Mark Heathcote Poems

Reds heads, when the blue mist takes over, it is time to batten the hatches and pray to your saviour.
See the lighthouse warning, warning danger, danger, danger. There's no saviour.
Where is the nearest harbour, god, give me the will, the strength to stir her.
That's the life of a sailor, but I didn't know it would also include a land lover. An SOS won't do you any favour; she's a devil of a storm, and all you can hope for is she won't let go.
...

You should try going down the road of forgiveness; it's down the stairs and just around the corner into a lavatory with no bogroll and up my royal arse. When you've arrived, don't forget we've already met and pledged to spend our entire lives together; isn't that an unsolvable mystery? And yet, we're still together.
...

Life alone is wonderful in all its macabre retrospective ways,
Wondering who holds the keys, the knife, who is the surgeon and who you can trust to spare the true story of your feeble beginnings forgettable life and afterlife. The mortuary table is always slid out for examination with a no-nonsense thud.
Not much love is required there except for a name tag that another John Doe lies stiffened cold here.
Waiting for collection by someone who is not totally,
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I'm just trying to loosen some of the tension
before the butterflies fly and take their final leap,
cast aside their chains and find
their wings on the brink of survival.
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Darling, you dampen the fire.
But when they glow,
you turn me into spent coal.
I wonder if there will ever be
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Sanctuary bells ring out all over the bars of Dublin.
Boys, there is a sanctuary here to take away your blues.
And you'll sleep as if you're in the fields of Galway Bay.
Ankle deep in the North Atlantic Ocean,
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I am like a stray dog
with only ghosts for company.
Who wants some innocent of tragedy to love me?
Who won't scare me and remind me of my past life?
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You're a fake empath
With no deeper understanding than eels in the grass
Leaving one home for another
Soon, the factories will breathe their last sigh.
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The wind stood in its eddies next to you
It wanted to lift you,
But it didn't want to leave you.
So it whistled up a silly tune
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Some say you'll rest in the arms of an angel when you're gone.
But darling, I hope it's just me.
Darling, some say you'll fly like a shingle roof tile far from me
But darling, I'll thatch that and keep you close tight to me
...