Married Life

Mr—you can kiss me if or when I ask.
But do not sir not ever before
Mr—you may touch me a little if I grasp
But don't ask what I'm looking for?
It might just be a senator or a signor.

You might love me like you say, right-now?
But sure love I'll always love you more, etc.
You darling may never want us to argue or row…
But, I'm tired and that's why, I swore.
{Oh darling my feet are sore
and I've finished with you and that discount store! }

Love, you may wish we met a long time sooner
...eh' what? But love… I'll promise you this…
The day after we've wed a small sector
Of guests and I myself shall say, this…
Married life it was never bliss'.

poem by Mark Heathcote
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Thimble Of Life

Our lord passes us a thimble
He says eat drink and be merry.
He now passes us a needle
And says sow me a patchwork-
Quilt, as big as the world…
Let all nations gather under one
Blanket appease; themselves.
With just a basket of gentian flowers
Lying at the foot of that mountain,
Above the clouds - and here
Transcend your thoughts,
Into a teardropp and let those
Salty pure teardrops pool
Into an ocean—in which
A desert brings forth life.
And like a snow flake!
Melting on your brow,
I'll take on the sorrows of the world
And hand you back to your old-life
Less all its transgressions…

[...] Read more

poem by Mark Heathcote
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Lay waste to my own dark wastelands

I have no rest on sea or mainland…
Although I've ask for, His helping hand
As yet I've no rest in His right-hand
Not a plaintive second less fanned.

But with faith, and an out stretched hand
Foundations have I raised upland
So I'll affirm; I'll pray they'll withstand.
Those deepest pitfalls into quicksand:

Here the house ill reputed soul bandstands.
On this a freehold - with a freehand!
But mortals like I need His commands!
As the years day's hour's minutes disband…

As the framer takes to his farmlands
I'll lift my cobalt pen wet from the inkstand
And take to these white fields these grasslands
And lay waste to my own dark wastelands.

poem by Mark Heathcote
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Who but could—the saints, resist her...

Here; alone lying on this cotton pillow.
I can still recall the lure of her lily scent:
Bouquets do me gaze and camphor and shadow...
Never a dull moment does the heart repent:

Her fragrance, what; a promiscuous, allure.
Such elicit essences spring ajar the dart...
What an art this palpable kiss velour.
How it courses through my head and lonely heart...

Then swept-on bye with brocades of flower
Spent-fallen, from Piety, a honey-suckle,
Vine; twisting around, the Lover's Lane Larkspur.
Who in the world could be gleeful, yet; still bashful?

Who but could—the saints preserve us, resist her.
Maybe; only the "Morning Star her goddess sister".

poem by Mark Heathcote
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Darkness to be made light!

Without darkness where would the light be?
Without hell there's no heaven!
Yes, there is a darkness to be made light again
Anyone who has not suffered with low self-esteem
or depression all know it's an endless fight back
to good health; black clouds flock like vultures
for the bread of our souls
and the flesh of our hearts
to peck out the seed of our visionary eyes.
But we wheeled an axe of our own reasoning
an axe of our own fortitude
it's our own minds insight that threads the pieces
back together like a steel cable car bridge
reaching across the dark expanse of despair
this is when we begin to know ourselves again
our hopes fulfillment, and who we really are!

poem by Mark Heathcote
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Autumn breeze, wanders purposeful

The autumn breeze, wanders purposeful.
Crispy waves both warmish and cold:
Crisscross the lawn, sometimes wrathful,
Other times gently consoled.

Like the lamb not quite ready to walk
Skittish, at times ever so daring...,
Leaping and rolling, like a windsock:
Out of control; or just, bleating.

Its then we see, the hurrying ladybirds
On the windowpane; trying, to get in.
It's then no-more we hear them lovebirds
Sing, evergreen in yew boughs akin.

As surely as winter steals the honey bee
Of her final sting, as surely as the mushroom
Packs-up his infamous, mildewed, fairy-
Ring, I'll endeavour to open the tomb,
Wherein; the rose-pink Nerines perfume.

poem by Mark Heathcote
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Smiles the choice of rose hips hue

Who brings me the tears of rainbows blue?
And smiles the choice of rose hips hue
that brings to me the moons gentle dew?
With kisses soft; as slender new.

Who brings me the laughter of bluebells white?
And dances those greens; like a garden sprite.
That brings to me the azure mornings light?
Like a thistledown angel; lost in flight.

Who brings me a meadows flowing flaxen hair!
And whispering words spellbinding without a care
that brings too me a same sense of wonders rare?
Like woodland lilies under a leaf mould layer.

Who brings me the moons gentle dew..?
With kisses soft; as slender new..?
With smiles the choice of rose hips-hue.
Why; yes, my child it’s you!

poem by Mark Heathcote
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Big Ships Sail Out To Sea

Big ships sail out to sea
But they can't hold my heart
Or harbor my soul
Since you traveled away…

The sky is as black as ink
But it can't hurt or feel
As much as I feel for you
Now you've sailed away…

Oh I'm bleeding in waves
And nothing can stem
Or staunch this pain
I'm feeling over and over again…

Babe I'm taking this breath
But I don't want to breathe
I just want to drown
In your arms again…

[...] Read more

poem by Mark Heathcote
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

For: Edith Södergran

Inscribed … In red granite
As clearer thought, as…
Anything—Scandinavian,
Or any other rests upon a grey lawn.

Anon, it circles a silent grave!
Where once stood a blue forest
A single pine tree; still remains…
And, etched within, it's timeless rings.

Her poems 'Love & solitude' refrains…
Narrow is my circle and the ring of my thoughts
Go round my finger.
This is the scorned, nightingales, bark to sing…

But, laughing-back from her bluest heights
A pine lark road in heaven is ringed.
Inscribed … In red granite
'Here - four of her last four lines'.

[...] Read more

poem by Mark Heathcote
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Empty minds filled with pride

Empty minds filled with pride
Naked to a suit
Blown without a cause
See their body's falling
In a blood scared land of fear
Hear them call, hear them calling
Who's the master of my fate?

And why do I wait…
And why do I want…
And why do I wait...
And why do I want to die…

Oh bring me a white flag
To wash the blood from my face
And bring me a virgin
Of saving grace

And let love be the price
I said let love be the price

[...] Read more

poem by Mark Heathcote
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!