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

Strong Man,
           out on the street
          dread locked,
            round ‘bout midnight
          with his stereo &  saxophone
            croons the  moody blues.

       wearin’ a navy blue jumpsuit
           & Timberland boots;

The crowds ensconced in his mighty elephant hands.

Strong man,
            He wears the carnival masque
                                 just like me.

Strong Man,
     even skin tone,
  resting behind, is a grandmother’s eyes
rounded, warm, yet tough like Stone.

He speaks softly to the passers by,
Tolerates the ignorance
          of Jack the Lads, sprung from ‘round corners
     where they’ve just been had,
     over & over & over again
       pint after pint after pint...

  We walk past & just stare.
          We nod & go our way.

Strong Man,
          He wears the carnival masque
                      just like you & me. 

Circus rings, smoke dreams
            around fire dogs
            of the city skyline
Confetti falls on the Bold Street cobblestones
            red, blue & magenta
            dance shadows & cover the lamppost hues

A steady stream, to go on & on
dream a little dream for me...

Strong Man,
            six - foot -ten
            just outside the store front
            playing hours on end
            of riffs & lines & scales...

     that trail off like cigarette breath
                       & snake around the corners
                hug the sides of buildings
                        marching, elated, straight down the lane
            to find the unconverted soul.

                                              They come by the loads.

Strong Man,
            The Liverpool snake charmer.
          I’ve seen him before & he’s seen me.
     Both of us know the street,
                 know jazz like only we know, that flows beneath NYC...

     So here we are.  watching one another.

   waiting for the other to slip up, waiting for the lone peacock strut
   to acknowledge that we got caught up
   selling our unique “exported” guts.

Strong Man,
            they don’t know about his family down South,
            they don’t know about his great grandmama
                 tied to the fields, a queen cleaning house
            they don’t know about the joy of evening sun
                 sitting out on the front porch, grazing eyes shine
                 as they smile at each passer by
           Or the sublime of country pine on a late Sunday Drive
              home from church
                            but I do...

Strong Man,
           they never ask his name,
               never ask him what’s that tune he plays...
          As he reworks Whitacre & Davis in the same breath, they are only amazed..
     by this big black giant of a man,
                     & never move on further, to detect the sullen rage
               from whence his fluid blues flow.

Strong Man,
            “Did you see him?  He was Big & Black too.”
          Strong man wears the Carnival Masque
       he dreams unknown of Princess Nerefetti, while he’s draped in 
                                                                                    confetti
                                & bleeds for New York
                               just like I do.

                                           Strong Man,
                                   We wear the Carnival Masque.
                                               Yes, we certainly do.