Mark. A Heathcote

How did a bird, all the colours
In a rainbow, come to find us.
How was she discovered, brothers?
Wonders - my love, is this for us?
...

a violent storm
has left a damn I cross
until the next storm
*
...

camellias
in a blue vase reaching
astral plains
...

immigration law
in the USA through the—
barrel of a gun
...

Her workbench is a tale of art.
Brushes of every size lay in wait.
She says it's heaven to spoil herself.
Paint, pamper and decorate.
...

Her Stetson apparel had taken her thus far.
Oh, how she wishes she were a cinnabar moth.
An eye-dazzling beauty wearing silken red cloth
Black heels - rather than the protocol
...

With bottle tops and a watch strap woven in her hair
She's an enchantress; she's a witchy affair.

Her full lips pout, pushing forward and blushing gold.
...

captivating joy

dancing on the rooftops
...

I am the leaves of a tree.
I am Aspen whispering about you.
Because I've nothing better to do
I spread my gold dappled leaves over you.
...

I sat beneath a huge tree.
Its shape and size shaded me.
As if I were its seedling
In search of nourishment
...

Of course, a tree has rings.
Each one, a wedding band
Oh, to be the 'bride' of such a tree.
To bask in His emerald love unendingly.
...

When a tree is grown
You have to decide.
Its purpose, its size - and more besides.
Do you want a dappled shade?
...

Poets must be as stoic as a tree.
Rooted in coastal chalk-rock
Ravaged and bent in one direction.
Willing as a lightning rod
...

Beneath the mantle
of a sentry yew
like a drop of ancient,
trembling dew.
...

When a tree is grown
You have to decide.
Its purpose, its size
And more besides.
...

I, ll send you flowers
pink peonies to fill a vase
just one will do
...

such intimacy
wild serpentine spring paths
full of nettle stings
...

the falsifying
of all evidence—the staid
cuckoo's love
*
...

due to pencil lead
now being shattered, I'm
dulled forever
*
...

In Portugal
I've got to meditate
On my sunbed in spring
I'm alive, I'm not dead
...