Mark Heathcote Poems

Babbling sounds made by babies and parents.
Are words that teach our infants so much more?
Developing sounds and, yes, a few grunts
helps baby learn and roar like a brontosaur.
...

Our temptations are subject to galloping.
This heart pitter-patters like a toy tin-car
roaring ready to go, without any damning,
right or wrong prepared for exemplar-
...

I like it when you down-tools and kiss me
when you gaze at me, eyes caramelised.
Sending shivers down my spine out to sea
where you, rescue me, before-I'm-capsized.
...

Everything feels solid
But everything's really, snow
And it's all just, sadly silently melting away
And then we're all gone
...

Birds of paradise, how they surround us
How they zing with colour into the zeniths
Tropical flowers, how they delight us
Exploits garish or with becalm genteelness.
...

I am four sheets to the wind
Going blind
And I can't make up my mind
If I should shout or sing!
...

I taste your lipstick
It's a prophecy I can't resist.
I follow you in a bee's dance
to a flower nap, and take my lance
...

Breath of life; let me follow.
Whatever misfortunes suspend
Breath of life; let me follow.
Where you begin, you end.
...

There are times I want to climb mountains.
And walk through mauve flowering heather bells.
Sometimes, I can't find any happy outcomes.
A ghost walks beside me; nothing repels it.
...

When did his focus on life
Turn to death as though,
Annulled—there wasn't a drop left.
Lungs like two emptied bagpipes
...