Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

here the houses
grazed quietly
under the watchful eye
of the church tower
it was high
made of brick
with a six-sided
sharply pointed roof
it seemed to be
a huge pencil
to write down
our misdemeanours
on blue pages of the sky

the organist played beautifully
but his singing was worse
sometimes from a nearby meadow
sheep answered him

at Christmas time
women with their whole heart and throat
tore Christmas carols to shreds
the plaster baby
stopped his ears with his little fists
but God smiled under his moustache
and gave absolution

                           *

on rainy days
we discovered
a wonderful world of attics
here lived
a clock with a late cuckoo
remembering better times
the old trunk
full of mysteries
wrapped in torn lace
an iron that had run out of steam
and lost its shirt
countless objects
which had already forgotten
who needed them
and for what

we sat in rickety armchairs
the dust danced in the light of a candle
sometimes a floorboard creaked
or a spring moaned
spiders spun
stories about ghosts
and fear
had bigger and bigger eyes

                           *

beyond the river
the sky was high
and somebody
cut all the shades of green
into rectangles
and shuffled them
on the bank
the trees whispered about something
other trees
singly and in groups
were going off beyond the horizon

the silence ripened
in the scorching heat of noon

houses
sleepily squinted their shutters
wasps fell into doughnuts
through the open shop doors
we drank lemonade pink and warm
sharing fairly
sips tasting of acid drops

in sweaty hands
we clasped the Summer

                           *

the doctor knew everybody from birth
he ran quickly through the little streets
and his white hair and coat
blew in the wind
he was sharp tongued
had golden hands
and a wife like a syringe
even old men were afraid
of the doctor’s wife
she was lean and noisy
she shouted at many of them
that they couldn’t even make a baby
when they were sober
and that they stinted on soap
but when disaster struck
she was the first to help
that’s why
they made deep bows to her
from a distance
and escaped to the other side of the street

                           *

the inn was at the market place
re-christened Freedom Square
after the War
Saturday’s guests grew ripe
on the scanty lawn
and gap-toothed benches

a thin mongrel on the steps
waited for a benevolent bone

towards morning
from the open door flowed
thick cigarette smoke
richly ornamented with the aroma
of beer sausages vodka and herrings

the day got up with difficulty
Franek’s missus was cleaning up
streams of soapy water
flowed on the pavement

the mongrel ravenously
devoured the gift

with a booming fist the church bell
hammered the drunken skulls
and it was Sunday already

                           *

the barmaid Halinka
was known to everybody in town
she was a robust woman
some 15 stone by the look of her
and one or another
of the more drunken customers
would want to marry her
at once
both Summer and Winter
she wore tight blouses
with the neckline cut
all the way down to the brims of the glasses