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

(this city
this time)
FIRE
         dear
sir, I want to tell you
madame,
          I want to tell you
FIRE
          curious one
          your
fingers tremble across
space
fumble at the latch
                 of the orphanage
                 the asylum
                 the nunnery
                 the hospital
                 the rescue mission
                 the home for unwed mothers
open the door to see
FIRE
         gnaw
         floors
         walls
         ceilings
paintings of
         blue lakes
           of
         puritan fathers
           of
         mountains w/moon
         above them
turn brown, then black,
ride like ravens
on shimmering air.
FIRE
the mind’s horse & pack—
mule
clattering over rocks away
from the conflagration
toward
oxidation of irons
                     neon rings
the spontaneous combustion
of all things not related
to the journey.
child
I have something
to tell you:
WE BURN
the tower clock is burning
the tower is a flame finger
pointing up
at forever
we can see it
from here
                     we can
see the oily smoke
as it rises from your body
twitching among the flames
can see
your body’s
special dance
                     hear
                     the music
it makes
hiss. hiss.
FIRE
I am not these arms
        give these arms to the flames
I am not these eyes
        pluck them out, throw them in
I am not this blood-pump
called heart
                     I give it to you
                     FIRE
         nor this face, nor these
         bones.
lock me in the iron bull
stoke the furnace
I want to make music.
(brittle giant
fallen to earth
from sun)
FIRE
lick clean the pages
of books--
Hitler knew
your strong jaws
break history
flaming missiles
strike the bunker
walls
we wait
inside
          hands
over eyes
“will it hurt?’
          yes!
          coals scream.
Bruno
sings:
“we are your puppets
“FIRE be gentle w/us
“I have a wife
“& kids somewhere
“& am an American
“citizen.   let my hands
“remain free, tie
“my waist to the stake
“I wish to signal
“thru smoke
          “an alphabet
“for the new age
“a monstrous poem
“that will twist like a tapeworm
“among the stars.” The
          FIRE-eater
never grows fat.  is
walking dialectic--
                             a
man w/ideas he says:
“I carry matches beneath
“my coat & a bottle
“of gasoline--wish to talk
“to monks, visit all
“museums & rest homes
“& colleges
“will pit my red Jack
“Johnson resurrected
“against all challengers.”
FIRE
I love you
open your legs
bite my lips
FIRE
you beat me
& I’ll beat you
o.k.?
FIRE
ride a single
wheel down-
hill
into a lake.
Buddha receives
you.
black flames
cool to touch
where Dante
wandered
                       curious flames
hidden in Bodhisattva’s
                       robes
living flames
Pascal
saw
above the heads
of the blessed
or the damned
FIRE
you are
the elephant
of elements
                    your blue tongue
laps my chin
you make me
smash my typewriter
threaten my landlord
w/a butcher knife.
a reflection of
a reflection
                    I
burn
above sour
weeds
I ask your
permission
to melt this
clock of lard
          step forth
star-brained
FIRE
no more yin
no more yang
no more weeping
about an old woman
wrapped in clay
            it’s
one ragged foot
before the other
up a ladder
of steam.
once you visited
our barn
rode the backs
of horses
like a regular
guy
baked sheep
in their own
wool
rolled dogs
snarling
down a hill
into a stream
clogged
w/manure
you knocked
down the walls
w/glowing
hammers
then rubbed
your fingers
thru ashes
& touched
my forehead:
my skull
was a circus
tent
collapsing on
500 screaming
people
FIRE
if you hold your
breath
you’ll go out
if I hold my temper
the world will turn
to ice
if you leap over
a stick
the world will be
a wedding
                    I have nothing to lose
& everything to gain
I will storm the kingdom
of FIRE
& usurp the thrones
of Pre-Adamic
kings.
from my ashes
grow 3 trees
from these trees
grow 6 vines
from these vines
9 berries grow
9 birds eat them
from their flesh
sprouts a single man
who floats from a luminous
cord
his face a quarter moon
his eyes--2 clocks that read:
12 noon & 12 midnight
his hands are flickering
gauges
he walks behind a plow
& speaks in parables
says:
“if FIRE were a
“bird
“where would FIRE
“fly?
“if FIRE were a
“cobra
“would she strike
“the wild ass?
“if FIRE were a
“fish
“how long would
“she live
“in the ocean
“& how many clouds
“would she set
“in the sky?
“& how many stars
“would be born
“from those glittering
“clouds?”
FIRE:
shroud
of matter
FIRE:
intelligence
of the butcher
of dogs.
everything becomes
FIRE:
          rhyming
FIRE
flex your muscles
rage thru
forests
leap from the tops
of mountains
O lightning
          rattle a
burning chain
on the wind
so the serpent twists
down museum
walls
          eat
a masterpiece
for me red god
put the spark back
in Roth Co. &
Mother’d Well
toe dance in
Carnegie Hall.
          yes
& your house is on FIRE, mister,
          yes
& your brain is on FIRE, bub,
          yes
& your lungs heave
& your guts burn
but that’s swell FIRE
yowsah FIRE
halleluja FIRE
amen FIRE
you catch up w/all
dadas & mummies
in time.
have I forgotten anything?
the sun is one foot wide.