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

Out all morning     looking for slow-worms.

About mid-day    with empty hands     we head for home.

I find Alan and his brother at the bottom of the old stone path - going fishing.

Forgetting dinner     and my mother’s warnings    I turn back with them
persuade them snakes are worthier than fish.

We reach the slip     where the road was swept away. In the 1930’s
the hillside slithered          ground into the valley.
The railway, too, was lost and the coal mine wrecked.

Gaunt wheels
windows in hollow walls.
The sharp light silent

Our path leads over shales to a stretch of twisted road     on the far side.
Below us     now     between the ruined colliery and road is a tumble of
round boulders       overgrown with scrub-oak:

Moss    ferns and rock.
My face burns    tickles
with the broken spider-webs*

A rusty water tank    still being filled      leaking from a broken joint.
We play       become     aware:

Touch of the woods
a whisper.
We stop our shouting

Deeper.     A round pond shining in the sun with one tree hanging over.
I lean on this     nose to water     look into the clear green shade.
Slowly a plum-stone   rises    at its point a bubble, which detaches
at the surface.         The stone sprouts legs    swims down again     is gone.

Losing my time    my place
I gaze!     I stare!

A face.    A little face     with beady eyes   broad grin arms with tiny hands
flat tail.      I remember pictures: A Newt!     Echoes
flatten fast amongst the trees.

Stealth of hand      I catch the little one.    Place him in my jamjar
with water and some weed.

Alan soon joins in     and I have five    before low sun and hunger
make us realise how the day has slipped.

My mother’s words ring loud:
Mind you get home for dinner. Don’t be late. It’s dangerous up there.

Back on the road    we hurry.
Coming towards us   a tiny figure which becomes    my mother.

Look Mam! Newts.    Laughing     I lift my jar of new delights.

My mother’s anger
flows into the glass.
Her smile swims into mine