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

"I am!" said Chatwin shouldering his leather knapsack.
Sedentary lives are self-destructive and I, bearing scars, have a
                                                                                           horror  
    of the unleashed BLACK DOG.
I follow lightning-bolts now to the darkest cave where DINOFELIS
                                                                                                  (le
     sorcier noir) devours his prey. The Prince of Darkness is a
     gentleman and holds my skull between his jaws as, dreamily, 
     without awareness of pain, I expect my death.
My footsteps will be blown away.
SHRODINGER'S CAT has a potential existence, but does not
                                                                                             exist  
     until observed.
"Would YOU like some SAUCE?" the waiter at SIMPLE
                                                                                  dimpled, his  
     smile  as wholesome as an all-day vegan breakfast.
"Poodle!" Missy hissed taking no prisoners or sipping snakeoil.
NEPHILIA-SPIDER makes a golden-silk dragline with a tensile      strength  greater than steel lest its enmeshed victim escape.
The desert seduces, but its realities are harsh and unforgiving;
                                                                                              one
     ventures  into it at one’s peril.
The heat in the cavern (The Ear Of Dionysus) at Siracusa
                                                                                cooled as the  
    sun set. Thousands filled the chipped tiers of the TEATRO
                                                                                       GRECO
    to watch  AGAMEMNON. Stars shivered as the watch-tower     lookout cried; "Praise  the gods, I see the beacons! Troy is
                                                                                          taken!"
Through the central black tunnel mouth, revealed when the
                                                                                       creaking
    rusty  shutter lifted , a railway wagon shunted; the sides
                                                                                      slammed
    down, and thousands of muddy soldiers' boots poured out.
Every day somewhere boys end their sixteenth year. The
                                                                               catalogues of  
    ABERCROMBIE, FITCH and GANT are works of LOVE.