Acrostic poem#20

Hocus pocus, things that go bump in the night

Allow your inner child escape

Lose those inhibitions

Lighten up

Operate only by pumpkin light

Witches and ghosts welcome to call

Except those with fireworks, nervous dog at large

Eeeeekkkk is that really a skeleton?

No just the next-door neighbour, can we borrow a bowl of sugar….

(c) Chris Black. October 2017.



Gerry Rafferty : Her Father Didn’t Like Me Anyway

The Immortal Jukebox

I believe in Ghosts.

No, not the ghouls and spectres of Halloween or graveyard apparitions.

The Ghosts I believe in lie dormant in the labyrinthine halls of the mind and the secret chambers of the heart.

And, these Ghosts, lingering traces of people and places no longer with us, can come to visit, unbidden, in afternoon reveries or in the quiet watches of the night.

A few bars of a tune from decades ago.

A once familiar fragrance floating by.

An overheard accent in an unexpected place.

And, suddenly, a Ghost appears and asks, ‘How is it with you these days?’

Do you still remember me?

Of course, sometimes, we summon up these Ghosts ourselves as we try to come to terms with the longing for and the loss of our past loves.

‘The coat she wore still lies upon the bed’.

With , ‘Her Father Didn’t Like Me…

View original post 885 more words

sometimes I miss the horse days & someplace, by pd lyons

Pdlyons's Explorations

occasional it happens

 stray song over the kitchen radio

 old photo tucked into a book that for no reason i just picked up to thumb through

i hardly let it pause me

i usually just keep going

occasional it happens

 my old bones do an old ache

  glimpse that crooked clavicle in the bathroom mirror

 hardly let it pause me

 usually just keep going

occasional it happens

strong scent of well oiled leather maybe someones coat

packed tight on the morning train

mists trough the damp windows

shadows moving up the hills

hardly let it pause me

 usually just keep going

occasional it happens

but you know sometimes when it does

i just don’t feel like moving

stay right there  face the tears

yeah sometimes i miss the horse days

sometimes i just fucking do


Down on the avenue
Work ’til the day is through
I just want…

View original post 157 more words

Jet-black night.

That robe of autumn is made of many colours

For the many, autumn produces golden harvests

Through the morning mist

Day breaks.

From an open window

Fragrance of a new dawn

Falling leaves of autumn

Give off a bronze glow

Autumn winds blow a chill

Through mountain and valley

Where loneliness dwells

Autumn for many

Can be a wretched place to live.

(c) Chris Black. October 2017.

Hear the spoken word version @Soundcloud Chris Black 36



Fats Domino RIP 1928 – 2017

The Immortal Jukebox

There are some sentences you know you will have to write one day.

Still you hope it wont be this year or next.

So, reluctantly and with regret, I write the following sentence.

Fats Domino, Rock ‘n’ Roll Forefather has died in his 90th year.

Thinking of all the immense pleasure his music has given me and millions of others I could not let such an event pass without a full salute from The Immortal Jukebox.

I also want to pay homage to the magnificent saxophonist Herb Hardesty who died just before Christmas last year.

That’s Herb you can hear soloing on, ‘Ain’t That A Shame’ and, ‘I’m Walking’ and that’s him too playing one of the most perfect parts in all Rock ‘n’ Roll on, ‘Blue Monday’.

I am also adding what may be my all time favourite Fats track – ‘Be My Guest’.

A record which beautifully illustrated…

View original post 1,887 more words

Writing you?

Am I writing you?

That always happy face

Those sometimes sad eyes

Soft to the touch silvery hair

Button nose, cold to the touch

Ears, at all times alert

Lips, always with the hint of a smile

Those flashing white teeth

Hands ever soft to the touch

Arms, always good for a long warm embrace

Body, warm and welcoming

Legs, attractive beneath tailored slacks

Dainty feet

Toes, ten and tiny

Dress, depending on mood, work or relaxation

Footwear – see dress

You do not know me

Yet am I writing you?

(c) Chris Black. October 2017.



Nice to hear “good” news for a change

365 And Counting

The world was in crisis mode long before the orange blob of toxic waste moved to Washington. There’s been plenty of poverty, hunger, disease, displacement, fear, uncertainty and misery to go around, both globally and in our own back yards.

And there have always been those who have consistently risen to the challenge, raised their hands and helped. By volunteering, speaking out, challenging the status quo and giving financial aid. Private citizens, celebrities and the mega wealthy, like Warren Buffett and Bill Gates

View original post 673 more words


Here we are walking into a grey October afternoon

Trees and fields bare on either side of a road well travelled

We kicked up wet moulded leaves as we trooped along

The conversation, came in snatches

Do poets make a good living she asked

Only when they’re dead he replied

You’ve a bit to go then she said

The will, it will hardly make you up he said

Is that a proposal?

If you want it to be

Yes, yes as she drew herself closer

Can’t wait to get home he said

Me neither she answered

The scratching of pen on paper

A much happier sound than kicking up wet leaves.

The sound of silence was deafening.

(c) Chris Black. October 2017.

Ophelia. You’ve broken our hearts.

Dawn broke, wind dropped for a while at least

Peering out, all we could do was recoil

The trail of destruction she left in her wake.


Roofs stripped from out buildings, fences, trees uprooted

Stock left high and dry, live cables trailing roadsides

No power, landlines, water

Radios without batteries, mobile phones without signals



Milk curdling quickly without a fridge to live in

Breakfast, a hit and miss affair

The romanticism of the candle lit dinner

Soon blown out out of the water (if you were lucky enough to have water)

Trying to eat pasta slow cooked on a one ring camping stove

By the dim light of a scented candle.


The debate which never was a debate –

The contents of the fridge/freezer had to be disposed of.

We were not long learning how to live hand to mouth, day by day.


All this put into perspective by the tragic loss of life.


Property can be replaced, repaired in time.


Broken hearts…

(c) Chris Black. October 2017.