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

15.26.27.28. The three or four earthenware vases working through a great tactile phase. They performed on humid stuffy ramps, facing back with that regular jaguar grin flowing into them.

20.30.50. Called it a puzzle, a manufacturer waving his features around as a way of seeing. The door of her car, without recalling lost innocence, slams shout, a very different kind of green to rapidity.

32. Where we should build entrances with a goat in front of them. In solitude for two hours, boats making their entrance into a skylight. There by the washstand, some human rebirth with no malevolence. The roads stretch there securely. From this position could be seen pork, the hedges of neighbours turning yellow. Give me back my mundane staircase. Wrestle more quietly with the surface of clouds. Here, corded flax works better, here's your room.

Move towards it affecting a ripple of driverless nonchalance. Cushions pile to a full view, yet replete with challenges to keep score, to build a market we can't see. Call out for food to feed the birds who work for food. The next morning tiny facts rimmed with a river of glasses. He began laying out houses along the street, keeping all their doors open for the human condition (being otherwise unable under mattresses behind our pilgrimage). A dazzle lay beyond the stretches of the lawn and the huge mouths of old men. Perhaps better to angle the suggestive flower heap. To the right, the law of self-victimisation. If only creatures knew where they slept more often, walking by their side plying visions and whips. Before you know, the streetcar of her eyes, enlivened by unbroken, proliferation arabesques. They cannot be the picture in her head. Such the attention deficit, and there flinched limbs. Three huge hooks bound for the monastery, trailing grimly through the shadows. Building surface tension upon random walls, the Duke at dawn counting squares on the door or floor. When stepping on one, reach into a whirlpool. Hold all its windows until the whistle blows for withdrawal. If the houses haven't any compassion, place rich dappled light under the warrantees and exercise your palate by eating blind your fill of wet mysteries. Out the other window, see us crime.

25.27. A shirt to wear your city of lost innocence context under.

56. To end by storing morning in the fields of cotton meant cracking quickly the codes to the broken girl.

2.99. The heat of toys, lying posthumous in their glamour. Previously, how could pleasure preserve five solitary angles, creased sharp by the agency of Washington. Corporate wonderful sights stand recollecting dew.

23. Water into my wrists but the word stuck in his throat. Try my hand, I feel sort of bound. Or better, greet me in the street, past the priest on his bullock. Notice how from every gate a flame darts offering appealing living arrangements. There goes the gutter, once a day, prior to seeding, and still the sound wounds his ears drone. Outmoded, none fitting him exactly, friends standing joking with the cops. An hour of a rendezvous kissed her hard, hit her forehead. Beside her, a medley of men calling themselves the mediators, treading on butter. He stood prepared in three-quarters of a century of the right. Touch for influence. If I don't speak, how will things become common knowledge. On paths joining a configuration of places, we rub our hands up against fantastic crusts of worlds, arguments of mountains. Retrieving some heads, we lift the girl up so she can see. Your whirring arms are supporting large shelves too. Is this a kick of a rifle. You seek to assure me that the woman has rubbed her hand and grinned. Her eyes are pressed up against the plastic, making marks to locate my smudges. She makes a gesture to release our page between a wave of enthusiasm and political wisdom.

8.9. Devouring the remaining cymbals without telling her

5. Screaming for a sound, we're sparkling too with customer information. The same soil is warmth where warmth is triumphant sequences of butterfly wings. Not intending a direct contrary, she began stunning high mentions of security. From growth he cut off her nose, searched safely for a green puddle to drop his face in. This became known as an attachment. Eyesight was marked clearly one off from the other.

5. The mistake illuminates your body. Its feet and friends. Taking a longer walk along Marble Street is mentally unimportant. The distracting fluorescence is an exposure of lips allowing smoke. They erect, make fuzzy attempts at attack. They are merely bird-feeders to you and I notice your brown attention, its thirst. Your organs unison. Is this your concentration when demanded by digitalised intentions yet.

20. Decoration for composition. A white gold and silver dressed man. Vibrant colours to live by between habit and the door. Timid objects are producing scar ripples in the canvas. Some on money, too liquid for oblivion's gravitational pull, request a cigarette paper for two in the earshot of music. Other grouping arrangements exist. Rats wait for improved meditation practices. They are achieving form by the careful accumulation of scales played at random intervals. Dividing the air the sound clusters leave tiny whistle like particles behind you began picking up. As you rolled on the ground with me my descent seemed less clear. Why when fractions were our device was not a timid question. Both our heads were shapes perpendicular to our backs, often stretching until we started to talk. With erratic movements in the bus queues, time was short and we kept the words that did arise like dolls. Occasionally I saw a habit of creation. I was unable to shop viably, having to hang too many numbers over the other characters in the shop. Being offered another hand was pain relief reduced to boy-quotients but still relatively accessible. Somewhere else possessed love tokens, fat rings scooped into a fugue of willingness. This will become our template of mirrors you suggest, our better horse queen queen.

16. A tracery of trees granting rough movement to the folded thought by her bending low over it. More shaken knots, not a random structure per se. His name in public, its skin a cool voice, labouring to measure such corporeal terms as bread and earth. In flux, a living room spraying knees down curves. Withdraw to knot a necktie. In addition, transverse origins veiling the horizon changes to him. Clumsy birds all over the love-thickets make loaves, drinking juice, juggling purple-gold figs. He finished showing them around using streaks of bass notes they'd all left behind in harmony. His craving for place to the fore, he next published as extensions of his hands three angular wave forms that lacked the associated virtues of episode before they blent into the valency of his President foundation.

27.28. Instant admittance of carrots into distance, into their apex of silently cut off boxes.

120. Balance of this leaf I can't pretend to like your hearing, I can't even magnify the ways, leaves falling on nuts like gifts.

60. Logically shoplifting in tunnels when we're ill, just as hills can be spacious in bliss

25. Examines stories that you touch my bodies with nests

20.30. Sunk to co-ordinating limbs, my obstacle to dance is my ratio of injury to committee stages.