In Those Giddy Heights Of Lust

Palpable are the butterflies
Compelling us to embrace a kiss…
In those giddy heights of lust.
They obliterate each amiss…

Like cupids sachet, arrows
We are windswept…
Hasten to traverse &
Fall—head over heels …
& not be, sidestepped.
Like—dishearten heroes.

We brush against peeling ivory &
Imagine her in her vintage clothes
In all her undressed naked form
Like a mellifluous music!
In all but her moonlit ambiance
We imagine a compendium of ideas
In a heavenly chapter bookmarked.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Love and Rapture!

What can a prisoner say about his bars?
When, he can't extrapolate an escape.
Ah, I love you— but farewell—hurrah!
O let other I's within, permit my leave'.

Though in heart, I'll stay an outside visitor.
Question: What is a key without a lock?
A jail without; walls in small-diameter?
Who turns the key to an open-shut door?

A door hinged without walls ceiling or floor.
Life then asks what dream-makers are for
'Death answers love and rapture! '
And all that is and is not for Nevermore…

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Another valentines

Another valentines
Another day of roses and wine
And you will always be mine.

O valentine there's more to this
Than just another passionate kiss
There's a lifetimes worth of promise.

There's that cherished smile
That loving embrace we merit awhile
Spooned together so lovingly tactile.

There's that language between us two
That no other will ever undo
Two hearts remaining forever true
Darling that's how I feel about you.

Love is a moment's word in passing...
To be in love with you is everlasting.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Let this pilgrim's sin, inaugurate

Unnerve! Mine-eye
That I might, see!
That hand that stirs...
Upon an unequivocal sky and sea;
Lead me through that lowly pastoral gate.
Let this nomad's world abate.
His pagan heart that still incurs
A nonetheless same fate;
He who's nightfall is far from dark
He that a brims the stars black golden art
In his ordnance of grace
Show thy non illusory, immaculate,
Stonemasonairy, despotic, face!
Unleash thy duel forked lightning.
Scythe mine nomads world, abate:
Let this pilgrim's sin, inaugurate.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Her legs are like earrings…

Her legs are like earrings, I've never worn.
There something to be dangled,
Before the electrical storm,
Like a fig-vine she snakes through my mind.
Clad in jingling charms these veils fall…
Shedding her skin of fear
Shedding her gilt, she burns to the core.
All scales removed; she wriggles,
Curled like a frond, moist in every pore.
The jugnle has abducted her senses…
A great winding river enters her falls…
Her kisses like big sticky date's tremble.
As she slivers aside, dawns dewy-wet morn.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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The bell of Knutsford’s many throng

A young queen dances around the Knutsford maypole!
As though she lingered within some fathomless dream
Lifting joyful ribbon arms like a linnet on the breeze;
She’d fare thought this world should float!
Beneath her bantam feathered rose petal feet.

But soon she’ll forgo and loosen off her fairy wings.
And steal naked through the world that forged,
Forged her simple warm gracious, dreams:
But till then... her heart will beat the linnet’s song,
And dance the bell of Knutsford’s many throng.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Eve zestful:

Rose petals can look brassier
Beneath a resplendent sky
But it's still endearing they die
Falling in there rhapsody.

Animal or mineral…?
They're accomplishments, fulfill us…
With living desires - ever-zestful:
'You request my heart I a blush'.

The whole world is so generous…
What more can we convey,
Nothing is ever really lost!
Inside a flower bud the souls pupae.

Believe me here don't inveigh
I request you pluck a flower
And say heaven isn't a perennial
Blowing; underfoot in circling, whorls.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Lamenting ladies

A lady laments a voyage of pleasure
And cornucopia, English, weather.

A lady laments a man's time for leisure
But never the daffodil fields of treasure.

A lady laments her chicken-wire home;
Believing the cockerels out on the roam.

A lady laments good-sparkling youth
But only half-hearted in truth.

A lady laments the political tool
But never the boy's public-school.

A lady laments the critic's eye;
Scorning only to whisper and spy.

But-above-all: what a genteel lady laments
Is that once lost innocence.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Then A Believer You'll Make Of Even Me

With love we write on water
And cherish the wind
With love we are the phantom
Without a voice longing to sing
Without love the mountains soar
And the sea in a cavern screams
How can you make music without me?
I am your lungs - fill me!
I am your homeward journey
How can you exist without me?
Show me your flesh on fire
I am but a schism you must leap
I am but a small chasm
On the cheap-side of your heart
Show me your magnum flows
And runs much deeper than any sea
'Then a believer you'll make of even me'.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Joy jumps heart to heart

Joy jumps heart to heart
From heart to heart
like a grasshopper.
But all I need do is but hover
over zenith green-tips of dew.

All I need do' is but dance
above His skies grey purlieu
to feel His rainbows lance
and not feel blue.

All I need do' is but touch wings
with His mirror-ball awnings
His unworldly, light!
'Then learn heaven is truly Bright.

All I need learn is to be still…
Like a grasshopper
He can but net at will…
Clasp in His palms prayer…

[...] Read more

poem by Mark Heathcote
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