Mark Heathcote Poems

Each-day whispers in its benevolence
Coughs in the daylight; spills out the night:
Much like a Morello, cherry stone - stoned.
'We hold it up by hook or by crook…
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What is fit that a heart might worship?
Did you ever ask an infidel?
If he/she
'Loved their mother and father just as well.'
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Today, I collect my reward
And I spent a morning in heaven
Ok, true it was between—
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Call me—crying
Call me—skipping
Call me—jumping
Call me—juggling
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Life's a kissing flower. It's rightly stout of heart-
like a snowdrop, nodding whatever the hour.
It may be somewhat wavy, requiring a flowchart.
It may be undisciplined and egotistical in principle.
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Balance sheets are required —
For the good and the bad and forbad
On the acceptance of life's renewal
Applicants of outstanding conduct!
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Who's been nipped by loves poison dagger
Those slicing eyes lightning from the skies
So, then you're still breathing, still bleeding
But for how long, and of cause, once bitten
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Faith is a flower, newly unlocked
strung they can also make a garland.
Whose fragrance travels the world?
Whose beauty coverts the globe on-going
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No one loves me as much as you do.
Beyond the point of insanity,
It's odd, how love, becomes one snowshoe?
Quietly - padding in the lobby,
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Love must find a coffee filter for sleepless nights, caffeine-free
to finally remove every gritty grain that no one else can see.
Love must find an answer to know what's good and sure what is his bittersweet amber nectar.
What is proper and mature?
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