Mark Heathcote Poems

Reaching into the hourglass
Emptying out the sand
There's always a tomorrow
With an external hand
...

We, teenage children, bring tears of dismay
hold your breath, and countdown before you scold.
'Look! Father Christmas, won't come be foretold'
do not be naughty, do not disobey,
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She ran headlong far away in disgust
from her prize dahlia, like it had black flies
was it withered up when about to hybridise?
Couldn't she spare some water for its dust?
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Some early gnostic paraded his knowledge
weren't they a bunch of unbearable, know it all's
with fraternities and with rationale
they'd have harden-up-insides icy, soon as blossomed.
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Sometimes your heart needs a brand new kick-start
but the shock, it's dying is all too much.
Is there life after death? We guess at such
when it all falls apart like a Slipknot
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Do I remember the day we met?
I forget what day it was, what time it was,
where I was, but in my heart, I became a dancer
I became a dancing creature amazed in the meadow watching you.
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Old fat parish cat
wears a church spire for a hat
wears a white-collar
with a gold disk for his namesake
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With hands trembling on the leaf of a page-
I haven't yet, reread it, wondering is it,
Only a book I am holding,
Or the author—sage, himself…
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Love is a tide
Love is a blessing
Love is the kiss that needs caressing.
Love is an avalanche
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What angelic birdsong is this I hear?
O Lord, singing in my heart
Singing in a furnace
Of my inner core, calling me ever near
...