JINGLE ON MY SON!

JINGLE ON MY SON!

11.2.18

MAP OF THE WORLD





























 









We turned its global head as babies,


traced its edges onto paper,


scarcely scratched


the surface


of that old familiar spotted face


shaped up, boiling for a fight.





Hung on walls,


it looked so static


but in its latitudes and longitudes we knew


that people moved,


homes grew,


cities drowned


and cliffs broke.





Later, travelling,


we stepped out


across the sheet,


skipped the Channel,


entered 


new squares.


Then creeping back


at dusk,


we folded up this map,


packed away the ice


and sunny beach,


stuck it all in a small back pocket


and shrunk back


into our own world’s frontiers.


That tiny territory


of our scars.






KEITH ARMSTRONG

the jingling geordie

My photo
whitley bay, tyne and wear, United Kingdom
poet and raconteur