Mark Heathcote

Gold Star - 22,538 Points [none] (22/03/66 / Manchester)

Mark Heathcote Poems

1. To Seed The Steps Of Heaven 8/21/2011
2. The Garden 8/21/2011
3. The Rose And The Bumble Bee… 8/21/2011
4. Pale White Beauty 8/21/2011
5. Candle-Wax-Sky 8/21/2011
6. The Lord Of Catchers-Can 8/21/2011
7. The Music Of One's Love 8/21/2011
8. Nicknames For Aislinn 8/21/2011
9. Divergent Rivers 8/21/2011
10. That’s What They At The Asylum Now Say 8/24/2011
11. The Bell Of Knutsford’s Many Throng 8/24/2011
12. Little Bug… 8/24/2011
13. Hang Me A Door With Gables Bright! 8/24/2011
14. To Err Is Human ‘songstresses’. 2/3/2012
15. Flightless Angels Shall Fervently Stare 2/3/2012
16. Once They Spall-Sparkled Like Foxglove! 2/3/2012
17. The Night Runs In Fear Of The Dreamer 2/3/2012
18. The Oohs And Oh’s... Of A Winter Rose 2/3/2012
19. Even The Cuckoo Has To Find Its Layer... 2/3/2012
20. No Louder Than The Snoring Tigers Lolling Tongue! 2/3/2012
21. Haiku 2/3/2012
22. Cemetery Walks… 2/3/2012
23. Language Is The Kingdom 8/24/2011
24. Love Kept Her For A Teacup 2/3/2012
25. Lord My Love Don't You Know 2/3/2012
26. Minted And Crowned 2/3/2012
27. Where The Moonlight And I Repine 2/3/2012
28. Harvey’s: Lullaby… 2/3/2012
29. The Path Of A Six Year Old Believer! 2/3/2012
30. The Truth About Ruth… 2/3/2012
31. What Was She Doing, There? 2/3/2012
32. Think Again! 2/3/2012
33. The Poet's Trinity 2/3/2012
34. Why Did The Star Dust Dance 2/3/2012
35. Where; Did All The Wood Garlic—go? 2/3/2012
36. Asexual 2/16/2012
37. The Jarring Of Midnight Dew 2/16/2012
38. See His Ceiling 2/16/2012
39. Carte Blanche… 2/16/2012
40. Follow My Coat Tails 2/16/2012
Best Poem of Mark Heathcote

Poverty Is A Gift

Father, poverty is a gift
Ask any bird taking a rain bath.
Son, don't make's me laugh
There's nothing but rain
Poverty isn't a gift
There's nothing but pain.
So son fastens your reigns
Ride for them riches today
Don't live by wage's daily
Paid only once monthly
Father poverty is a gift.
Son nothing is ever enough,
Just ask your mum.

Read the full of Poverty Is A Gift

The Bride

Hewn from the strata of galaxies demure!
Inured with witchcraft; heartbreakingly, pure.
The bride wears her wedding-dress like haute-couture
Dressed in her heavenly gown made by Channel or Dior!

Poised like a vision, sumptuously, dressed and veiled.
She; supernatural swan like sailed…
Stunningly, intoxicating; like a little creature divine!
She takes up her grooms arm whispers thou, shall be mine.

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