Divergent rivers

Beneath the moons silver lit lamp
Divergent-rivers meandering camp.

In love alone do they worship…?
At the tidal wave in courtship.

Like a water-flower in its stem…
Roused joyously in lustful, men.

Opaque-flesh is unwittingly made divine.
If still pure in petal they’re made sublime.

A floral sky in heaven waits
in the dingle-wood them at the gates.

Where two young lovers; run-amok.
With passions wanton awestruck.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Like a little pot of gold

Kneeling; I pointed out to my child,
Who really as yet doesn't speak?
Look" I said: the sky is wild,
And grey. Look" at its cheek"
Look" deep! The sky has many-a-ray
Many more colors registering,
Here today?
...Retuning...
...With one arm, waving...
He said: eh, err, eh, err, daddy...
He said: eh, err, eh, err, color, daddy...
Like a little pot of gold,
At the end of a rainbow
Wasn't that all... he said?

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Where the moonlight and I repine

Love, is blushing a blink risqué.
From watching what nervously I’d say.
She’s just a hop skip and a jump
Sideslip, breaths blossom foray
From hearing what I would screenplay.
When my eyes close, I get a lump…

A tingle! Down in my pining-spine!
Something, inside me says you’ll be mine!
But after, I feel like a chump.
She walks haply naked in the sunshine
Where the moonlight and I repine
A halve silhouette, a little grump.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Jewels In Our Souls

Planetary, grey white stars
We keep them in our hearts.
Where we never returning go...
Unlike snowdrops returning snow...
These stars we already know...
Are—our friends of near and long ago?
Their tears are too outspoken,
Their faces like clouds unbroken.
These are the jewels in our souls
These are the stars everybody patrols'.
Yes, ah' these are the stars'
Everybody holds within their hearts
Within their planetary, grey white souls.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Sunday Papers

the coffeepot has gone cold.
I can see it clearly in her eyes,
There's no more steam or caffeine
Demerara sugar or cream…
There are no more shortcake biscuits,
Flittered away, afternoons, with
Silkily discarded; nicker-elastic trinkets.
But thankfully, for little mercies,
There are the Sunday papers, and
Lots of lukewarm tea on-tap.
But thankfully, for little mercies,
There are the Sunday papers, and
Lots of lukewarm tea on-tap.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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To seed the steps of heaven

Morning-glory must open!
To seed the steps of heaven
and on her nap of cloud…
Might yours be a halo a crown?
Opening the gates—of heaven:
And that basket of laundry.
It won’t need laundering
in heavens ephemeral care
Apollo the sun!
Will have had his run…
With the morning air…
But you must mine darling.
By break of nightfall-shining
Flit through a velvet-tare!
Leap from the shadows of existence!
With flowers in your hair!

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Come with the throes of your love

Come here my damsel fly with a coupling dance
Come to my bed of reeds I'll do the romance
Come on tiptoes, heart pressed to heart
Come my flightiest one, in the morning depart.

Come in waves that crush all cares…
Come down on wing, down heavens backstairs
Come like a spider to' web my soul's flight
Come - my demon, with kisses hot sulphite.

Come with the throes of your love to declare
Come shimmering tonight my love - mid-air!

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Let me feel the rapture of ecstasy

Let me feel the rapture of ecstasy
Yes, ecstasy, oh sweet, ecstasy
Singing in the night...
Singing in the light...
Mystical, adventure
Mystical, Mountain
Mystical, thunder
Mystical, nature
Oh, toss in the winter
Reign in the spring...
And pass out the summer
Autumn wears a golden ring
But, oh I’ve got a higher delight
When love is in its twilight...
Your world is only a cruel kind of starlight
Mine is simply an ecstasy out of sight.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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See the world is anon...

There are eyes within eyes
But blink; and these words are gone!
Open—your eyes
And then see the world is anon...

All is but one grain...
One ear of rice
"What more need—you or I'
That has lived, need more of life!

{The wisdom of the wind}...
Comes from seeking-out its source...
Back to the beginning...

Therefore: Harvest
What your love might carry?
Be but both empty and full,
For in death, shall we not all marry?

poem by Mark Heathcote
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With my eyes still jaundiced, blessed

The nights are so faded I fear each death
Each nocturnal shadow a day we have left

Each hemlock of passion dawn has to set
Leads us much closer that wayfarers step…

In webbing's tomorrow of a spider's eye
We'll glibly be tailored a silk suit to die

A carnal butterfly I doused for her love
Anemic of her flesh I alight upon her soul

Like a pearl cocooned heavenly dove
In a wine sack dressed, I broke home
With my eyes still jaundiced, blessed

poem by Mark Heathcote
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