jingle jingle!

jingle jingle!

28.2.14

TUEBINGEN - POETRY & MUSIC AT WEINHAUS BECK





Join me with other poets and musicians in Tuebingen on Thursday 3rd April 20.30 at Weinhaus Beck, Am Markt 1 


26.2.14

SHILDON STEAM!







21.2.14

NORTH TYNESIDE STEAM!






Hi friends!
We are working on a new publication commissioned by North Tyneside Council. We are looking for some poetry and prose on the theme of George Stephenson in Killingworth with particular reference to his steam engine Blucher which he built in 1814 (bicentenary).

Please see what you can do. Deadline is end of March and publication is planned for July. Send to: k.armstrong643@btinternet.com

Best wishes,
Keith

SPENCE 200



On the site of Thomas Spence (1750-1814) 'Hive of Liberty' bookshop, Little Turnstile, Holborn, London 
Photos/film: Peter Dixon

























Spence's most ambitious production, which bore the imprint of ‘The Hive of Liberty, No. 8 Little Turnstile, High Holburn,’ was entitled ‘Pigs' Meat or Lessons from the Swinish Multitude collected by the Poor Man's Advocate.’ (1793, 1794, 1795).


PIGS' MEAT

“Learning will be cast into the mire and trodden down under the hoofs of a swinish multitude.” (from Edmund Burke’s ‘Reflections on the Revolution in France’)


We are the swinish multitude,
Who feed off the Loose Meat,
Our brains are bacon,
Our balls pork chops,
We honk instead of speak.

We’re pigs’ meat,
Pigs' meat,
We wallow in our muck.
Our snouts deep in the stinking trough,
We don’t give a toss.
Pigs’ meat,
Pigs’ meat,
We riot in the street.
Pigs’ meat,
Pigs’ meat,
We piss on the elite.

We are the swinish multitude,
With sties that blind our eyes.
No sense of direction,
Just one big erection,
We bonk instead of think.

We’re pigs’ meat,
Pigs’ meat,
We wallow in our muck.
Our snouts deep in the stinking trough,
We don’t give a toss.
Pigs’ meat,
Pigs’ meat,
We riot in the street.
Pigs’ meat,
Pigs’ meat,
We piss on the Elite.

We are the swinish multitude,
Incapable of speeches,
We drink royal blood,
We eat the rich,
We fart in Halls of Art.

We’re pigs’ meat,
Pigs’ meat,
We wallow in our muck.
Our snots deep in the stinking trough,
We don’t give a toss.
Pigs’ meat,
Pigs’ meat,
We riot in the street.
Pigs’ meat,
Pigs’ meat,
We piss on the Elite.



KEITH ARMSTRONG


THE HIVE OF LIBERTY

(AFTER THE NAME OF THOMAS SPENCE’S BOOKSHOP AT 8 LITTLE TURNSTILE, HOLBORN)


I am a small and humble man,
my body frail and broken.
I strive to do the best I can.
I spend my life on tokens.

I traipse through Holborn all alone,
hawking crazy notions.
I am the lonely people’s friend.
I live on schemes and potions.

For, in my heart and in my mind,
ideas swarm right through me.
Yes, in this Hive of Liberty,
my words just flow like wine,
my words just flow like wine.

I am a teeming worker bee.
My dignity is working.
My restless thoughts swell like the sea.
My fantasies I’m stoking.

There is a rebel inside me,
a sting about to strike.
I hawk my works around the street.
I put the world to rights.

For, in my heart and in my mind,
ideas swarm right through me.
Yes, in this Hive of Liberty,
my words just flow like wine,
my words just flow like wine.




KEITH ARMSTRONG

16.2.14

WITH VLADIMIR MAYAKOVSKY IN MOSCOW, 1980!


Photo: Tony Whittle

11.2.14

FROM A SWAHILI PHRASEBOOK


That's a really beautiful video, Keith, very moving indeed, and I loved your lyric and poem contribution. It really is very well put together and quite haunting. Thanks for sharing. - Noel Duffy (Dublin poet)

1.2.14

FOR PATRICIA



Is it the optimist in me
that remembers you for your smile?
Out there in a cruel Northumberland
there is a sun
behind the Army tanks at Otterburn
if you strain your eyes
to face it.
Often it seems
so pointless;
our pathetic scribblings
amongst all the sordid agony
of this poisoned world.
But you made me think
that my little trembling efforts 
were so much worthwhile.
For that, I humbly thank you 
and, when I am down again,
your well remembered smile
will touch me
from the heavens
and make me want to sing.




KEITH ARMSTRONG

the jingling geordie

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