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

1

‘She dances headlong in the stars,
chasing dreams in stolen cars...’

back on tyneside
three wheels spin in a circle of fire
the streets are ridged like a lizards back
gleaming cars roar thru yellow smoke
green bridge stretched over black water
features pulled hard as a coal face
three times he went under
& came up coughing flowers.
foul words a scratched in the dust & blood
of the concrete veins of a city.
touching the warm body w/ electric
fingertips
thru the exhaustion of many days
travel in the sluggish heat
we race toward a climax.
two magpies dodge invisible objects
on top of a black chimney stack.
sinking into the soft upholstery
of a super Nova
w/ a girl from the red city
& a girl from the scree hills
when they smile
it’s like the first golden sunlight
across the wet grass of dawn.

Got to get back
to the purple hills of the border.

I lay down this wild curse
on the grey suited men in BMWs
that have invaded our homelands.
“the orange flames shall roar
thru the tortured frames of yr soft flesh
the crows shall peck yr eyes from their sockets
i have returned w/ sunburned skin
to stamp on yr throats w/
boots encaked in building site mud.
to wrap yr heads in barbed wire,
to infect yr PCs w/ weird viruses.”

i demand a mexican rug.
you can keep yr space age hoovers
yr pension schemes, yr shitty jobs,
yr platinum credit cards.
i just want to fly.

Full of vodka
took ten tokes off a coke-can bong
& fell spinning back
into the void.

2

dim headlights flashed across a wall
& the girl from the red citys smile
illuminated the dark & stormy sea
in one huge swinging arc.

a chemical plant in Cumbria
in the weird cigarette-smoke blue light
seen from high speeds
of a flashing carriage.

the girl from the scree hills
dissects the space
around my consciousness
like a sleek black panther
stalking the night...

cranes
boarded up shop fronts
left the mogadon
on botchergate.

the girl from the red city
thru a careless sideways hex
as he strode aimlessly
thru the dawn city streets
to the fleeting applause
of a startled pigeons wings.

got to get back
to the purple hills of the border.

the girl from the scree hills awoke
to the sound of sparrows
pecking putty from the windowpane.

wide-eyed as a shaman
stumbled thru wet moss
clawed at calloused bark,
how can i see thru these dancing trees
with white fog in my eyes ?

the girl from the scree hills
& the girl from the red city
nurse my broken spirit
w/ chardonay, w/ jack daniels whiskey,
bottles of rolling rock, horse linament,
olive oil, wd-40, rosehip,
microchips & clockfaces,
test-tubes & chemicals,
drowned by the moonlight
& the certainty of chance.

the damp earth
soaked into the fabric of my jeans
as i fell to my knees,
a decorated veteran of the psychedelic wars.