Simon Heathcote

Photo by Aarón Blanco Tejedor on Unsplash

The great sufferings are upon me —
they come when the stars are heavy with debt
& chalk lines of ancestors are crumbling
in mind & outstretched hands —
when an unseen history grabs you by the throat
throttles the bars of the nervous system
designed to defend against a sweeping
avalanche of childhood wrongs.
My protector — bless him — remains
at his post like that Japanese soldier
you learned about as hope began to dwindle.
You are still an island, bayonet in hand
waging a war long deceased except
for the glitch in the mind, a software
programme ready to take the fight to all comers
who have no idea what you’re saying.
Then, with relief, you remember it’s
all happening to a character within a dream
who for a moment became unglued
while you, the watcher, exist
eternally free from harm.

Copyright Simon Heathcote

--

--

Photo by Tandem X Visuals on Unsplash

In equatorial temperatures of vast summer
walkers take to the pavements unsure
sheltering outside by the old house
under great fans of elm & bent oak
listening for water
while sun rains down alone.
We straddle too many worlds
for months happy orchids praying for heat
soon wilting & wishing we hadn’t wished at all…

--

--

Photo by Giammarco on Unsplash

We are both remnant &
spawn of another season
evidence littering the house in
ghosts of the past — photographs
dried flowers, the careful way
a napkin is folded, a glass put away.
How we do this or that
pulls on invisible threads
even cold stone hearts, then
the warmth of a solitary blaze.
The mystery can hit you…

--

--

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