Monday, August 1, 2022



I Might Die Perchance


Her wedding gown is splayed out like a fan

this deity isn't here to marry a mortal man

this trumpet flower has an elixir unsurpassed

this goddess isn't here to marry just any sap

here's a bride colourful as a rainbow

kneeling beneath a stained glass window

the answer isn't clear right now why she's here

but the atmosphere is heady with her allure

there's a sting to her venom that's not happenstance

she's a hypnotizing cobra - I might die perchance.


A Love Letter, Written In My Heart


Without a single word or lie inscribed 

there is a love letter written in my heart

A transcript of truth engraved in the dark

that ebbs and flows with a changeable tide

that shall remain almost inarticulate

its address is a return-to-sender

on an envelope, a blank piece of paper

it is-written-in-the hand of a grandiloquent.


A verbose gesticulating lover, wildly?

Its starts by saying he loves only you

no other in the whole universe can outdo

it is you who guides his soul, his psyche.

Open my love letter when you are ready

it has tears spilt on its faded margins

that’s touched and pulled on the heartstrings

of every emotion, it could non-literary.


It has bled in the shadows of your absence

till all the inkwells have run dry, like a bad cliché

it has wrung out all the whey from cheese

that the words left finding a meaningful cadence

into something truly quite magical

and like a rainbow jettisoned above the clouds

where it is perceived, like hillside houselights

ungrammatical but yet touchingly still tangible.

My love letter is opened and finally read

at the final second, my candle was snuffed-out for bed.



This man is on his way…


This man doesn't need honey or jam

or syrup from a can.

This man doesn't need a thankless job

or a till register to rob.

This man doesn't need a loveless marriage

he's got big ideas and plenty of courage.

This man knows his ultimate true calling

and isn't afraid of leaping and falling.

This man is on his way; he's a sure success

if he knows just what it takes and what to re-address

this man is a star, is a Phoenix rising.

He isn't any longer self-loathing

or the least-bit self-despising.

This man is humble, and he's thankful for-all-he's-got

and all the tribulations he was allotted.

This man walks tall beside me; he is my true destiny,

he sits lowly beside me, he deputies my future self.

And he says he really, does honestly love me.

This man is me if I choose him to be

with much improved better health

and a world-of-endless wealth?



Let’s Exist On Bread And Water


Someone's praying behind that architrave

trying to make a living, keep some faith,

write poetry in short communiqués

tears abridging the years enshrined molten,

now we're all charged with others' lives to save;

but in truth, we all feel broken wide open.


If I'm not mistaken I-am-enslaved

nevertheless, we are all prisoners;

our neighbours are very-easily-swayed

to inform the local authorities;

it's now I fear all those Grand Inquisitors'

their divergent-sneers their ideologies:


Tormented, let's exist on bread and water

remember that in some other quarter

Death is in government and in-complete-

control firing bullets in war-torn streets

who cares if we're seen-kissing-indiscreet

long as our hearts aren't heavy with deceits.




MARK ANDREW HEATHCOTE is adult learning difficulties support worker, he has poems published in journals, magazines, and anthologies both online and in print, he resides in the UK, from Manchester, Mark is the author of “In Perpetuity” and “Back on Earth” two books of poems published by Creative Talents Unleashed.

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