THE LIGHT IN THE CENTURION
I drink the sun,
I booze the moon,
I throw planets down my neck.
In the Centurion Bar,
a thirst rages
for the sunshine in my jar,
the songs in my roaring throat.
This beautiful day,
cascade of ale,
chorus of clouds
flooding through the roof,
I think
I am very much alive.
My blood is full
as the Tyne in heat,
as the veins of Neville Street
coursing
with my misspent hours.
This temple
of Bacchus,
this church of drunkenness,
fills my head
with poems,
my eyes
alive with comely lasses,
the gleam of full and emptied glasses.
An old man sits
remembering
when he could run after them,
when he could
drink a vat of beer in anger.
Near him,
there’s Susan
who is going places,
who is bonny as the sky today.
Friends, don’t be too sad,
this life is fleeting,
this love is deep
like the light,
the light in the Centurion.
WITH JACK DANIEL IN THE CENTURION
(for Jason)
It had been a long wait,
through difficult seasons,
months of dull days
lit only by cackling Geordie girls
and the odd artistic lady
with eyes like paintings.
No sign of Jack
off the train
though I knew
he was well worth waiting for.
Then all of a sudden,
with a flourish
and melting of ice,
he came
and soaked the room
with his impeccable taste,
a bitter wit that warmed your soul
in a state of Tennessee.
The Centurian
can be a lonely place
to pass the time
with only your own
aches and pains
for primitive company.
Jack could change all that,
burst open the door
to an altered
consciousness,
make the barmaids dance
for you
and the rest
of the human race.
Jack, you are a good friend,
fickle though you are.
I shake your open hand
and give you my true respect.
You are comradeship
in a sunny glass.
I wish you well,
a big well,
a fount
of joyful
kindness.
KEITH ARMSTRONG
"There are those who tell the terrible truth in all its loveliness. Keith Armstrong is one of them, a fine poet who refuses to turn his back on the wretched of the Earth. He is one of the best and I hope his voice will be heard more and more widely."
Adrian Mitchell
