If only I could control my anger
Turn it from a volcanic ash cloud
Of simmering hot water vapour
From a furry, a rage to a whimper
But poets’ hearts are bitterly proud
They reside each under a thundercloud.
Hoping, praying for rain, for a rainbow
Arching, palms to palms like a halo.
A lightning bolt that’s some charged words
Something hovering, with hummingbirds.
If only I could control my passion
Fasten it down with more dispassion.
But poets’ hearts are tempered, annealed
It takes years for them to bend and yield.
© Mark Andrew Heathcote
Excerpt from the book Back on Earth
About the Author
Marks first book was well received earning him favourable reviews. This being, his second book, Mark, hopes to build on that good reputation and establish his own, brand of poetry.
Mark is a father of five children, and lives and works in the UK. Mark resides in Manchester where he works as an adult learning difficulties support worker and he spends his free time gardening and writing poetry.
Visit Marks Author Page At: www.ctupublishinggroup.com/mark-andrew-heathcote.html