HAPPY NEW YEAR TO A TWIN TOWN

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I am glad to have twinned with this shapely town,
the bureaucrat who chose it was inspired,
picking through the rail lines and autobahns to seek it out,
linking it with my fleeting life.
I have travelled here a score of times and watched
my features change
with the seasons
in a twin town’s mirror.
I have made and carelessly lost friends,
renewed the flagging feel of tenderness,
groped in the darkness for a kiss gone missing,
licked over nooks and crannies.
 

With local wine glinting in my starry eyes,
I have lost all tracks of time
in the cool of bowing trees;
rejoiced in the pounding of church bells,
singing in my head.
I have dived in the shadows seeking famous sons,
slid in gutters with the down and outs.

This town has a brain of a University
and the guts of a stray-dog.
I have flogged it to death.

It was in this bar, at this table, in this corner,
that I looked into a girl called Karin’s eyes;
and it was at that moment, for that rich moment,
that our eyes twinned and I couldn’t wait to jet home,
write a glowing report on her glowing face
for our International Exchange Officer to file safely
under ‘Twinning Affairs’
or ‘Affairs, Twinning, New Year’.

Yes, I am glad 
to have twinned with this shapely town,
inspired
by Karin’s eyes.  





KEITH ARMSTRONG

I HAVE FALLEN IN LOVE WITH THE FORTH BRIDGE

Dear Mr. Armstrong,

I hope this finds you well.  I've never done this in my life - i.e. contact a writer - but felt I really had to thank you for the fabulous poem about the Forth Bridge which appeared in the Scottish Review.  

It so inspired me that I wanted to hang out the window and shout it across the bay!  (I live on a wee island on the west coast.)

Not only do I also love that bridge (I spent my childhood holidays in Fife and always got so excited whenever we crossed it), but I like bridges in general (don't know what that says about me and don't care to find out!).  I'm also a Russian speaker and absolutely love Mayakovsky's great poem inspired by the Brooklyn Bridge. Yours is equally inspiring, as far as I'm concerned.

Anyway - all I wanted to do was to congratulate you and say thank you for that truly marvellous poem.  It made my day reading it.

All the best,

Moira Dalgetty

I HAVE FALLEN IN LOVE WITH THE FORTH BRIDGE

Strapping girders,

lusty arches:

the span of my ambition,

shore to shore

you link me with the old bones,

the new ways,

the true trains that take me

down the path of all my loves.

You lift up your wide arms

to take in the tide,

roll with the shaking wind

that whistles in the rushes

of the wild banks.

You thrill me with your size,

your strong embrace;

you roar with achievement,

you make me proud:

I could hug you.

Let me take the Queensferry train,

slide through you to freedom.

The pipes play

and the kilts sway

to greet us.

You are the opening,

the gap we streak through

to the woolly wilds

of Auld Reekie

and Bonnie Old Dundee;

to the sea of workers’ blood,

the red rust of the past that clings

and hugs the bones of dead engineers.

In the Albert Hotel,

tucked up, I hear you moan in the darkness.

Naked,

I pull back the curtains

and see you floodlit

in all your entrancing glory.

Shine on, shine

you crazy bridge.

You have my devotion,

you have my deepest darkest love.

I would climb you stripped;

I would feel you breathe in the Firth wind.

I give you my heart and soul,

I am frail against your depth.

You will outlive me,

do not mock me,

you are superb.

You are my outstretched lovely;

I will breathe through you,

long for you,

die for you.

Rock me,

go Forth

and inspire me.

KEITH ARMSTRONG

SING A SONG FOR HENSHAW

 

 



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S3DffKLEGZA&t=39s

SING A SONG FOR HENSHAW

(FOR YOU MY MOTHER EVA)


Illuminate this slumbering old village for my mother,  
let her country fields glow with a fine light that’s warm.
This radiant song is for Henshaw
to be shared by the birds in the sun.

We scattered her ashes down a lane here,
we took her back home where her dreams could rest in the soil.
We returned her to her happy childhood
and the laughter where she was born.   

She gave all the love in her heart to me,
there was nothing she wouldn’t do for this boy.
She’s gone back to her roots by the river
to join up with my fine father again.

Let those ashes of bones float on this breeze
and glint in the open Northumbrian skies.  
She’s resting now in the joys of spring,
resting in my heart as well full of the breath from her soul.

I relish the days you gave me your all for mother,
I thank you for the darling touch of the dew.
Even in my darkest and scatterbrained times,  
I grew in the glow of your tunes.

I carry your picture all over this world,
show it to accountants in airports and singers in the rain.
I won’t allow myself to forget your lovely tenderness,
community lessons learned from you, your devoted and neighbourly ways.

Your bonny canny lad will be kind for you
and scatter the blue coloured petals of love.
Along every new street I visit,
I’ll always be dancing for you.

This son will revere your oath of caring,
your compassionate concern for the beggar next door.
I’ll go back along the walls you skipped over
to rejoice in your marvellous and wonderful smile.
 
So I have carved out this poem for you and your Henshaw,
it reflects the beautiful flowers in your eyes.
I am breathing a fresh lyric on a Tyneside day,
singing my deepest feelings for Eva and the delicate blossoms she grew.  




KEITH ARMSTRONG
 
Henshaw is a village on the South Tyne in Northumberland where Keith Armstrong's mother Eva spent her childhood. 


Rob Walton    Love this one, Keith. Great stuff.

Mo Shevis    What a beautiful tribute Keith. Lovely place too.

Toon van den Boogaard    Beautiful poem, Keith.
Must have been a remarkebly nice lady, to recieve these kind words of love and gratitude.

Nick Pemberton     Extra special one there :-) x

Catherine Graham    A beautiful tribute, a beautiful poem filled with love for your beloved Mother. x

Brian Ings    So much love, so much poetry, Keith. Thank you for sharing.

THERE ARE THOSE WHO SING

(for William Martin, 1925-2010)

There are those who sing,

poets

with the breath of thrushes;

who craft songs

from out of their deep roots,

whose verse roars

with the sea

and the sky

and the pain of the land.

In the cathedral

of their hearts,

their tunes rise up

and fill the heavens

with flocks of words.

They are few

and far between,

these fliers

of lyrics.

Above plodders

and traipsers

of verse,

they reach for real stars,

pluck at galaxies

and dreams

of word symphonies,

anthems

that soar for centuries.

William, my friend,

you were 

one of these,

a fatherer of folk hymns,

a Durham choirman,

singing quarryman,

carving out poems 

with his pick and soul.

On a piano keyboard

of a dictionary,

you composed

a music festival 

of passionate poetry. 

KEITH ARMSTRONG