Tuesday, November 1, 2022



Let Me Fall Under Some Natural-Disaster


Let me fall under some natural-disaster

the eye of a storm picks up the hereafter.


Be felled as if by a random act of god,

let my-ashes-be-sprinkled over the sod.


Be mingled with the waters-ever-present

in the driest desert, moister is-permeated,


it intersperses with the sands and the stars

camels - entering riders into their bazaars.


Their midnight dreams, restless perspiring limbs,

all are in his death throes, sing-know many hymns.


Some are killed by an avalanche some drown at sea.

Some pandemics take but please - please-God, not me.


The Forbidden Ritual


A widowed woman is committed to death.

Ritual says she must climb her husband's funeral pyre

find her beloved in the blue smoking burning ghee

her husband's head rests on her lap, ah, this is suttee;

this a ritual suicide by fire on a log & straw pyre

opium-induced, honouring flames lick beneath.


They're all-consuming to her life, her mixed grief.

Is this all meant to make her otherworldly,

in this undertow vision of heaven, sparks fly,

cries howl, soon to drown, they'll crackle, die.

Ah, this is suttee; and is a ritual otherworldly,

she glows now a goddess, ah radiant in disbelief.


Her body is like clarified butter, burning ghee.

Ah, this is suttee; this is a ritual, otherworldly

her soul is like clarified butter, burning-ghee

now she too is otherworldly, ah, this is suttee;

ah, this is suttee; a forbidden ritual, otherworldly,

sorry, I-just-doesn't think so, at least not to me.


The Kiss Of Death


In the jaws of death

the anaconda and crocodile they're embraced

in a struggle for survival

they are both unromantically-entangled

there are no guarantees one will live

or the other will die.


Jaws are now firmly locked

there'll be no redeemer to save one or either.

I've seen one and then another win,

devoured without any transgression or sin,

I've seen both dead

where a meal, too big, broke out, a wall of skin.


Their jaws are ultimately locked

their bodies are anatomically-entwined

but only one will eventually dine.

The clock is ticking, and one is slowly winning

which will it be, clearly, not-

the one we think is on top.


Its head is in the jaws of the croc

neither one is letting the other leave

a crushing-ultimate squeeze, the final blow,

the kiss of death rendered ever-so-slow,

a death nail that's suspended and superimposed

mummified alive in bandages, never-letting-go.




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, and is 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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