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,
...