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

                    The eldest he took me first
in the Hillman Minx that smelt of leather
             both of us best dressed
to the Public Hall for the Thursday night Phil

             my mother never came
the younger two to watch
             but otherwise would she
                    and proud of me he was his girl
tall slender     proud that he the urchin boy
                            the mean-streets cockroached
slum-raised boy
             had a girl and a mind for the better things

                    my father the outcast bastard
             all stigma to the better people
birth the mark that marked him marred
                    shame his breast milk sucked
from a mother-sham
             shame his loathed Latin catechism
     shame his schooling in the elements of shame
shame his rote and reason
                    one-lifted beneath the sky
             like those that shamed him

I his first his path his lift his love his life
             strong oh so strong
but what strength is strength enough against
                    the gravity of a new-horns grief
     who can be born to bear to die an instant after
who uncoddled cold-shouldered in his should
             life’s vital inevitable demands
                          countermanded by a dry priests creed
a mother's catholic shame
             who with nothing but a will to lift
     the magnetic drag of a nature degraded
debased debauched at cradle tine
                    who with a wife wily to see
             a life unowned adrift apart
and pity’s chance to usurp love
                    who pitied and unloved except
in children fool for every fribble’s flattery
             flattered by a serious daughter
raised not to be a fribble
                     turned his sweet advantage sour
     left love’s flawed enclave
             for a bare bedsit and perfect lovelessness
et quand on a des gosses comme nous
                                           on ne se divorce pas

                     Breakfast time in the cracking house
her face cracked with a creaking smile
             my mother asked her daughter who had seen
what was she like a cracker
                      and she the elder in her fourteen years
lowered her modest impartial eyes as I chewed toast
             and guessed the cataclysm

Tornado hurricane earthquake volcano
             no ground opened to swallow me up
I crawling beneath the storm
                      baby of the one-egoed house
she relieved from sharing filling like polyfoam
             the inward cavity of caved-in love
I growing fatherless luckily big-brothered
                      absent-mothered luckily big-sistered
youngest named in her name
             my growing was her dying my love
her pain my happiness her misery
                      I daughter-husband drowned in sentiment
and piety paltry pieta love’s crucified body on her lap
             nightly listening to the raucous bitter laughter
blushing the stars false falsetto
                      song of Narcissus and I small neglected
mother-uncuddled held from harm as if
             all the world were harm except
                      this tiny island I must shrink to fit

             Six on the sofa I saw her snuggle
nudged away with an unpleasant sneer
                      as if a child’s want of warmth
were a man’s want of quim
             I brother-father hand-holder
innocent caresser arm-around sibling
                      looking-over-the-shoulder substitute
inadequate as my years

             Who else could I tell of fairy-tale hope
doomed by ambition
                      of my sad active decades
my anguished languishing days

              Friday     an unfriendly cold fried fish in the pan
warmed sauced and bread befriended
                      lonely at the solitary table in the solid bay
boy with a five-minute future
              and she blonde squint-eyed bruised-thighed
full-bloused beauty white-teethed tease my dream

Too much I took to love’s cheap market
              ache of a distant echo in a flag-floored house
loneliness of my father’s poor-boy’s blood
              love an unspoken absence in the bleak back-yards
need like a wave that rolled and crashed
              rash as boys on a truant sap
and love limped like a footless leper beside
                      thick-thighed lust with a spurt like cum
and lust lurked like a spurned lover on love’s far flank
              outcast hurt vengeful sly

Between the world and me a rift
              Frost’s lover’s tiff turned to fisticuffs
love my unflinching creed no creed
              not taught but known known
before instruction instructed like breath’s lesson
                      told that love is truth
like night is dark
                      taught that love is life
like day is light
              the world came to me as a whore
between her legs reward ambition pride
                      cold cash ungenerous lust

and the false coin of the economic game rang
                      in a hating time
              on every cheating counter

              Unsuited blazered slacked
confirmed in my street non-conformism
                      left out I came in on my own terms
and one Manchester morning the boss said
              only suits will suit
awkward street kid back-alley angered
                      striding huffed Deansgate and Piccadilly
blazing with a man’s pride
              is this the meaning of the universe
for this was my heart made to beat
                      untamed tyke with a curling lip
born boat-burner
              untipped outsider tipping to no-one
any man’s equal qualified in recklessness
                      petulant for a pettiness
should I have bitten my lip for her for them
              chewed of f my face for my future
I all street cheek chequered
                      in a city of chewed-lipped men
chucked the car the salary the suit
              she dismayed in tears in the kitchen
          and the rates to pay
                      but the feel of a moment’s freedom
sweet as love

              Freewheeler in my own place
poorer selling sweetmeats and delicacies
                      in my side-street deli
wide-eyed wide-boy with a world to win
              and she young ready-sexed presence
slow heavy and lingering
                      tilted her empty head like a sleepy dove
              and lust like love rose in me like a slight
old hurt of motherlessness mother of my love-lust
              old ache of abandonment
                      old bane of bastardy       my blight

              On the after-hours dark counter
in the white unbuttoned smock without a word
she lifted her stilettos spread her knees
              all squint-eyed would-be innocence
lisping lip-biter
                      and I blood-banged drooler
at the inviting white triangle
              tight warm wet home for me
who never knew a home
                      moan at my admittance I
the unadmitted
              embrace for the unembraced boy
     release for the taut untaught emotion
                      in a cold mice-cellared lock-up shop
pink-cheeked she picked her knickers from the floor

