Lonely Footsteps Turn

But there's nowhere to hide
Hope is hiding its light under a bushel
But a heart needs to be - life-size
When love finds you and your heart
Still desperately alive!

So you curl up like a little boy blue
All prickles and indignation
Filled with missed assignations
Because you've loved and lost
And bitterness haunts you!
As the pain inside still trembles

With what's hurting deep inside
You cry in the secret corners of your mind
But there's a girl who leaves you
With nowhere now to hide
Lonely footsteps turn
But this time there's this warmth

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poem by Mark Heathcote
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Once they spall-sparkled like foxglove!

The downbeat, downtrodden, joys of love.
Once they spall-sparkled like foxglove!

But now deflate like a beach ball…
Pig’s bladder, words choke, a hairball.

And cough out each forgotten phrase!
Utterances of the bee, still purveys.

But—isn’t partial to a petal…
Doesn’t wish, to defile; not a bud.

And the rose, herself is quite, bruised.
Froze, wounded, and suffused:

Her pink-briar-arms, no-longer-cling…
The white-picket-fence where-once did sing.

Inside the fountains cave all they grasp
Steadfast nettle stinging, an asp…?

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poem by Mark Heathcote
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Windup my sail

Windup my sail
Like falling, leaves.
Windup these pirate tales
What no one else believes?

Oh, quarter master—
Mistress of the high seas
Beat your drum
Let these oars men
Stroke each falling wave
Once and again…
Where nothings are nearly
Quite begun or ended…
Or recovered

With each rolling, days
Sirens sacrifice
Tossed up into
The foaming waves of what’s
Dew dropped into thee

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poem by Mark Heathcote
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There's no end too my life

There's no end too my life
As a mother and wife!

Mum! ! ! Where's my shoe
Son! you're making me blue
Mum! ! ! Can I have a lolly?
Son! Stop mucking about in the trolley.
Mum! ! ! Can we go park…
Son! It's going, dark…
Mum - No it isn't - Mum!
Yes, it is son!
No it isn't - Mum! ! !

There's no end too my life
As a mother and wife!

O Love! Where are my socks…?
Darling… I don't know. Love, set the clocks
Love! Pass me the remote…
Yes, darling… Love! Can you make some tea?

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poem by Mark Heathcote
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A hall of mirrors...

She said—she'd love me forever.
And that she always would.
That our two hearts—thoughts
"Could bond; the stars for good".

It wasn't harmony: From
The outset—that is true!
For her my sweetheart, I'
"Watch's as infants, do".

Out of the sash-window
Or that—skylight in the soul,
In reflections, light...
"Entwined—we're made whole".

Halves of the locket...
Combined, clasped.
Is what we now—became!
"In each other's grasp".

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poem by Mark Heathcote
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For as molten metal bound are we not in the magma

Love if only I could love the stone core of your heart
Love you like the vine that splits and climbs a rock face
Love you like a sun orbiting the moon—what art
Tendril dripping over the craters could we I erase.

What flowers sand-speckled-neck then could I open
To the lusting wants and needs of these midnight stars
That reverberates into an ocean...
Rejected, each from the other like polestars...

But even stone can possess life eternal
Touch me and do I not quiver like a willow...
Caught in the cross winds of the meadow, you, might say piffle!
But it's only truly your hearts last wrenching salvo..?

Kiss me my dear and seal it within a canyon of larva
For as molten metal bound are we not in the magma..?

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Checkmate!

I’ve pride in the work
I’ve done and will do…
But who are you?
Too take that away, from me.

Your knights might…
Encroach upon the field of play.
But my king rules over me
And darling you!
You’ll see… You’ll see…
You’ll see…

With a shield of ice
Win or lose…
It’s all the same to me.
A game of dice!

“Loaded for the best chance
A checkerboard
Wherever I move he too does advance

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poem by Mark Heathcote
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What you ask?

A punctuation mark… Molten in wax
A shimmering flirtation within the night!
A 'dog's cock 'a flower like Devils Flax
With its yellow and orange tongue—alight!

In the Qin dynasty— the first made of whale fat.
(221-206 BC) . What you ask? O the simple earliest candle.
'And, peddled to princes not any wharf rat'
Used to compose; by George Frederick Handel.

It was an interjection a big 'bang'
Can you imagine their exclamation? !
When White ivory keys scented of ylang-ylang
Went; splat, splat, splat in golden summation.

A dazzling feat was their interjections
Now we have light let's answer many more questions.

............................... ...............
A 'dog's cock' and 'bang' are also names for a punctuation mark!

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Misplaced Ego!

I am a writer; if I sell a word or not
And if you people are my readers
Then I must be, hot to trot…?
I'll make - paper out of these cedars.

And, lay waste to a rainforest.
My carbon footprint will be?
Ginormous, just, you wait & see.
I'll be so damn monumental…

They'll commission a dozen or so,
Bronze life-size, sculptures of me!
I'll be as famous as Muhammad Ali.
…Do the quotes, shuffle like he done on T.V

You know fellow readers, I'm going…
Global faster than internet cable!
I'll be more read; than Shakespeare!
I'll marry a senorita, bedded in a stable.

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poem by Mark Heathcote
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Lord my love don’t you know…?

We’re going to be soaked in seed
Divorced of low crawling weed
We’re going to be clematis climbers
Entwining all we lambast—fast
We’re going to be flower chamfers
Burning on the breeze, too the last.
We’re going to be burning dreams
Falling into fairy ring themes
We’re going to be petals in pools
Dancing around daisy star lit moons
We’re going to be crisp winter days
Before; another sleeps purple haze.
We’re going to be goblets in a stream
Where all the salmon daydream
We’re going to be a millipede rainbow
Under the bridal veil of happy tears
We’re going to be red carpet premiers
Leaving; crystal footprints where we go.
Lord my love don’t you know…?
Lord my love don’t you know…?

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poem by Mark Heathcote
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