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

suddenly coning from everywhere
sunstorm moving like a wild thing
in this air of broken glass
the patterns actually speak the light shines backwards
reminding us who we thought we were
the ticket collector buying back the tickets
what you get is flesh
why not stay here for a while
fly with the wind & gauge the sun’s resistance
what day is it?
I CHOOSE BOTH
forking endlessly into parallel simultaneities
no point in being subjective
did I do everything right?
birds defending territory by song
won’t be punished for the wrong choices
consciousness slipping thru bodies pulse in a neuron
sharpening pencils with a knife
vibration akin to song
afraid if the door opens
a house in the earth’s dimple surrounded by trees
no neighbours no people around at all
dead rabbits a squirrel & a burst hedgehog
how do you feel?
the correct quantity of the right emotion
ship’s hull scraped at by stars
mooning over the swollen land
just stop taking the advice
wish I had hair like that
sleep reaches out an oily fist
there’s nowhere to stop
when the medium too makes demands
a maze with nothing but centre
murky beneath swirled ice
the nurses don’t worry
fluid bursting from the skin
& a weasely thing a marten or a stoat
what day is it?
moves in an arc of sky above my head
the food is the same
innocence terminal
& who is the head of the band? [Dick Clark]
Roky Erikson: we’re all heads
convex facet of flint
with chalkwhite knuckles of another age
& see infinity in a grain of morphine
what if something bad happens?
visitations from the past or future
folk music will deal with it
paint your wagon, shut your eyes
the bell rings when chaos is starting
you choose your own tunnel
around the spider forest
ten million years of examining fronds
every room faces inwards
over & over asked to taste something
then I’ll be seeing you again
appears to sing out above the desert
a voice extrapolated thru objects
nothing followed up
explaining their emotions thru the mouthpiece of each other
on a hot Asian night with cold champagne
everything reduces to this
the sweet sweet smell of it
the inside ruptures
the moon as a plant
the outside enraptured again
puts out chocolates for the badger
going to ground with a single wing
you will remember me for this
whether new parts of the mind or extraterrestrial
growth appears strange
you never get that close shave
a last attempt at exemplary advice
or how to make custard, the rules for dominoes
why every new departure is contested
stasis immobilised fear
what if it all happens & I miss it?
Convictions make Convicts [you are trapped by your beliefs]
or can the wrong habits be broken?
making up the form as it goes along
never argue about politics or religion
you forget the holiday, believe what the photos say
ready in a moment
the secret lies in the questions
the sandcoloured buildings that shimmer at dawn
what day is it?
the caravan is always ready to depart
only the bones of a sentence remain
to not be considered as a relic
assumes a sympathetic frequency
making the pieces fit is making the pieces
we walk not on our legs but on our Will
the light shining in a certain way
across the corner of the bedspread
used to know where this belonged
stay awake