The Parting Glass: George Jones RIP – All Dressed Up To Go Away

For more check out Thom Hickey and his Immortal Jukebox.

The Immortal Jukebox

….A time to rise and a time to fall

Come fill to me the parting glass

Goodnight and joy be with you all.

Hard to admit but the only page in the newspaper that I always read is the Obituaries.

I frequently discover histories of fascinating people I surely should have known about who led lives of extraordinary achievement and colour.

Of course, the older I get the more I realise that there are no such things as ‘ordinary lives’ for every life contains miracles and marvels if we but took the time to hear all those unrehearsed and untold stories – perhaps God alone performs that service for us.

I also frequently find myself strongly disagreeing with the perspective of professional obituarists when they memorialise the lives of men and women whose lives I actually knew something about or who had an emotional impact on my own life through…

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Beware the Mothership.

This cyclops eye an addiction

To both young and old

No matter its size

Can be carried in pocket or case.


Watch young and old

Conversing with nearby friends

Locked away in their own little world

This cyclops eye truly is an addiction.


One on one conversations becoming a thing of the past?

PC management gone mad

Watch people walk the streets

Outloud talking to themselves.


PC workplace laws gone mad

Health and safety regulations, possible restrictions?

The work force not now allowed think for themselves

Futures generations, brain dead, handwriting & mathematics-

Computer dependent, will robots rule the world?


(c) Chris Black. May 2018


Today I found myself all at sea

That little voice in my head said –

Float on, go for gold

So it’s onwards and upwards.


The Muse in her seventh heaven

Contemplating sculptural heels

Bowled over at the thought of shoe shopping

Red alert I think red alert.


Your world I say make it special

Reaching for pen and paper

Off you go again she says

You’d produce a poem from a magicians hat!


Done and dusted I reply

Glass half full always

Away with you and trip the light fantastic

Whether it’s high point or low point

There is always that little spark

It’s not in the Gemini’s nature to be floored easily.

(c) Chris Black. May 2018


Neil Slevin, My Ball


It was Uncle Ronnie whose kick sent it into the sea. But I’m not sure he was even there.

I watched my ball land in the water, drift away from me. The spring current sucking it into the horizon. Bobbing, it treaded water like a forlorn swimmer before it sank beneath the waves.

My ball’s flight had been so brilliant and so beautiful. Its landing and what followed knifed me.

I was sure I’d never see it again.


We left the seaside, me without my ball. And I didn’t play during that time. Aged 5, I just knew I had lost something.

Ronnie was the one who had played football, who had always played. I was the one who kicked and chased, always hoping for a soft landing.

The one who always got caught in the hedge, the brambles, the drain, hoping his ball wouldn’t fall too far.


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