Divisions Of Vanity

The sun and moon were lovers once
Until dancing on the sea
They saw in one another...
A singularity, a vanity!

That encumbered them so truly
That neither one would meet!
And dance in the mirror
Of the others scared seat.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Raft of soul's

In the biblical waters of the human mind
Where we raft upon our souls
To some other strange immortal isle!
Where death lays not in tombs
But is arisen in the palm of the redeemer!
Our lord and master, host and saviour...

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Carte blanche…

Find me a rose bed
Where lovers have wed
Where angels have fed

Drunk on the nectar
Of love and passion
Drunk on the spectre
Of petticoats ashen

A butterfly collector
I would projector
Amongst these hearts
Carte blanche…

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Evening primrose…

Happy the hour, between
Night and death
The pause, taken:
Too a single living, breath...

Here I'll open my breast
Upon a moths, calling…
Like an evening primrose.
Where sacramental wings
Consecrate!
The first-dewy-lit, morning…

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Adolescent hormones…

I have a devil in my pants
With a three pronged lance
Look here? Look there?
Look everywhere?
The whores of Babylon
And the wenches of France
Are serving up a dance
In my pants, in my pants
In my pants,
Yet; my heart wants romance.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Like Ambrosia To My Tongue

Like ambrosia to my tongue
Like nectar to a bee
Like incense to a flower sprung
Is your love too me?

Have I the weight of wings
To find the healings
Of greater living things
The green tinctures bright
That all inspiring light!

poem by Mark Heathcote
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The one my soul abides

You brought meaning
Where there was none.

You lit-up this world,
Where no-other shone!

Because quite simply,
Put; you are the one.

The one my heart beats
For; ten to the dozen!

The one my soul abides
Too join—in heaven.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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All To Show Some Self-Control

Boots on teardrops purveyed
Like a forte of guards on parade
Yet… still you, pomade your hair
Shout-out 'Love' with fanfare!
And, cavalcade your heart
Only to garrison your soul
Behind a crumbling, rampart
All to show some self-control:

poem by Mark Heathcote
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But as poetry and life is,

My soul is a conch shell…
Too ladle a drying well.

My heart is an inferno, mountain!
But there's fewer and fewer ways in.
In into, hell…

Put side by side they look the same!
But as poetry and life is, god it's all just a shallow game.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Where Does The Motion-Run

Where does the Motion-run
That Ticks From a Child,
Is there a Sea-Half
As Wide and Wild
As a Child's Celestial-Face
Is there a Universe
With a more Deserving-Grace
with Neither Essence Coerce
Where does the Motion-run
After the Judgement-Sun!

poem by Mark Heathcote
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