Treasure Island

Mark Heathcote

(22/03/66 / Manchester)

A Poem Holds Your Hand


A poem holds your hand
It whispers come gather
These windblown, fruits
Eat of this sun's lather.

The bee stamens sting,
Is like a gloved fist.
And, like the poet's pen!
Must die a little to coexist.

Vertigo, dizzies itself on a cleft
Like a blackbird in full song!
The chorus is short-lived:
But its echoes are lifelong.

Submitted: Sunday, September 16, 2012
Edited: Sunday, March 23, 2014

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