Nature’s model

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jpoet7

Nature’s model

I cannot wait to take a walk

Inhale the morning air

Take a snapshot of my thoughts

And then with you I’ll share.

In the treetops songbird sounds

Echo beauty that surrounds

Capture colour, palette pour

Like an operatic score.

Gentle whisper, lilting leaves

Creates a softness in the breeze

Opens senses, pleasant phases

Nature’s model that amazes.

J.poet 7 ( @wordverse.me )

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Who knows what tomorrow might bring. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

Sitting here frustrated

Minute by minute more agitated

Racking what is left of this brain

Trying so hard the thought process to regain

A semblance of what I was yesterday

When I sat and had plenty to say

Today a total different kettle of fish

As I try and plate up a poetic dish

I sigh and wish in total frustration

For this train of thought to leave this station

Pick me up on its way back

The thought process would then be on a different track?

Then I could cry joyous tears

Wash away these inner fears

Write poetic words which intertwine

Assisting me write poetry in rhyme

But until that time comes to pass

Dig my heels in like a stubborn ass

Sit here become more frustrated

Minute by minute become even more agitated.

© Chris Black. February 2019

#Poetry #amwriting

Listening to Chopin. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

Enconium.

Instrumental sounds assisting the mind focus

Drive the thought process

Music for concentration

Black and white, ebony and ivory notes

Soothing to the ear

Peaceful, allows drifting thoughts settle

Beautiful piano pieces, food for the brain

Creating a relaxed ambience about the Man Shed

Outside on the front porch

Watching sunrise

Putting flesh on the bones of a poem

Every engine needs a kick start.

© Chris Black. February 2019

#Poetry #amwriting #Chopin #PianoInterlude

The old bone shaker. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

In the high grass of the haggard

It sits lost, a sad looking sight

 Rusting, with tyres perished

That grey coloured Massey Ferguson.

It served us well, as children

Taught a couple of generations how to drive

Draw cocks of hay, reverse trailers

Follow a plough.

At all times under the watchful eye of granddad

And assembled farmhands

Health and safety those days

Consisted of proper meals

Freedom to roam

Endless sunshine.

It stands now a relic of times past.

A gentle reminder of innocent times.

© Chris Black. February 2019

#Poetry #amwriting

It can be a sad old world. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

To each and everyone

He never failed to doff his hat

He was quite insistent it was removed

At each church he’d pass

Once entering across a threshold

He’d tip his hat politely

Then hang it on his knee

Granddad taught us politeness

At every turn of his hand.

It stood us in great stead

We’d bow and curtsy and offer a hand

Manners these days

Frowned upon in many quarters

Not by all, but quite a few

To give up your seat on public transport

A thing of the past it seems

Road rage, all the rage

Life is cheap it would appear

Such actions

If they were brought to his attention

Would have granddad shed a tear.

© Chris Black. February 2019

#Poetry #amwriting

Submitting to Poetry Journals & Competitions: A Beginner’s Guide

a dreaming skin

Chatting to writers during the recent #JanuaryWriteOff 30 Day Challenge, it became clear many people find the process of submitting to poetry journals and competitions quite daunting. From formatting to bios to fees, there can be a lot of hoops to jump through and I thought it might be useful to walk you through the process.

What Goes into a Submission?

When you’re preparing work to send out into the world, you will need to prepare a package of information comprising some, or all, of the following:

  • Your work, presented in accordance with the competition or journal’s Submission Guidelines;
  • A short writer’s bio;
  • A cover letter and/or a completed application form;
  • An author’s photo;
  • Competition or Submission fees (if applicable).

Let’s take a look at each of these in more detail.

Submission Guidelines

I’ve attended lots of workshops given by editors and publishers, and they all go something…

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David Bowie, Nina Simone : Wild Is The Wind

The Immortal Jukebox

The wind bloweth where it listeth.

Where it listeth.

And we, we are nought but chaff in the wind.

Chaff in the wind.

When the wind is northerly ‘tis very cold.

And, when we are in Love reason is buffeted like wind-blown smoke.

Our lives are but feathers helplessly teased and tormented by the winds of Love.

All the winds sigh for sweet things dying, dying.

The wind from all points of the compass; north, east, south or west gathers and remembers our voices, the whispers of our hearts, and broadcasts them in the calls of the birds and the threshing of the leaves and fields.

The wind feeds the fires of Love and in the end is there to extinguish the flames too.

The east wind brought the locusts.

Two riders were approaching.

The wind began to Howl.

Howl.

Love me, love me, love me, love me.

Say you…

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White sand, an azure sky. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

Sit down and write that page today

Allow that poem flow out of you

Believe it can be true.

Taking an excursion with words

The mind buzzes with thoughts aplenty

The emptied fridge just hums.

An amazing sound on rebound

The echo of your energy

The crafty fox supresses his energy the lamb can’t.

Beyond the shadow of the universe

Imagery is to be found, yet it’s Closing Time – Leonard

Must end here. ‘Hey! That’s no way to say goodbye’

© Chris Black. February 2019

#Poetry #amwriting #chillingwithLeonardCohen

It could be a dark and silent grave. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

A feeling of weakness and fear overcame him

Following the sight of his general demeanour

Lately he had not been in the best of health

The long mirror in the bedroom telling the whole story.

Now, a state of confusion overpowered him

The new woman in his life

Sinking under the extreme anxiety

Of friendless bodies.

He must again begin where all ladders start

Haul himself out of the gutter he finds himself in.

This episode in a long life lived is true

We were often invited to dine at his table.

© Chris Black. February 2019

#Poetry #amwriting