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

Indulge all summer in some seaside venue
say St. Tropez, Riga or Tholt where wind –
salt, east – sifts amongst pebbles that balance
sea and shore, separating them as stone
will curve a tower between sky and land.
A snag of sea-weed binds. A distant train

scars the hillside. Unable to restrain
their grief, those left behind seek other venues
to lay their weight of words. In no man’s land,
susceptible as a hull between wind
and water, they wait, mute with loss. Would stone
be a corollary? Would stone balance

still lives? Perhaps auditors could balance
joy against sorrow or deftly distrain
words from those whose desire for precious stones
remains immutable. Such revenue,
spent parsimoniously, could re-wind
history: whole tracts, first of words, then land

that city workers may dream of island
life where summer precludes loss. There balance
is restored. There you may listen to wind
chimes, watch stars pale at daylight, set in train
assignations in shadowy venues
where women raise black lace gloves, sip gin (stone

dry) discuss tarot cards, crystals, rune stones.
pogroms, the nouveau riche. ( Mere parvenues!)
Laughter. Ice chinks. Yet discretion, balanced
with memory, prevails: (the boarded train,
destination unknown.) They know the wind

of change may suddenly recur. They wind
scarves of guilt where once they wound costly stones.
One by one they fall silent. Each one’s train
of thought drifts from this land, this ausland,
to strasses, schonwegs. Safe now, they balance
boulevards against these broad avenues,

watch distant trains wind steadily inland
where wire coils over stones, towers balance
guns trained upon this, your seaside venue.