Mark Heathcote Poems

Who gave that almighty yell?
Like a giant with a rotten toothache
'What-in-Lucifers name' this sour taste?
'What in damnations name' that awful smell?
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There is this love
like an empty house
with a dripping faucet tap.
There is this love
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To make a pebble rounded
it has-to-be crushed
pounded and carved
there is nothing tender
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Sanitize your dirty thoughts and the filth on your mind
I might not want you beside me entwined
I'm not the maid - called to her master's ring,
I'm savvy and smart, and deserve better bling!
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'If I was a hermit crab,
in a shallow rock-pool.'
'I'd be contented as can be
this distance from the sea.'
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Life should close like a book of poems
with no real end-in-sight!
Just a half-remembered mystery,
that once-was-a-friend when life did smite.
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Compose yourself my sweet pea flower
And face this here inferno' of the sun,
Smile back; enjoy every day, every hour!
Embrace everybody as were your little son.
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Get out your notebook
get out your black-biro pen
freedom of expression
don't have any recognisable-friend
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WE should not fear injustice
SHOULD its cruelty bring sadness?
FEEL otherwise quietly, contented.
SORROW is their shame cemented.
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Everything's a rehearsal.
Go on blow your own whistle
love now don't be bashful.
Grasp hold, it isn't a thistle.
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