A preference for Red.

  1.  C. J. Black


As I sit and write tonight I hope for a little inspiration

I have no idea where this poem is going, presently it has no destination

The compass that is my mind is in a kind of melt down

There is an ocean of words out there it’s now time to swim or drown

It helps me mentally to stay afloat and not sink without trace

When I have everything at hand, words and thoughts aplenty to embrace

Never feeling lonely, never feeling alone, no suggestion of angst

Keeping between these white lines might profit me, methinks?


I’ve given this poem some serious thought there will be no trace of rant

As I pour my wine gently, I’m allowing it decant

Discussing my thoughts with myself, sometimes it’s difficult staying in the plural

But succeed I will, for this is fact with myself I never quarrel

I may have the occasional falling out, in this regard I’m not alone

I have no issue admitting this, plenty do if the truth be known

There is nothing to be gained sweeping things beneath the carpet

All you’re creating is overload, which in turn lead to short circuit

I’ve given myself some food for thought so it’s that time I guess

To write a poem of some substance, raise my glass to success.


  1.        C. J. Black©β

Sunday 9 August 2015




One thought on “Zinfandel.

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