Mark Heathcote

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryTen For The Ten Commandments (IP) well-wisher914 years 9 months ago
StoryNicknames for Aislinn Mark Heathcote415 years 2 months ago
StoryLove is the drug shoe815 years 3 months ago
Storyplease (don't ) marry me! shoe1515 years 3 months ago
Storythe affair shoe1315 years 3 months ago
StoryNo two people Mark Heathcote215 years 6 months ago
StorySpring Fever jennifer215 years 7 months ago
StoryEunectes Murinus Anna Marie315 years 7 months ago
StoryToothless Wander lenchenelf915 years 8 months ago
StoryHow royally Avant-garde am I? Mark Heathcote115 years 10 months ago
StoryNearly human (again) Nick.A315 years 11 months ago
StoryDo the British take their brollies? Mark Heathcote616 years 2 months ago
StoryVII Stanzas Mark Heathcote216 years 2 months ago
StoryA Lovely Day Jupiter1816 years 2 months ago
StoryThe Trouble with Grace Silver Spun Sand3016 years 3 months ago
StoryChaosity Kills jennifer216 years 9 months ago
StoryPenetrates jennifer117 years 2 weeks ago
StoryThe music of one’s love is deaf and dumb Mark Heathcote317 years 1 month ago
StoryA Cautionary Tale MistakenMagic217 years 3 months ago
StoryIn these cormorant hours spent swift Mark Heathcote217 years 4 months ago

My stories

The oohs and OH’s... of a winter rose

Shyly, the distilled November— light! Exudes around; the blushing rose. Till then her beauty is unduly, contrite! Her virginal warmth; tingles, oohs,

Who wants to live on the cherry road?

Who wants to live on the cherry road? With its sticky stones under hoof Who amongst courts it’s fickle path Yet; still remains wildly, aloof…

There's no misogyny just government feet

There's no misogyny just government feet This whole system is corrupt… Such is man’s humanity to man. The whole world over It’s the survival of the fittest...

But it wasn’t my chivalry you were after…

I knew you too at once felt free. When the wind blew… through Your salt wet raven hair. You felt Newly born when the nightingale sang, Songs to your chambers—there!

Even the cuckoo has to find its layer...

All fledgling poetry starts in the stoic hearts nest Even the cuckoo has to find its layer... Somewhere near to ostracize the rest:

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