Mark Heathcote Poems

There is a statistician in everyone
who can remember and count the bad times
but it's-remembering counting the good-times
divided from the bad that counts and matters.
...

Overwhelmed, I think what's there to live for
why do I cling like ivy to a stone?
Why serpentine the sky or the seafloor,
why am I not also on methadone?
...

Orchards in the sun close to beehives
They were always on my childish mind
Centipedes on my skin
Stopped me; from sitting still
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The night brings miracles to you and me
Parched lips, like two shores, meeting
For a first and last time, beg for the sea.
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That has vellum sheets all but come unglued
Carelessly, held in our hands
It's a book that feels, nearly pristine new.
Whose pages are like badly laundered-clothes?
...

Let's suppose I am '200 billion pixels of a memory. '
On a digital highway bound into a digital collage
Now let us suppose I am a 'Kaleidoscope of atoms. '
Going slightly somehow mysteriously at large.
...

Her cleavage, a breathless butterfly
drinks from the pool of lust and love
reckless, her weight a fallen dove
'shows no desire for fear or flight.'
...

Wild meadow scent-
succinct from anything else.
One yard of silk...
...

In the stillness of time,
we will be swallowed by the hurricane's eye.
That has swept over your heart.
in the stillness of time,
...

Be known for-its tin mines, its watery cavernous caves?
Ancient as any surrounding granite hills-
is its peat bogs? Dotted with Stone-Age landmarks
its moorlands of abandoned medieval farmhouses,
...