Thoughts for Tuesday.

Thirty from thirty one, not a bad result?

Usurped only by a blip in the system

Errors must be expected

Sometimes it works in your favour

Delivering on the promise made to myself at the beginning of the year

A published piece each day will be forthcoming

Yearning for this run to continue? I’ll take one a week.

(c) Chris Black 2017.

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Monday is upon us.

Mystery surrounds how my poems evolve.

Once I set my mind to write

Negativity is parked

Delivery of the poem is the requirement.

Allowing myself lots of time to explore is the

Yardstick to finding the right combination.

(c) Chris Black 2017.

Shedding light on a problem.

It was the most expensive one of its kind in the shop

No second thought was given to not purchasing

We discussed this with a nod of approval in each other’s direction

It was made for that corner of the newly designed sitting room.

 

Egos can be bruised quite easily

But not as badly as when that accident occurs

It was not supposed to be this way

We positioned it correctly, but the Labrador!

 

He wasn’t told the aesthetics of the room was changed

Being his usual playful self as in he bounded –

SMASH, BANG, WALLOP

That elegant lampshade and stand came crashing across my skull.

(c) Chris Black 2017.

 

It’s Saturday.

18:00 hrs. Friday evening

Everyone in a mad rush to who knows where

Maybe its a white washed stone cottage in the country

Log fire burning, wine glasses inviting

you to fill them

Whatever is your pleasure

Rest awhile.

Unlike clouds in the sky, drifting

At week-end you know where you are bound

Life is too short

Yet there there are so many things to do

if only there were one more day in your week-end?

We are living in dodgy enough times

So be wise, try and keep out of those choppy waters

Monday will come around quicker than you think

With head cleared and battery charged

the decision on how to progress is yours.

(c) Chris Black 2017.

 

#There was a lull.

She turned on her heel and stormed out, long black leather coat flapping. I gave the barman a beck and he duly went to the measure. I sat content nursing my ball of malt.

The fellow sitting two stools up from me continued scratching and shaking his head following the walk out. I sat there minding my own business, perusing the Red Top someone had left behind earlier. But I had overheard the heated conversation. She was refusing point blank to do his dirty work for him. Telling him in no uncertain manner that if he wanted the exchange to go through he was ‘big and ugly enough to do it himself.’

He ordered a double brandy, removed his phone from the inside pocket of his well-tailored jacket. Making the call, he appeared not bothered if the sparsely populated bar could overhear the conversation he was having. Jack, she just stormed out a few minutes ago. You expected me to follow her? Well, you’re talking to the wrong guy then, I have no intention of putting my neck on the line for that sort of money.

I’m sitting here sipping my brandy, I have no intention of moving. Shortly after concluding the phone conversation, he had company. He ordered a gin and tonic for his companion. The conversation was muted, although there was much head shaking and gesticulation. The barman appeared edgy for some reason. Perhaps he overheard something he was not supposed to hear? The bar was now beginning to fill up with the arrival of evening revellers. This was my cue to head off home, but curiosity got the better of me.

An hour or so passed. I was just finishing up my drink and pulling on my overcoat when she arrived back at the bar. She unzipped her handbag and produced a hand gun. He never got the chance to enjoy that second brandy.

(c) Chris Black 2017.

#A story taken from my recently published book of Poetry and Short Stories, Same Train, Different Track.

Product of song titles.

With these words I wish you well. Never in my Wildest Dreams would I Crawl into your bed, introduce Paper Tigers to frighten you from your sleep to hear you Just Scream.

I’ve travelled for miles down Ragged Ass Road, planting Flowers in the Concrete in the form of crosses. Following the Dreamer’s Dream.

My Message to you is, be not afraid rise up again against the Will Of The Gun.

Instil in your follower’s that there will be a freedom Song Before I Leave otherwise the dream would at Best a Waste of Time.

(c) Chris Black 2017.

Words in bold italics are taken from a production by John  Webster and Tom Cochrane CD titled RAGGED ASS ROAD. 1995 EMI MUSIC Canada.

All songs written by Tom Cochrane except Flowers in the concrete, Best Waste of Time, Will of the Gun written by Annette Ducharme. Crawl was written by Tom Cochrane/Bill Bell.

 

 

Same Train, Different Track.

The carriages of this particular train I’m glad to say are emptying, if you are interested in purchasing a copy of my book of poetry and short stories of the same name you might like to visit http://www.chrisblack2012.com to buy. Copies are 10euro + postage and packaging, I would be delighted to sign a copy and post it off a.s.a.p.

(c) Chris Black 2017DSCF2063.JPGIMG_4711.JPG

A poem.

I turned up at this empty page today

Hoping I’d find something constructive to say.

After finding a title for the piece

Relaxation time, the mind at peace –

for a poem is a way of expressing ones feelings

this does not apply to all of course –

It can be said in so many various ways

With few or many words.

Thoughts on those you love in life

Maybe you find it easier to speak

with the written word?

On how we greet each breaking dawn,

each waking moment.

Your work, what it entails

You might be an entrepreneur

an entertainer, are they not one and the same?

Perhaps you keep cities, towns and their environs

neat and tidy

We should learn compassion, those of us who scorn

none of us are without fault.

Whether we are Pope, Politician or President –

Parent, Carer, House Person etc.

A poem at times can be much more than mere words

on a page

It can be endearing

Upsetting

Engaging

Irritating

Down right boring

If it is written and shelved away

for a rainy day

The poet will never realise its real effect

So brazen it out –

This is directed at self, so writers/readers

do not take offence

Give it its wings, its freedom

If it is to be slated, so be it.

Is not all criticism constructive?

(c) Chris Black 2017

Patiently waiting.

The doctor’s surgery was a full as a chocolate box

Not for just a moment was there a lull in proceedings

What with babies crying, people openly sighing.

Coughing and spluttering, germs being spread

Under the breath mutterings

A motley mix of out of date magazines to browse

For as long as patience allows.

Kids zone, a noisy space

No escaping the racket taking place.

Sitting waiting patiently for that noble call

The patient next to you begins to recall –

Previous ailments of which you have little interest in

But you lend an ear.

At last your name is announced

Which is the better place silently you think

Listening to ‘thunder’ or

Have your confidence torn asunder?

In you go, take a seat

Go through the usual routine

Roll up your sleeve, blood pressure fine

Heart, still ticking

Blood sample taken

General chit chat

You leave not much the wiser

The wallet, 60euro lighter.

(c) Chris Black 2017.

 

System failure.

There was a blip in the system yesterday

My published poem disappeared into the ether

The mystery of technology baffles me

It also put an end to the run I was on

Which probably is a good thing in one way

As a rule I write everything long hand then print

Yesterday was a busy day so I thought –

Make a sprint at it, print, save draft, publish

NOTHING.

Now looking back it was meant to be

For I can see clearly if it didn’t happen this way

Today I would have had nothing to say.

One has to be philosophical when it comes to life’s happenings

It’s not the end of the world-

That may just be around the corner

With what’s going on at the moment.

The world is caving in around us

But the main worry IS

They got the numbers wrong on inauguration day. 

(c) Chris Black 2017.