Mark Heathcote Poems

Poetry is like facing death by firing squad
It's like finding your sea legs
Whilst dancing with King Canute
To a spider's waltz that always excels
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I'm conflicted and astonished by the sunlight
Even more, graced am I by these moonlit nights.
Sunlight is our first brush with love
But moonlight even when eclipsed
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His words are apt to do her acrobats
His words are apt to do handstands
And brush away her stinging nettles
Then she's reaching for her star
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Jack's mother bought a space rocket bean.
The likes of which had never been seen
Jack was eager; he jumped right on board.
Its engines exploded, and he was catapulted.
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We looked for something past remembrance
cutting through some fields of emerald green
like a ploughed furrow waiting for a seed to grow
we looked for something past remembrance
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You've got all the right ingredients I need
you're like sweet crème fresh to me
soft and delicate with a kick of lemon
on a stick of celery & a bit of mild heat
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I don't want to be the master dog
I don't want to work looking down the barrel of a gun
in a chain gang with low-paid, unfulfilled, expectations
I don't want to be ruled and exploited
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Fields of gold and silver shadow
You can taste on you tongue
Mm how I miss those days
When, I was young.
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Did a tear make this cool blue ocean?
Did mildew or moss make this isle?
Was it a miracle that brought you here?
And set your whole face for me a smile.
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Dependent on her and me her lover
Oh how I’m affected by the weather
How she’s affected by my whatever
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