Mark Heathcote Poems

This night I'll carry like an embryo
My heart bubbles, but now I've got to go
This sunrise golden calls me to my chores
But I'll not go far my boat shares its oars.
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God has always travelled alone —
like a pit pony with an ore cart & a torch
He travels down some lonesome highway.
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It's-what-all Samurai warriors
in attendance to their nobility,
desired a clean death, they're torchbearers
helping forge a sort of working civility
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What does a cricket know about death?
In his leaping heart, a meadow's weft
The rasping sound that silence left
Reading forward with each step bereft.
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Don't postpone any thoughts of our love-
until the rain refrains from falling-
on ourselves; from on high-up above.
Don't postpone any thoughts of our love-
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To be fair
There is not a lot of difference
Between in here or out there
Wherever we go
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Lord, everybody needs a commune
And not just a place to call their own
A place to gather like hungry bees
A place altogether they'll call home.
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I'll take her promises for what they really are
a cheap gift bartered for from a street bazaar
whose culpabilities are always to tell lies?
Lies as truths look straight through my eyes
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I never promise make presumptions
But I often do keep my word
Choices are made from comparisons
Made from those who did let me down?
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Even as others sleep
Even as their voices weep she sings
Like a starling of her own sacrificial autumn blues.
She singing of the smiting wind imaging fiery irises
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