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

not last night  
but the night before
twenty-four …

(sham, gol, parvaneh)*

The frame flies off   the photograph fountains the air  masks run
off after tennis balls   wooden-horses become the fastest-ever racers
and the moon like my forehead’s rose-diamond sings ‘come, kiss me’
turning round to me in my dream he ladybirds off from my hair-clip 
and dragonflies out from my belt buckle  be drowsy with it, head,
my head, this sun ….

When the sky is no longer breathed out from our chests   rain we’ve
became sea  fetch yourself   & my breast-bone’s seven womb months
go fetch yourself   I’ve washed my hands of  sshh…shussuration & of
                                                                     gobbed breath
Sshh…sh-outbreaths walking on iron chains   sshh chains that have
                                                       placed a fatwa on reincarnation
Sshh…air is of just that kind that my embrace cannot enchain it
Go fetch yourself   words in my mouth are the years’ reddest bulbul

The lip can’t catch the voice  pomegranates can’t be bit  fetch yourself
I have washed my hands of these hands that crazily rise to the pink veil
Fetch yourself   so that the sun’ll wash its body-heat in another sun -
the red orb of your face   from the day you were born  I’m calling this
poem by your name that the world might hear it

Only god is the one god!

The drop of rain that
has become a pearl knows … 

not last night 
but the night before  
twenty-four …

(sham, gol, parvaneh)*