Biography of Mark Heathcote
I like all kinds of poems but I tend to gravitate toward eastern spiritual poetry.
My muse almost demands it of me. So you may find quite a few being poured out from time to time.
I all so write many songs, when the poem spring runs dry, as a form of creative writing.
I work with adult learning difficulties as a support worker in the UK. Home town is Manchester. My other interests are in gardening and art. I had a really poor education, but try to improve with every write. I hope you’ll enjoy visiting my writes…
Mark Heathcote Poems
Poverty Is A Gift
Father, poverty is a gift Ask any bird taking a rain bath. Son, don't make's me laugh There's nothing but rain
River Street Urchins
River street urchins The gutters are swelling [Waiting] for the sky—you, I To reach—the storm drains of joy.
When Rivers Run Cold
When rivers run cold, it makes you wonder if they were ever warm Why we ever went skinny-dipping, swam naked in a thunderstorm When fires turn to ashes, it makes you wonder did they ever burn. Why was the air sulphur every other silent nocturne?
Roses Are On Fire
A river of stars A bed of roses still in bud We're but water lilies Learning to be rainbows
Two Poems Of Two Line Poems
The still pools reflection, what clarity, within its deepest depths it holds? Until a trouble mind bestirs, silts of time. Looking for what else unfolds.
For A Straggling-Stalk Of Green Corn
With barely a whisper I was almost blown over Like a straggling-stalk Of green corn, I'm bent
The sun has gone into the shade And, turned a corner She will not be returning Not neither soon… nor later
The Wedding Cake Couple
The wedding cake couple Held hands on-top in vigil Clinging on to each other tightly There ‘I do's' written in song
I Want To Be A Hapless, Happy Bee
I want to dive into a flower. Be engulfed by its desire I want to feel its living fire its power Source its one-sunlight prior.
Isn't This Who; We Are
The biggest monument to peace Ever built was the Great Wall of China. Troubled times, constitute bigger walls Fear is the fabric of life.
Your Kisses Inflame My Thoughts
You'd like us to talk, well it's banal. Your kisses inflame my thoughts, Like a war correspondents journal. All they do is lead to more potshots
I'D Pluck The Stars For Flowers
If I could bathe in dew with you Capture a snow drop longingly Descending on between our two Pursed pressed lips turning blue.
But Honestly What Do I Believe
The devil looks after me He doesn’t forsake me Like an elder brother he might taunt me But he promises to love me.
The garden is a living cell
A Monet' of colour
and still reflection!
Its life is onwards moving…
But still like the sun
forever in dusk or dawn:
A theatre of hearts