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

the summer doesn’t suit me
finds me out
faded and yellow as an old blonde star
the afternoon is stuffy as a bus
the long day wears itself away
tarnishing
we all are
gimcrack cheapskate
the sunshine tarnishes the light
and in the park the lily pond is low
flattened under newspaper and other litter
it sulks
its stifled fishes skulk and flicker
turning occasionally like leaves in wind
to catch gold in the light
only a flash in the pond
no stars
I smell of sweat
worn out
I fancy winter
sharp skies and passionate frosts
a crystallised lust
the usual ache and silver iconography
stars and the sea
fishes and horoscopes, the endless knot
‘the Pentangle, assigned to Gawain, his device’
I read about it, sprawled out naked in the sun
a sort of casualty
we all are
on the beach, sunslaughtered
acres of carnage
the shingle hurts my flesh
‘with the pentangel depaynt of pure gold hewes;’
a tale of a cold land
a wintry odour of ermine
a scent of frost
christmas trappings
tarnishing
the knights don’t make it
and the stars have had their day
like neon signs in sunlight
like death, or ageing blondes
all passion spent
and love is small and pink again and makes me sick
sticky hearts, jam tarts for a childish tea
and german songs
the sea is warm and icecreams melt in it
dead starfishes are sold in seaside shops
five-pointed stars
‘and uch lyne umbelappes and loukes in other’
biscuity corpses, dusty souvenirs
the usual disgust and arid iconography
the afternoon is stuffy as a bus
full of anachronisms and embarrassments
one street lamp has been alight for days
a weak light in the green and dusty summer trees
the sunshine doesn’t suit it, finds it out
faded and yellow as an old blonde star