THE BIRD WOMAN OF WHITLEY BAY
(FOR MY MOTHER)
She is out feeding the birds,
on the dot again,
in the drizzle of a seaside morning;
the seed
cast fom her hand
to the jerking beak of a cock pheasant.
She is alone
in a flock of dark starlings,
scattering crumbs to make them shriek.
She is a friend of spuggies,
gives blackbirds water.
Her eyes fly across the garden
to catch a quick robin,
to spot a wee wren,
to chase a bold magpie.
She is innocence,
she is a lovely old lady;
still giving,
still nursing.
She deserves heaven,
she deserves a beautiful nest
to dream out her last hours
in bird song;
in the rich colours of music,
in the red feathers of sunset,
she is my mother,
she is a rare bird
who fed me beautiful dreams.
Thank you for letting me climb
with the skylarks.
Thank you
for the strength of wings.
KEITH ARMSTRONG
SPLINTERS
(FOR MY FATHER)
You picked splinters
with a pin each day
from under blackened fingernails;
shreds of metal
from the shipyard grime,
minute memories of days swept by:
the dusty remnants of a life
spent in the shadow of the sea;
the tears in your shattered eyes
at the end of work.
And your hands were strong,
so sensitive and capable
of building boats
and nursing roses;
a kind and gentle man
who never hurt a soul,
the sort of quiet knackered man
who built a nation.
Dad, I watched your ashes float away
down to the ocean bed
and in each splinter
I saw your caring eyes
and gracious smile.
I think of your strong silence every day
and I am full of you,
the waves you scaled,
and all the sleeping Tyneside streets
you taught me to dance my fleeting feet along.
When I fly, you are with me.
I see your fine face
in sun-kissed clouds
and in the gold ring on my finger,
and in the heaving crowd on Saturday,
and in the lung of Grainger Market,
and in the ancient breath
of our own Newcastle.
KEITH ARMSTRONG
‘This is one of the poems I'll never forget. I see the struggling of my own dad in your words.
Thanks for your fine poem.’ (Klaas Drenth)
‘Beautiful poem. Loving, moving memories. Most excellent Keith.’ (Strider Marcus Jones)
‘Love the poem Keith. That’s my dad.’ (John McMahon)
‘Beautifully visual Keith, nice to share your memories.’ x (Annie Sheridan)
‘Lovely poem, loving memories too.’ (Imelda Welsh)
‘So, so good, Keith - I'll share this, if you don't mind.’ (Kenny Jobson)
