Experience his gentler side.

Listening to him beat out his life on a weather beaten banjo
Those tram line features on a weather beaten face
That dishevelled state of clothing
Hanging on a clothes hanger frame

The banjo case lying open at his feet worse for wear
Where had he come from?
Did he leave family behind?
Could his life have been more intolerable than this?

Would he want us to intrude into his way of life?
Would he accept assistance?
Food parcel or cash?
If he hid the brown paper bag from sight would he benefit more?

Does he have a place to live?
Is it under a bridge, in a doorway?
All these questions left unanswered
As we stepped a further two feet away from his standing position.
© Chris Black. April 2018




Putting pen to paper write an
Ode they say or an acrostic poem
Easy if you know how came
The solemn
You can do it
Don’t let us down
Always can rely on
Ireland the Land of saints and scholars
Ready at the drop of a hat to
Entertain all and sundry
Leaving no stone unturned now bidding you
No more left to say
Do enjoy Poetry Ireland Day, share with us your play on words.
©Chris Black. April 26th 2018.

Peering into the darkness.

He sat there pondering weak and weary
Napping, suddenly there was tapping
This was in the darkest night
Of his senses he took flight
Startled, who can it be?
By candlelight he could barely see
A shadow looming in the dark
Or was it the black dogs bark
Just then the silence was unbroken
It is time be not afraid
With that a hand on him was laid
It was time to meet his maker
The shadow, was that of the grim reaper.
© Chris Black. April 2018
Spoken word version @Chris Black 36 SoundCloud.



Watching through the lens of a camera
In the comfort of home or a presidential office
Buildings gutted, fogs of dust rising high into the air
Eerie screams, medics rushing hither and thither
Hospitals unable to cope with broken bodies
Street after street showing dead being covered over
Broken children crying out for loved ones
Brutalised bodies lying not just in their own blood
Soldiers and civilian alike bodies rent apart
Scattered like rag dolls all in the name of WAR
Will common sense ever prevail?
© Chris Black. April 2018

Today is Record Store Day.

Celebrating your vinyl collection and the 11 year on 21st April the day designated to celebrate independently owned record stores.

Vinyl record collecting is a sort of addiction, I know in my head once inside the door of the shop “just for a browse” I end up with an armful of sleeved vinyl “bring me back in time goodies”

To celebrate the day here are some of what will be spinning on my turn table.

Do you have your favourite vinyl album you would like to share with the world?

(c) Chris Black. April 2018.DSCF1246DSCF1247 (1)DSCF1248 (1)DSCF1249 (1)IMG_20180421_104648

Dappled greys.

“You look at me and you see only an ugly old man, but within I am filled with great beauty. I sit on a mountain and look into the future”
Sandoval, Hastin Tlo’Tsi Hee/Old Man Buffalo Grass, Navajo.
The lines in his face tangle
He sits looking out at nothingness?
Sucking on his peace pipe
In his ninetieth year
Too weak to engage himself
The old chief watches
As young warriors
Paint themselves for battle.
Italics from her book – Native American Wisdom by Helen Exley.
Poem not true to form of the photo in the book but from the imagination of
© Chris Black. April 2018

Letters don’t you just love their generosity.

Way way back in the sands of time
Back when I first thought I could write in rhyme
I made a total cobblers of it
Everything I wrote went head over tit.

No matter how hard I tried
Those words I laid down just curled up and died
Throwing up their imaginary hands in despair
Silently screaming this just is not fair.

I was never really given a chance
Words, they lead me on a merry dance
The alphabet it too was of little assistance
Gathering up words, keeping its distance.

My insistence though made it quite plain
That if this continued I would without hesitation inflict pain
There was no way I was going to be held ransom
Rhyme would be written and then some.

Eventually you’ll be glad to hear it came to pass
Words decided let’s not be so crass
Let us join together and in harmony
Allow this writer create a symphony.

So early one morning taking pen in hand
I began writing, I had nothing planned
Words between them suggested it’s time
Put him out of his misery let him write in rhyme.
So off I went on my merry way
I had lots and lots I wished to say
At this point in time I’ll just say that is that
What is to come tomorrow I’ll keep under my hat.
© Chris Black. April 2018