Walk On, Tom Bewick

Stride Circus Lane 

and chip your signature 

on the pavement of scrapes and kisses.

Pass the Forth

and skirt 

its pleasure gardens;

throw your darts in the archery field.

Skim the bowling green

and walk on water, 

doff your hat to Mrs Waldie;

cut along 

old scars of lanes 

to the bloody gush of Westgate Street;

whistle with birds

in a vicar’s garden,

let warm thoughts fly in Tyneside sun

to bless this Geordie day.

And greet 

the morning hours,

Aunt Blackett and Gilbert Gray,

sing to free the world,

the Black Boy;

harmonise your mind

in a churchyard of melancholy.

Dance over the Lort Burn,

the sun in your eyes,

flooding your workshop

with a light fantastic.

Your shoulders so proud

rub with the building girls

and lady barbers

along Sandhill;

the boats of your dreams

bridge the aching Tyne,

ships groaning

in the tender daylight,

longing for the healing moon;

a keelman’s fantasies

of quayside flesh

and the seething sea.

You trip along 

searching for electricity and magnetism 

in the inns,

winging it

with the bird catchers and canary breeders,

the dirty colliers and the harping whalers.

Walk on Tom,

execute 

a portrait

of a hanging man;

let your strong heart

swell with the complex passion

of common folk.

KEITH ARMSTRONG

whitley bay by the sea!

BAY WHEEL

Here I come

through Bay Fog,

gold ring glinting

in the Park Road dark.

Seeking a North Sea fortune,

looking for a tuneful lass

to make my aching skin sing

of Wooden Dollies

and Spanish Galleons,

sailing across the old fairground

to sunnier climbs.

There’s this guy in the Rockcliffe

and he looks like a ghost.

He’s as pale as the weather

amd mist drips from his nose.

He’s an Old Waltzer,

my young Uncle Walter,

and his eyes are all talk of the War.

He did his strong courting

in an Old Spanish City

and the rose he seduced

was a Cullercoats’ flame.

Now those cold bones are ready

for the warm Crematorium:

a Memoriam to seconds flown by;

the joy of the candyfloss,

the hum of the summer,

the simmer of hamburgers,

and the hot suck of kisses dashed off.

And I am the dome of your past,

the breast of the future,

and I will hug your treasured snaps,

stick your faces in my locket

and spin you down my blouse.

For I have given you joy.

I have thrown you lifelines 

and bobbing girls and boys.

And my Bay Wheel

keeps on turning.

My Big Heart

goes on burning.

My Sweet,

my sweet Streets,

my Catalon Whitley,

kiss me.

Kiss me.

KEITH ARMSTRONG

JOSEPH SKIPSEY (1832-1903)

The North of England Institute of Mining and Mechanical Engineers, Neville Hall, WestgateRoad, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE1 1SE. Tel: 0191 232 2201.

JOSEPH SKIPSEY – A COMMEMORATION

Saturday 17th March from 7 – 9pm in the Library.

2012 provides several anniversaries of mining disasters so, to re-balance this a little, we’ll be holding an event celebrating the 180th anniversary of the birth of Joseph Skipsey, the Tyneside Pitman Poet.The event includes Keith Armstrong, Gary Miller (Whisky Priests), Chris Harrison with Skipsey songs, the Sawdust Jacks and pipe player Chris Ormston, with readings from Skipsey’s poetry and an account of his life. During the evening, the annual Northern Voices Joseph Skipsey Award will be presented to a deserving local writer.

the search for the perfect pub

POETIC PARTNERS

Lyrik-Lesung

Keith Armstrong & Freunde

*

am 28. März 2012

Start: 20.00 Uhr

Eintritt: 5,- Euro

im Club Voltaire

Club Voltaire : Haaggasse 26b : 72070 Tübingen

Mit: Keith Armstrong aus Durham (UK) Tübingens Partnerstadt,

Harry Kienzler, Klaus F. Schneider, Tibor Schneider, Eva C. Zeller

& Musik von Gary Miller von den “Whisky Priests” 

der Folk-Rock Band aus Durham (UK).

old scarlett