers"
Peter popped a pepper on his tongue.
Peter found the answer to the seasons
And will never have to strive for warm.

Peter's teeth flew out to feed the fairy.
Peter's mouth drew in to stop the shout
Fiery havoc screeching down his larynx
Exhale blowing off his regal snout.

Peter's eyes grew big to show his horror
Fear of gastric groanings to ensue.
Pickled peppers begat horrid moanings,
Red face and those lovely cheeks of blue!

:-)  by Mari Sloan
copyright September 2010

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Where Would I Go

Where Would I Go?
Where Would I Go? 

Where would I go
If I left Japan?
She is my Mother.
I am a cherry blossom.
I am one of thousands strong.
I am her rocky soil.
My feet are planted when
The ground shakes.
When Mother is angry.
 
Where is my anchor
In foreign lands?
Who understands the voices
That inhabit me?
Who will find me lost among strangers?
Who will know?
 
I will stand solid through the tumult.
Honor the lost by continuing them.
Mix the blood from my hands with theirs.
Suffer the fury to keep what is mine.
My tears.
My pain.
 
My country.
 
Mari Sloan
copyright 3/11

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Requiem

Requiem
 
The wrath of God descended on our land.
The fires raged and water scoured clean
Leaving shrouds of once loved homes
Where happy people lived.
 
Death reigned in our proud land.
Even the ground vibrated beneath
Our trembling feet.
Graves opened up to entomb the living.
Mud covered frightened mothers
Who clutched children to their hearts.
Drawing tortured last gasps of life.
Entwined together.
Never to part.
 
Next spring as pristine snow
Rolls down Mt. Fujiyama in crystal drops
Of silver water.
As leopards drink deep draughts of life;
And cherry trees shimmer blossoms on laughing lovers;
And the household gods are given new belongings;
I will still hear the screams of the dying.
I will drink salty tears.
I will still mourn.
 
by Mari Sloan

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Jagged Edges

Jagged Edges

We expect too much of people.
After all, mere marionettes forged of clay,
Thrown into the arena unarmed,
Buffeted by the winds of discord,
One of a hundred thousand screaming
Needy beggars,
Craving love.

We have no owner's manual.
No user's guide.
No assembly instructions.
No self-help book,
No drug or pill,
Just friends
To see us through.

Jagged edges.
Ragged mass of warring neurons each one claiming
That it knows
What's wrong and right.
Confused we hurtle
Through the darkness
Hiding our fear.
Sharing our plight.

To be human is to be imperfect,
To make mistakes.
To learn and recover what we lost
While learning.
To go beyond the range of angels
In our love and pain. To forgive.

by Mari Sloan
copyright 2/2011

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Broken Angel

Broken Angel

Broken angel, beyond repair.
Your words empty echoes in a heart that you once ruled.
The mask removed, you stand revealed,
Your tawdry golden crown clutched,
Streaks of tarnish running into the dust
Beneath you.

Your court applauds you, but all I hear
Are your own words, which betrayed you.
Rambling indictment of your crumbling virtue,
Stripping you bare, revealed—sugar and vinegar
Mixed together.
Nobility? Never.

I mourn the you I thought I knew.
And sadness seeps into my very bones.
A disappointment never to be remedied.
Disillusioned by reality.
I wish I’d never known you better.
And felt this loss.


Mari Sloan
Copyright 2/2011

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Windmills

Windmills

I've lived my life with men
Who tilt at windmills.
Dreams, falling in the dust
Gloriously.

They suffer pain like medals
Pinned, across their chest.
Spurring them to greater feats
Of valiant ignorance.

I hover in the wings
And guard the pieces
Of their hearts
Like diamonds amid rust.

I love them knowing that
Even when they fail,
They never lose.
Are never lost.

I've lived my life with men
Who tilt at windmills.
And leave the larger picture
To their maiden in the dust.

By Mari Sloan

copyright
3/2010