Hang me a door with gables bright!

Hang me a door with gables bright!
So joy can find its way by night…
Through bootless tracks where great fords lie,
In the distance of an externals eye.

Here a swathe of farm lights—burn
Without oil, gas or peat-bog turf
Here a lantern hangs omnipotent and gold.
Bringing a shepherds flock back unto His fold
Where one man’s labouring, equals one lord’s serf
Where a prophet preached; till his own nocturne!

poem by Mark Heathcote
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The sorrows of the moon

I would have wedded.
The sorrows of the moon
If she'd of taken my hand:
Blissfully I'd—been her groom.

But; engulf me, now—ocean
Surf above the poundings in my heart.
Roll-out; your cold, locomotion…
I am but flotsam, now, my sweetheart.
In as much as

I am beyond your languid touch
In as much as
With all the sorrows of the moon
In as much as deaths
Piling… sedentary gaze of doom.
It thinly veils even you!

poem by Mark Heathcote
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When a child is born

When a child is born
It is but a blooded thorn
A blooded rose
Pricked of flesh
And pressed to breast in clothes
Some say it is odorless
And Spartan of any remiss
But however much promise
Extrapolates each individual soul
There is always an evil here at home
A cancer which inflicts a heavy weight
That lingers unsettlingly to pollinate
The innocent whilst they'd incubate
And then just like the rose
The black spot grows…

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Once shone and stood for us all

I like this poet?
But for his talk of eternity,
His dull wit:
A dauntless; unending, misery!

I like this poetess?
But for her executor gallows,
Barrel loaded, vinaigrettes
Skyrocket; highs and lows!

I like them all for their
Onomatopoeic, gifts
Tussock wide mouthed lisps
Their aromatic resin drifts...

I like them all...
Weather big or small...
Their suns insignia,
Once shone and stood for us all.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Pray it lasts forever

Oh, what joy is love?
Pray it lasts forever...
Dreams, hand in glove
One without number...

Oh, miracles gather
Like a true best friend:
Believe as a gambler
In faith; hope godsend.

Oh, care for that love...
That one precious flower!
Break this fall of dove...
When crisp autumn's briar!

Oh' leaves laurel her heart
Nestle her serenely golden
In a little meadow, impart
Take tree root sunken
The moonlights chill, depart.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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One Man Of Absolute Care

one man of absolute care

An arid world engulfs me

in its decay and despair

but one man uplifts me

absolves my sin I swear

one man enthroned to be

son and heir

whispered unto me

the Lord's Prayer

one man of virtue and purity

[...] Read more

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Girl with a Pearl Earring

Lift your head - look not in shadows
Gaze not into murky dark pools
Raise high - let nothing foreshadow
Let your heart be my muse.

Let me dry ephemeral tears away
Let me paint a portrait genius
Dull the moonlit night into disarray
Turn the sun - into trickster's waxes.

Let me isolate the stars in a gaze
Catch jeweled a virgin panorama…
This world displays, let all else, malaise
On an earring, dangling - white fuchsia...

poem by Mark Heathcote
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It's All Love Coos… A Turtle Dove!

He who vents anger towards god
And says he doesn't exist…?
Couldn't be more of a believer
Than he who goes church on Sunday
To validate a new growing faith
By praying like a shipmate a wreck
In a turning turbulent ocean
Looking for shelter, mouthing…
In the water whist he's drowning
In the throes of his savior:
There's no difference betwixt
These two' it's all love.
It's all love, it's all love,
Coos… a turtle dove!

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Out Of Life's Billowing Dust:

Out of life's billowing dust:
Wings life's transient -flower.
The butterfly, diligently,
For a day—without hour!

…Songs soar; batons leap…
The world and the wind:
At one; with its orchestra'
Dances on; air and water.

Loves wing, readied.
Into each living, palm
Times white-arrow
Has flown; its course.

Into the gaping heart!
Into the heart of a white shark
Into the heart of a dark hawk
Into a charging, black- horse.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Damask rose

Damask rose how fair your beauty holds the light
How fair your fragrance subdues the fears of night
and how fair your lowly crimson-head
Is with gallantry and passion fed.

In Midnight-oils in sunlit soils
Not a fairer beauty be;
Oh damask rose in flaming clothes
What more beauty could there be...

But in man's hand a maiden fair
with hazelnut brown hair
And roving-limbs that exult like hymns
The answer to a prayer...

poem by Mark Heathcote
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