Jim Burns
Ah, the old days
In the old days the Indians
were lance-bearing lines on distant hills,
and only came down
when the moon was full, and we
could pick them off as they circled the house.
Now they bring their lawyers,
and they contest their rights to the land
with legal jargon
as deadly as bullets
and twice as effective as they arrows
they could never get near enough to kill with.
It’s the times, you know.
Civilisation has done for the old West,
and no-one wants to live on buffalo-meat anymore.
Page(s) 40-41
magazine list
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- Chroma
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- Iota
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- Lamport Court
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- Magma
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- Modern Poetry in Translation
- Monkey Kettle
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- Neon Highway
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- North, The
- Oasis
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- Orbis
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- Painted, spoken
- Paper, The
- Pen Pusher Magazine
- Poetry Cornwall
- Poetry London
- Poetry London (1951)
- Poetry Nation
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- Poetry Salzburg Review
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- Private Tutor
- Purple Patch
- Quarto
- Rain Dog
- Reach Poetry
- Review, The
- Rialto, The
- Second Aeon
- Seventh Quarry, The
- Shearsman
- Smiths Knoll
- Smoke
- South
- Staple
- Strange Faeces
- Tabla Book of New Verse, The
- Thumbscrew
- Tolling Elves
- Ugly Tree, The
- Weyfarers
- Wolf, The
- Yellow Crane, The