Even the cuckoo has to find its layer...

All fledgling poetry starts in the stoic hearts nest
Even the cuckoo has to find its layer...
Somewhere near to ostracize the rest:
In order to “Carpe diem” and be the Purveyor...
Over all he has cruelly dispossessed:
But often; like the magpie, he’s an empty naysayer.
That honestly nobody wants to ingest...

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Love kept her for a teacup

Love kept her for a teacup close to his lips
With both hands trembling on her hips
Her eyes they too were so love-in
That he pulled away at her silk napkin
She held him like he were a teaspoon
But he felt just like a great big baboon
His kisses were like rose water honey
Their bodies crumpled like a Dali oil limply…

poem by Mark Heathcote
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If love was a pocket-watch

If love was a pocket-watch
I'd never wind the dial
Because time is a fickle friend
That only last awhile

If love was a biplane
I'd stand upon the wings
And plead with heavens gravity
Grant levity to us lemmings...

If love was a submergible-sub
I'd never go to sea
Without a rubber-dinghy
For you or for me!

poem by Mark Heathcote
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The winds April cloak

The wind shall wear his April cloak
So all the flowers will laugh and poke
To see his dancing sprig of spring,
Admiral-on a butterflies wing.

Beneath his feet trees bow newly green,
Little clouds whiten on the glowing sheen,
for all the world is healthier in an April wind
Or so the chirping nestling sparrow's sing.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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I knocked on an earth-red door

I knocked on an earth-red door
And death let me in;
He spoke warm and soft
About the log fire within.

And though I warmed to his charm
His company was dim;
So I shut the door and left,
Drinking Vodka and Gin.

Singing limerick odes for death
About duties of sin;
Walking erstwhile forever?
'Til his feet made no din.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Crab Apple

We've all sunken teeth into a sour ball.
Aghast at its bitter depths of beauty,
Hidden too appal like human nature.
Loves no different than this tutti-frutti

These golden orbs halve rouge with pith
They're shrunken skulls a coffins core.
With a taste alike, a dead suns, zenith!
O tang of death it's rancorous, tariff…

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Be Then He A Man Who Is Manly

I say..? !
If every man became more and more feminine!
Then where would be a man's androgen's masculinity.
Surly her desires would be less passionate and sultry.
And they're hearts adrenaline might even chasten.
As fatefully as life is once it's in flat-line!
I say..? !
Be then he a man who is manly, she a woman comely.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Silk road

I fly like a bird in stillness
over pools of lemon and blue
and cut through leaves of fire
to find safety with you

your heart an oasis
the milk of human kind
your body the foothills of life
I hollow out a chamber

I drink of honey and love,
There's nothing left to remember-
now, but your beauty
my Venus of love.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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A Poem Holds Your Hand

A poem holds your hand
It whispers come gather
These windblown, fruits
Eat of this sun's lather.

The bee's stamens sting,
Is like a gloved fist.
And, like the poets pen!
Must die a little to coexist.

Vertigo, dizzies itself on a cleft
Like a blackbird in full song!
The chorus is short-lived:
But it's echoes are lifelong.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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The pipes of Christmas past

The thistle-down rises
On the north winds blast
Old Scotland calls the pipes
The pipes of Christmas past

Snow on the snow fleeced-land
Where the grouse run rich
With the golden-hare
Beyond the fox's caverns lair

Beyond the Mull of Kintyre
Beyond the Irish sea
The pagan wood and the pagan tree
Is the heart world of Christianity?

poem by Mark Heathcote
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