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

A white sea, billowing like a new dress,
a map full of floating names.

What if her own name were Caroline Islands?
She would live in Bougainville
speak fluent Choiseul
dance the Tana in the sunflower fields
and sip Marianas through the silky night.

Stop giggling, barks the class mistress.
You girls will marry – some of you may even become –
leaders of the country.
Responsibility.

Hard always to trace the boundaries exactly
and draw the blue lines, the mouth of the sea
the jagged edge of land.

No smudges please.

If she were called Caroline Islands
her best friend would be Coral.
She’d be lovely, laughing,
with black hair flicking up at the ends
like Jackie Kennedy.
They’d glide around together holding hands
ignoring Elizabeth Reef, plump head prefect,
sneaky Helen Reef.

Concentrate, frowns the mistress.
Just the mainland,
an important part of our Commonwealth.

Chesterfield, Mellish, Lord Howe,
Indispensible, Challenger,
a net of twisting, grasping names
tangling over the tiny islands and reefs
scattered like freckles on a bird’s egg.

Cato, rallying the forces of law and order
marching into the panelled library;
Bismarck, marshalling his army
sounding the bell for Maths;
ponderous Solomon, bellowing at Assembly,
and all the Times Newspaper names,
Banks, Admiralty, New Britain.

Stop day-dreaming.
Don’t you want to make something of your life
contribute to society?

What of the other names,
whispery
Espiritu, Malekula, Epi, Efate, Ermanga,
Nanumea, Niutoa, Nui, Nurakita,
dancing, shaking loose of stately meaning,
dancing free?