Mark Heathcote Poems

'At night there are moonlit slugs…
Whose ivory body's comet'
'Out of their laurels' like Greek gods…
'Alone' these horned demons'
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A poem holds your hand
it whispers come-gather
these windblown fruits
eat of this sun's lather.
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One glorious summer's evening,
Out drinking
In an Irish Bar in a busy city center
I bought a round of drinks at last-orders.
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Old age then your backaches
becomes a viaduct arch of pain
foundation's get subsidence
you lose 10inches all elegance
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As its translucent body rings-out
Under an unheard jet propulsion...
Question; Does it cast shadows?
Does its prey know of an answer?
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Where is the harm in looking?
Beauty is a delicate blessing.
As baking is all in the cooking,
and in us, constantly tasting.
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My soul is a conch shell…
Too ladle a drying well.

My heart is an inferno, mountain!
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A room of draft and shadow
of a cobweb tomorrow
and yesterdays of a thousand
-yesteryears yesterdays ago.
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Starting from the bottom to the top
Filling in the gaps from the bottom
To the top - dot to dot
If love could make the penny drop!
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Love is calling give me a chance
Give me one more reluctant chance
Love is calling give me hope
Give me a minute an hour
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