Mark Andrew Heathcote

 

Mark Andrew Heathcote

 

The Jarring Of Midnight Dew

 

What permanent vanquished beauty

what tyrannical sea of change

transmutes and transmogrifies

all that is indigenous to atoms

rock, iron, wood, salt, root, flesh and bone

what increments are rooting for you?

In us in this archaic, masquerade.

What sagacity, what foresight-

inch us forwards singular

into an esoteric silhouette

what everlasting beauty

imbibe through you so you too

can be tantalised and bid for

the jarring of His midnight dew

enchantments moth flame repository.

 

 

The Divinity Of Life In All Things

 

The worlds as precious as a honeybee

and treasured as the clear sparkling dew

it's exquisite as a bride in her sari

the world's clearly, as dear to me as you.

The divinity of life in all things

is always fresh and unsoiled—virginal

has the purity of gold, crowning kings

the majesty of a queen worshipful

the worlds a pear balanced about to fall

a star trembling upon a midnight hour

we each part of the final segments whole

synchronicity blooms but one flower

delicate as woven silk unravels

like dead flowers to seed on their scaffolds.

 

 

A distant kind of love

 

A dove calls her mate in the moon

but a sea wind calls, go not too soon

for the night is young in-circles-new

the waves are rolling deep and blue.

 

So' it is for you; the world was made-

to lift your feathers above the wave.

So dip your wingtips in the salt rock air.

Brave a poles Ivory stair; if you dare.

 

For it's here your true love's heart lies-

anchored beneath the lustrous skies

wave after wave, wing on wing,

the dove white-creature-clung, curing

 

Until the sun in past shadows flame

up and blessed the bird's dead name.

For the night is young in-circles-new

the waves are rolling deep and blue.

 

Wave after wave, wing on wing,

That dove white-creature sort to cling

curing deeper and deeper

rolling deeper and deeper;

 

the little dove flew-

to the heart of the moon,

to that part of the moon,

that could be a cratered part of you.

 

 

A Fallen Petal Spoons

 

A fallen petal spoons

as a spider weaves his house

quiet as a mouse

a lilies throat gulps in her tongue-

it won't belong

till a dove explores the stars

lands on the dark side of the moon

In a crater deep down on his side

with allusions still screaming

historically an owl hooting

in a hollowed-out hole

a part of your soul alone is-just, fine.

 

 

A Host Of Angels Sing!

 

Blue shadows on a white wall.

Tears transcending the beauty-

of gardenia's two millennia.

Frozen winters; icy harden snows.

 

As a host of angels sings

 

the whole panoramic, scene, unfolds-

into a supernatural, emotion.

We too are alive to witness

our very own blue sunset souls.

 

 

Abundance

 

Let me drink this vat house dry,

prolong my agony, and kiss me.

As far as the setting sun can shine

love is a kind of tutelage in-faith;

it is something we all have in abundance.

It is a reservoir we dam, only to break.

Who, but I could laugh so loud and weep,

who, but I could fill a brackish lake.

Float on high, amidst the stars

without so much as a tear more to cry,

and row me ashore only to die.

Full of this thirst, torment and rage;

I guess that's why there are few too many-

poets now who know the meaning of

what it is to be a 21st-century sage.

 

 

Tide And Chapel

 

Tide and chapel brought me here-

on a midnight clear.

Here where the dews lay thickly mounted

here where seasoned hearts be counted.

Not for their pain did they suffer

their lost souls unto one another.

Not for their envy did they discover

the glory that lasts forever.

 

MARK ANDREW HEATHCOTE

 

MARK ANDREW HEATHCOTE is adult learning difficulties support worker, his poetry has been published in many journals, magazines and anthologies, he resides in the UK,  from Manchester, he is the author of “In Perpetuity” and “Back on Earth” two books of poems published by a CTU publishing group ~ Creative Talents Unleashed.