A name on a page.

Poets, writers in general harvest from a similar world of words

Making their own connections while meandering pathways between meadows

Drifting off into dreamland always with Spectre for company

Many consider the writer a loner

Working away in silence, laying down then bidding farewell to an idea.

He may seem distant yet is far removed from being a loner

A name on a page, laid bare warts and all.

What makes a poem work, this question has been posed many times

The fact that it had to be written perhaps?

Rejection can drive your success.

He strapped himself into the cockpit eager to face the day

Two stout friends from Columbia and Havana assist in what has to be said

Collaborators not dictators

Unknown to themselves offering the writer many lifelines

At seventy with snow on top and worn by weather

Making his own connection, meandering along pathways between meadows.

(c) Chris Black. July 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

First Aid Kit : Emmylou

The Immortal Jukebox

Some things we know to be true.

No life escapes the bitter wind.

Everybody wants to have a home and someone to come home to.

Like The Boss says : Don’t make no difference what nobody says –  Ain’t nobody like to be alone.

Two can easily do what’s so hard to be done by one.

Elizabeth and Darcy.

Tristan and Iseult.

Rochester and Jane.

Scott and Zelda.

Odysseus and Penelope.

Anne and Gilbert.

Everybody’s got a hungry heart.

Every wandering bark is in search of a guiding star.

And, once found, will sail, unafraid, even to the edge of doom.

Everyone yearns to find that voice they were meant to harmonise with.

Someone, a confidante,  who knows just where you keep your better side.

Someone who forgives your falters.

Mere speech cannot wield such matters.

Turn to Song.

To Harmony.

Find someone you can sing out loud with in your…

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