Hungry for a change of season


Garden fences weathered brown
Homestead and outhouses have a sorry look about them
Hedge rows longing for the arrival of spring.

Indoors the sound of the wind
Outdoors the wind
Oh for just a handful of quietude.

The black greyness of winter
Will shortly be but a memory
Living in hope of a brighter world
Staring back at me from my pages.
(c) Chris Black. January 2018.

On a wing and a prayer

Once that poetry seed is planted
Between blue lines on a white page
A light bulb flickers into instant light.

The pathway between those blue lines
Straight and direct as an air strip
An uninterrupted view of the flight path
Is in the line of sight
This fills the writer with the confidence needed
To write, write, write.

Like the pilot
In total control of the path you wish to follow
Seated comfortably into the cockpit
Strapped in for the long haul.

Of course there will pockets of turbulance along the way.

It is doubtful that as with all challenges in life
There is such a thing as a continuous smooth ride
From outset of a journey until a destination is reached.
(c) Chris Black. January 2018.

just back from the walk poem, first draft by pd lyons

Ideas abound in the mind of PD Lyons

Pdlyons's Explorations

a painted picture

left out before the snow

the wind blows through it

an old sheet of organic plastic

caught on

torn on

hard   wire

a post of whiskers greyer than the stone which holds it

loos ends going no where on each side

cattle long ago

bones softened

no memory even earths recalls them now

hard ground

brown ground

no trail to keep you from getting lost

no place really left to get lost


something shadowy even though its sunlight

fingering illuminating

another afternoon

good fortune

among the winter

View original post

The beauty of words

Sit, absorbing all its beauty
It may not be for every eye
As the saying goes
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder”
Scanning the horizon
Weeds become flowers
Dark clouds a comfort blanket
High rolling waves white horses
Footprints in the sand a friend long past
Returning to sit with you awhile
A bird in flight, your plane ticket to sunnier climes
The far off bark of a dog the comfort of an open fire
Sittng absorbing nature and all its beauty
Alone on a sand bank
Allow the mind wander.
(c) Chris Black. January 2018.

An idle mind

Trawling through those dark night dreams
Vague as fog
Waking from that snug as a bug night sleep
No sense could be made
Lieing there, contemplating cobwebs
Spiders had yet to emerge
Except for that large tarantula
Who haunted the calmness of night
Was it real
What was that movement beneath the pillow?
To look or not
Don’t stir an inch
Trawling through those dark night dreams
Can be a nightmare.
(c) Chris Black. January 2018.

The pain of war

Stepping up to the podium
Engage the attention of one and all
Poetry – is a deal of joy, pain and wonder
With a dash of the dictionary
I can see windows and orphans shattered
Demagogues casting shadows
Broken buildings, broken dreams
Destruction, Death, Debauchery
Decimation, Decay, Disease
Through the flow of salty tears
Poetry – is a deal of joy, pain and wonder
The pain of war.
(c) Chris Black. January 2018.

Yearning for peace of mind

I’m in the process of building a library of words
That way I’ll always have somewhere to go
Something to say, something trivial
Such as
Weather it is so unpredictable.

Weather, always a reliable icebreaker
Guarenteed to kick start a conversation
Whether it be with stranger or friend.

Hail, rain or thunderstorm though
I can be found secreted in my bolthole
Leave all the worries of the day
Allowing them succumb to the vagaries of the season
If only life were that simple
Yet with positive thought much can be achieved.

Believe you can
Then you are half way there.
(c) Chris Black. January 2018.