Mark Heathcote

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryEunectes Murinus Anna Marie316 years 6 months ago
StoryToothless Wander lenchenelf916 years 7 months ago
StoryHow royally Avant-garde am I? Mark Heathcote116 years 9 months ago
StoryNearly human (again) Nick.A316 years 10 months ago
StoryDo the British take their brollies? Mark Heathcote617 years 1 month ago
StoryVII Stanzas Mark Heathcote217 years 1 month ago
StoryA Lovely Day Jupiter1817 years 2 months ago
StoryThe Trouble with Grace Silver Spun Sand3017 years 2 months ago
StoryChaosity Kills jennifer217 years 8 months ago
StoryPenetrates jennifer117 years 11 months ago
StoryThe music of one’s love is deaf and dumb Mark Heathcote318 years 1 week ago
StoryA Cautionary Tale MistakenMagic218 years 3 months ago
StoryIn these cormorant hours spent swift Mark Heathcote218 years 3 months ago

My stories

Cherry

No louder than the snoring tigers lolling tongue!

O’ my sleeping; weeping, thoughts. We’re like army blankets, you and I Observing; nought but sunbeams... Nought... But the lintel iron moonbeams, Under—which no one listens.

Once again ship foundered…

As; the sun, sinks teeth into deepest shadow Its, here I’ve kissed her heart of darkness… And looked; in skulls empty eyes roundness. And tasted her lurid lips; hearts deep cello.

The drawbridge across the brambles…

Memories are like the motes—cordoned Around some ever increasing scrubland... Where; little or nothing else can be seen… Except the stoical boatman, who goes to glean?

Egotistic eccentric things like this…

Poetry is my one passion—my one love But, what do’ I forgo’ What infernal fires glow? In this life there—of’ What other things, what of’ “Do I not understanding know?

Am I Insensitive?

Ghosts come in the shape of the living

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