Mark Heathcote Poems

Golden maple leaves
are trophies in earnest won?
Winter butterflies
...

The Voices in Your Head
Say, I'm in control now, girl
just you, remember
when your eyes are infrared
...

In my kitchen, I cook from memory and love.
Love is the most important-ingredient-of-all
I need not taste my dishes, for I know full well
when I sprinkle the seasoning by intuition
...

There are aspersions in this life that cut to the bone
But I am not flesh or bone to be amended or censored.
I am simply a conscious being haunting a body
That has, till this present moment, been craving me.
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Her cerulean eyes a lake house
In the winter till the spring
I row to. And in my dreams,
I sink before I awake to second-think
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The hunt is on…
But if anyone shoots the White pheasant:
His purse will be lighter than none
Then- if the shot was fired at a dull plain rival.
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Blooms are hardier than we've come to think.
You, darling, are a royal flower.
You may not be a rose, cashmere pink,
a sweet William or a blue cornflower
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The seasonal woods and fields
Are mercurial at best
And when the waters are engrailed
On a breath taxingly still by bequest.
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In default, we will fall like snow
Or snake-like rain on a windowpane
Trying our best to enter again
Oh, life is a wilting falling petal.
...

With one hand on the rocking crib,
the wind sometimes takes charge
and even sleepless eyes fall prey
to alarms and wolves, baying for blood.
...