Simon Heathcote

Photo by Klemen Vrankar on Unsplash

There’s a fabric we call
existence — it lies
gossamer thin like
any desperate hovering mist
& we plunge in again & again
at Aphrodite’s seductive behest.
It’s the finest of tricks
drawing us in — in from
immortality & on to two legs.
No wonder I used to drink &
fall down, but surrender is not getting
up, yet…

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Photo by Tom Bradley on Unsplash

I am grappling with Spring —
the way the blue finch comes
to settle on the rusting gate
tells his melancholy tale
then flies off again.
Does he sing to me alone?
I suspect birds hold the cure
for the entire globe & I wonder
shall we take time to comprehend
or will we remain preoccupied
with mortal things…

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Simon Heathcote

Simon Heathcote

Psychotherapist writing on the human journey for some; irreverently for others; and poetry for myself; former newspaper editor. Heathcosim@aol.com