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

1. HOW TO TRAP A VAMPIRE

A vampire is never seen in the mirror,
otherwise he is much like a man;
it is said that certain herbs
might keep him at bay
if they did not wither at his presence.
After drinking from a woman's neck
clouds of blood will burn from his eyes
do not allow this fire to enter your eyes -
the woman's blood will draw you in
and shield him from your silver bullet.
Yet one small symbol
never fails to trap the vampire -
a cross, resolutely held to his face
will drain the blood from his eyes,
he will find himself in a hall of mirrors,
and, with the correct incantations,
he will rapidly fall to your feet.
In this he is much like a man.
While he lies in his frenzy
no time should be lost;
no tears will be shed,
but while he lies in his frenzy
a wooden stake should be driven
firmly through his heart.

2. THE VAMPIRE'S MOLL

At first, the swan-like beckoning
of her neck is bound to tantalise
the hero yet, within the week, drained
of each protective juice, her flesh
ferments beneath her Hollywood wig - the vampire's
                                                                          prey
will never draw the gentleman's pity.
The finest of scruples will often fade
before the sense of smell, and the mildest
odours of her recent decay
will draw his curse, they will draw
the flaming torches from out of the village
and drive the stiffening hero away.

3. THE SCARLET ANTS OF GENERAL FU

Beneath the ormolu clock
the drawers of smoked glass
have opened a fraction;
within the drawers, reclining
on his quilt of velvet, he squints
at a cloud, the sun's last crimson
has dimmed from its belly,
and, as his servant drops a tureen,
he steps from the drawer,
he brushes his cloak
and barely succeeds in ignoring the tasteless
cinema organ that greets his return from the dead.

4. Every night the castle threatens
to fall apart,
even the bats are moulting,
his throat is dry
and every day
the sun will threaten
to vitrefy his eyes.

5. His servant, Clove, has welcomed a guest,

her eyes are fixed
on a scarlet ant

its steps
are in danger of cracking

this forest of jade
its amber pools

amongst his goblets of blood
his chunks of ice      the host

displays his carving of jade

nervously
with great aplomb      the guest

has swallowed
a perfumed ant

across the way
white ants have swarmed towards the ox

they have stripped it bare

within the hour its bones
will totter in the wind.

6. SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL

The man is wild:
his ancestors, decked in oils
along the hall, will mock
him with their ornamental
grapes and clutches of bleeding grouse;
the vampire is mad,
his teeth are sliding on glass,
he claws the floral surround of a mirror
but no image appears to rivet his eyes -
he paces the halls,
he tears down hangings,
he orders a banquet,
he orders the bells to clamour round
his goblets of brass
and turns to paint
the clear, geometrical forms of his kingdom.

7. Beneath a pastel ceiling
the lady is waiting, she pirouettes
on the marble floor.

When she entered, she played
the martyr, the pristine
sheath of her bodice would have to be marked:
and when the host emerged from his jade,
each move she made, each garment
concealing her muscular poise
was calculated
to speak of what he was not.

Now, consigned to the boudoir, the guest
has clipped the ringlets of hair
that framed the trembling of her neck;

she does not fret,
but, balanced on heels of tapering ivory,
she draws the murdered rabbit from her bag -

the cudgel's rapid compression of the brain
has sprung the eyes from its face -
she balances,
she learns to study the creature's face,

and, when her crying subsides,
when the fine clamour of bells begins to shake
the woodworm from the beams,
she turns to discard the heels and feminine gait

she enters the hall,
the host is arranging his cloak,
she fondles the rot of the servant's teeth
and, knocking
him senseless with a kiss,
she strolls towards the host.

8. A LITTLE RESTRAINT

At least the virgin has the grace
to laugh, says Clove
as she catches him gobbling a fly,

and when the vampire,
Bela Lugosi, parts the lace
from the subtlest hollow of her neck,
she does not move,

yet

Bela Lugosi, now that his lips
have parted from the fangs, will hesitate
at her slightest laugh,

he will lay the green
satin over her bodice, and raising his eyes
in a look of the most exquisite agony,

he will carry her bodily from the screen.