Dead Poets Live
Published in

Dead Poets Live

Father’s Day

Each Father’s Day I see him
with his umbilical cord in search of
a goddess
how his black panther stalked
desperate for a socket for that old cord

how the sea foam that brought
Aphrodite ashore
was rabies to his mouth &
the bit between his teeth
threshed, a shark scything fields
of green, how hope &

seduction took him down
(the face of Venus
silent and bewitching &
closer than kin )
a path of stone & thorn

Desire is a reel thing — one bite
& you’re hooked for eons-
its potion & spell files the soul
to fine point like a single nail

I am looking for a world that has
nothing to do with here &
knows everything about now

Time has put furrows in my head &
feet but will not
let me back down
I carry hope like a salute
an old door jamb in my other hand

I followed him like a sun but his
light led straight to hell
until finally I found a coracle
made for Tristan
& set the old man adrift
back to the Emerald Isle

COPYRIGHT Simon Heathcote

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Rilke, Whitman, Angelou, Clifton — inspiration and prompts

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Simon Heathcote

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