THE CENTURION

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.

KEITH ARMSTRONG

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