Mark Heathcote (22/03/66 / Manchester)
A love slave's shanty to a goddess...
I'd like to look for—the spry-blossom, called Phoebe
There is nought as virtuous, or saintly, as the white gypsy...
I'd like to find me—that last green forget-me-not
What matter the cost, if I don't hit the jackpot...
I'd like to look for—the pale goddess of the moon;
She to me should be the sun, and I her Neptune!
If she would but, peel me in her 'bergamot-palm
...Sister of Apollo'. I'd shyly-sing my last, psalm...
Lie with me; with the trident in Poseidon, crowned:
Enter within me, all this eternity newly bound...
Love, let no mountain-shade your innate-fancy
Earthquake: Wild horses, shall not tether my fiancée.
Like the smoking-waves upon the sirens-shore
I'll descend to meet her when, the rocks of thunder-roar.
When the foam of perfection is my narcissi
Reflection-transformed; answer then why we're so tawdry.
Answer me why? Like the sea, forever u-turned:
These lover's hearts like flowers be spurned..?
Mark Heathcote's Other Poems
- A Backwards Look In The Mirror
- A beggar’s bowl bonanza
- A better focus in the wind tonight
- A Bitter Froth Travels On A Night Wave
- A Bout Of Bronchitis!
- A bridge of joy
- A brooch of butterflies
- A Bullet or A Rocking Chair
- A candle flame
- A Candle Flames Tapper
- A child’s leverage
- A Common Brother
- A Copious Amount Of Love
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