Mark Heathcote

(22/03/66 / Manchester)

A Garden Never Ploughed


A poem is an escape.
It is an SOS call of distress …
Grasping for an Eden
That will never again – exist.

It is a garden never ploughed:
A horizon, a child’s brush stroke
That no Medusas glance kills …
A poem is a key that evokes!

The senses to their beginning …
“What was it like that innocence? ”
That first flap of a bee’s wing,
Before all this useless, empty substance…

A poem is an oasis …
“King Island”, surrounded by blue waters,
A poem speaks in waves …
Its transience embalms many fissures.

It is a garden never ploughed:
Eagles roam the heavens and clouds
But no sling, is ever fired in vengeance
Distress is answered only with penance.

Submitted: Sunday, July 07, 2013
Edited: Sunday, March 23, 2014
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