His heart has found its home. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

Listening intently as pen whispered

Whilst scratching words on velum.

In a reflective mood

The poet within pondered

Giving his thoughts much attention.

Reawakening the senses

This poem he believes

Would be lost beyond telling

Were it not for the mischievousness of words.

Before he realised it

His thoughts reflected back at him

From the soft cream coloured page.

His heart had found its home

The poets deep trust in his writing implement

Realised the impossible poem to be now possible.

© Chris Black. January 2019

#Poetry #amwriting

Moving at the pace of winter. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

The emotion in the motion

When pen is put on paper

Raises his spirits

Earlier, he was feeling

A little down in himself

Not that he was unwell

Far from it

It was weather related

Inches of snow with compacted ice

Meant his morning constitutional

With dog at heel

Would have to be put on the back burner

He was well aware of the circumstances

How to convey this to the dog?

So he turned to his trusty pen for comfort

Much like the baby reaches for its soother.

© Chris Black. January 2019

#Poetry #amwriting

No more a prisoner. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

He sat to write

As confused as a horse in a one horse town

Scratching his head

Thinking to himself

What benefit do I gain from this action?

Yet unconsciously

On a regular basis

He performs this action.

Just as well I don’t have dandruff

He chuckles to himself

Just as well I’m alone in this room

Alone with these thoughts

Or that someone might just summon

The men in the white coats…

© Chris Black. January 2019

#Poetry #amwriting

Waiting to see what happens next. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

Lifting the pen kicks its pulse into gear

Then through hand and arm

Its heart, filled with ink

Links with the unconscious.

The struggle of what he wished to write

Is followed by coherency

A poem is being formed

The dance of each letter

Laid on the blank page

Form a wordy picture.

Thoughts are now swirling about in his head

Words, like a ship on their maiden voyage

Waiting patiently to be launched.

Launched into the stratosphere.

He steps back from his canvas taking stock

Reads aloud what has been penned.

The external voice convinces him

To again address the poem.

Sitting back into his listening chair

Making what he hopes are meaningful changes.

Curious as to how his work will be accepted

He closed the memory map giving his poem wings.

© Chris Black. January 2019

#Poetry #amwriting

You could tell by its tone. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

Write a poem, short and witty

Can’t?

What a pity

This artefact an extension of self

On a morning such as this

Should never have been removed

From its resting place

Alone with his thoughts

To labour and gain no reward’

Simply not on today

The space between his ears

Devoid of thought

Inimical to the writerly values

Relationship of man and pen

Not worth considering

Write a poem, short and witty

The attitude is just not there.

© Chris Black. January 2019

#Poetry #amwriting

On a forest walk. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

It felt as though

The trees were

Stretching out

their arms, embracing

the visitor.

Birds

Singing songs of sunlight.

The crunch

as twigs snapped.

Sounds of the forest

Light on the ear.

The smell of early morning.

Damp to the touch

as we fingered wild flowers.

© Chris Black. January 2019

#Poetry #amwriting

I am human not a griffin. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

Peace, pleasure, love and enjoyment

Is that too much to ask for she questioned?

With a quiver in her voice

A roof over my head a home a bed

Look me in the eye tell me why

I have to beg for a bite to eat

It is the 21st century after all

Wealth is very unevenly dispersed

I had employment and a home

The company went belly up

I and many more like me left unemployed

The fat cats washed their hands of us

We, the ones who slaved to line their pockets

Left demoralised with nowhere to turn

Every door we knock on, closed in our face

The dinosaurs of this world care not a jot

We are lumbered with a debt, not of our own making

The human scrap heap grows and grows and grows

She cried bitter tears which moved those

Who sat and listened, once I enjoyed gastronomic delights

Now I sit on a cold pavement and pray for those on the soup run.

© Chris Black. January 2019                       #Poetry #amwriting

Up with the dawn. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poets Poet~

The whistle attracted his attention

Standing by the window, observed

The sheep dog at his work

Skittering across the field, sheep

Lambs to the slaughter, he thought

Time to warm the pan

Break the night fast

Outside in the fresh morning air

Master and his dog

A solitary bird welcomes Spring morning.

© Chris Black. January 2019

#Poetry #amwriting

Back to the ordinary. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

Wonderful indeed when a plan succeeds

A nod of approval feeds his needs

Unlike the Rolling Stones he garners Great Satisfaction

Helps him Stay Forever Young

Having literary conversations with himself

Indulging in reminiscence, daydreaming

His time is his own once he sits to write

Lifelines are to be found in the strangest of places

Which jettison thoughts he never thought imaginable

All lead in one direction only which satisfies his writerly mind.

The rapscallion, he saw him out of the corner of his eye

From his perch in the writers room

Third floor of the library, he snatched her bag

Up on the bicycle and was gone.

Again he made it down three flights of stair

The lady had vanished, the side street bare

Returning, his mind in turmoil

He could think of no fitting way to conclude his poem

So he closed the book.

© Chris Black. January 2019

#Poetry #amwriting

Together, like two peas in a pod. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

Through the looking glass he saw her

Dressed in her Alice Blue gown

The night being young

The passion of young love

She, petite

He, with a Gargantua tag

Tonight they were dining

At Ristorante Garibaldi

Their meal, always rounded off with

An Antipodean meringue dessert

He, a double espresso

The Lady enjoyed her Earl Grey

The world does not always have to be

Chippendale and Faberge.

© Chris Black. January 2019

#Poetry #amwriting #SpokenWord

Listen to a spoken word version @ https://soundcloud.com/the-poets-poet-1