                      Green love in a green dress patched
where the cigarette holed
     hanging by the hangman’s haunt
              lingering in the flirting shelter
Juned in the quiet lanes she all behind-the-bushes eagerness
              I calf-loved innocent erect
my rectitude too stiff my dry kissing for the long game
                       she short-termed and skirted
risk-frisky mowed in notomorrow flightiness
              love’s ideal too treacherous a peak
I wrong climber roped and ready
                        and dallying in the hawthorned heat
     coy and coaxing shy summoner
she pressed her breast and belly
                               resolving rejection
I dream-accepted on the floating bus love-drugged
                        man’s heart boy’s body
              man’s body boy’s heart
already girl-futured
     and when I rang she said oh you
oh me
              and love like gutter rain
uneddied
              ran its dirty course down every dismal drain

                        One-eyed red Jack my man
I mothered in Methodism at a cruel century’s end
              certain in my pride
married this uncertain shy gruff sensitive man
                        man of strong heart and hand
half-sighted insighter forced to sit tight
              when glory-crazed khakis ran to carnage
Princips-principled he young hard between my legs
                        fought like them a futile bloody fight
I remote unmoved jigging mechanical hips
              tore the tender heart in his muscled torso
     mistress in my own house inflicting
love in cleanliness and hot plain food
                        and hell-hot Wesleyan mind-melting dogma
flame that froze the future in the womb
              my children never to be other than my children
     my love dog’s choker checking their reach
                        three robust males and one slight girl

I descended from these the urban poor
                        born in a dockside backstreet
              will not forgive the damning lie
                        that these were the feckless poor
the worthless poor the shirking poor the skiving poor
              that these raised in mind-freezing fear
workhouse worded long after the workhouse world
                        apologising for their lives
              the sky an accusation the earth a rebuke
as if the stars were saying
                              and why are you here
     you      mean-streeted work-shattered and worthless
              should have a lesser share of life
I a bastard’s son raised in the shadow of my father’s shame
                        will not forgive
              the wretched respectability that excludes
privet-hedged pusillanimity
                        shorn lawns of the suburban dead
              mindless middle-england
                        the lie of life’s greater worth
              for the upgraded by a pay cheque
slick-suited usurers from whose mouth falls
                        glib viciousness senseless bilge of
economic nicety
              seminar-specious these the downgraded
the battered the bartered I loved loved me
                        labour costs factory factors consumers
these the fragmented the regimented ill-fed fodder
              oddities outcasts
                        will not forgive
the cold intrusion of scalding dogma
              maniacal righteousness of paradise-tongued perverts
     denying desire to raise inordinate desire
love’s sweet limited pleasure pished
                        for eternity’s eroticism
              the mind’s honest needs dismissed
for lying endless greed
                        the universe too small to fill
the gaping belly of the god-devouring godly
              I singer of life’s simple song
unafraid of death in terror of death-in-life
                        will not forgive
the daily murder of the heart’s right claim
              for the mad clamour of the hurt heart’s wrong
false nothingness for nothing but everything
                        greed that would guzzle the world
lie of unlimited wants
              grip of the cold hard what’s-coming-next creed
I soft futured in tender love and loveliness
                        will not forgive
the ugly money-weaving town town of money sickness
              where people meet for money
and never meet

I saw this morning a pretty street whose name I have forgotten
              and the typists still in the early morning
on clacking heels
                        tall short plump thin young and fading
              sweet parade of femininity
you strange woman on the street
                        on the way to tedium
I love your self-possession and your honest stride
              I love your primeval gait
you who have walked through untouched forests
                        you cave-dweller naked river bather
           you lady of the tarmac and the twin
I love the justice of your straight shoulders
              and the freedom of your slender hands
lady I love the way your head points to the sky
                        and the miracle of your feet on the ground
              I love the wit of your sway
and the genius of your glance lady
                        whatever you do for pay today
will be endowed with wonder
              lady of the eight o’clock street
the salvation of humanity is in your smile
                        saviour in neat black shoes
shoes for ordinary feet feet as extraordinary as yours
     lady bringing redemption in the way you cross
              lady of a million slow changes or two sudden origins
I love your untheoretical lipstick
              and your philosophical auburnity
the unremitting cars tiresome in their pneumatic progress
                        are neanderthals to your modernity
ancient woman
              woman of the loin-cloth and the dug-out
in the end you are weary of this worn out world
         you e-mail your love to the neighbouring pillow
lady of the astounding vowels
                                 the stunning consonants
              I love the wisdom of your unconscious mouth
the spit of your final northern t
              careless spite of procrustean RP
exquisite lady of the pretty street in an ugly town
                        fools crave your unpurchaseable grace
crass assortment of tormenting greeds
              lady     appetite is enough
and for satisfaction there is the faction of the blue sky
                        and your miraculous head
and your marvellous feet lady of the lazy square
              the liberal horse-chestnut and
the recalcitrant rhododendron

              Double-breasted suede and tongue-tied
lonely bussed on the Longridge road
              shilling-fared my cheap expectant journey into life
I sixteened sixties boy Pepper brained
                        impatient to be ten-bob pocketed
loosed from the modern school failed and easy
              I naive as sunlight willing as a star
      ready to make bad memories
                               she ten-fingered and nineteen
prim at  her  promiscuous machine
              clicking sychophantic efficiency
as we      five drab-tailored duds
      called like criminals to account
              hid our innocence and displayed our crimes
in competition for
                        six quid a week and thirty-seven hours

              Tell of the ineffable sadness of money
the cut-price dreams the end-of-season truths
     and loss-leader ideals