A pond fly

A pond fly gazes up
And sees the day erupt
I don't want to be eaten
My wings plucked

Can't I dry them on the wing?
And hear the clarion of wind
Before bearing
On my song to sing!

poem by Mark Heathcote
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The soul of eternal love

Chase me like a mirror
Into the silvery pond
Chase me like a bird
Into the buds of spring
Chase me like a flame
Along a candle wick
And there we'll share
The light of love
The birth of love

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Two sharp eyed sparrows

Two sharp eyed sparrows
Playing in the muck
Looking into stars
See what they'd give up!

A crumb of bread
Thrown on the dust dizzying bed
This is what they'd give up
To feel their wings full spread.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Criticism

Criticism it is a difficult thing to take.
When people do, do, it…?
With such honest bitter irony
I often think to myself, it's.
It's because they've none
Of the artistry, yet have all the tools.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Woman's love

When the evening light fades
through its lineage of blue
I hear an angel singing
and I swear it must be you

dancing in my amber
like a pearl dropp of dew
heavens in my attire
and so my darling are you

poem by Mark Heathcote
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In-between life and death

In-between life and death
Let's not resign another breath
Plentiful with a full-pail gainful

Reach up into ends rainbow
Catch that butterfly's coattail..?
Never just be left in "shadow".

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Love is a road...

Love is a road... You must follow unto the end:
For what isn't in sight? Hold a candle to the night
Ring-fence your heart - that it might, re-offend
Then be guided, by that friend, love, which is light.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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The cat's cradle

Hold it as a child—could
Only the melting snow,
Love is a living hope
Hope a living hell.

Love is a dew lit web
Strung across our hearts
In love alone do we worship?
In death are we then loved?

poem by Mark Heathcote
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A Poet's Epitaph

No joy is here to stroke away the hours
That love has bent with her mortal powers
So veil not the scaring in your solace-eyes
For they mark well the habitual pages,
Where your sweet incarnate spirit resides:

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Silence

Silence - please do tell…
How will I learn again to sing?
When my heart is as inaudible…
As a waiting - city doorbell
For that special someone to ring…
For that guest I know won't come
Only too well won't ring.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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