Still trying hard to be creative. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

He is never alone once in the company of the alphabet

Each line of poetry must have its own juice

Not written to be analysed but to be experienced

We all have our own preferences which is the way it should be

For those who find it difficult to sit and read,

Audio is a great addition

Experience for yourself, whether in your car on a train

Or perhaps doing mundane housework

You will be amazed the enjoyment it will bring

Then contemplate the alphabet and write what you’re about.

Take a wander along the sidewalk of life

There appears to be at this given time

Nothing but trouble and strife?

Drug pushers, drug smugglers, drug users,

Child molesters, child abusers

Those looking for handouts, if you refuse them –

Threatening shouts

Everywhere civil unrest,

Leaders being put to the test

Maiming, disclaiming, earth quakes,

Law enforcers claiming mistakes?

Housing issues, politicians who debate,

 Politicians who accuse

Evections, contradictions, Banks who loan,

Bankers who moan

Philanthropists, philanderers,

Money lenders, squanderers

Mortgage lenders, Bankrupts,

Billionaires with no cares?

Online this and Online that, Text, Tweet, Facebook,


Join the digital revolution – IS this really the solution?

Time for some naval gazing instead of star gazing,

Wouldn’t it be just amazing if

THIS was considered to be trailblazing?

Writers who rant, you see poetry can take many forms –

It need not always enchant?

© Chris Black. February 2019

#Poetry #amwriting

A resurrected poem from 19th February 2016. Little has changed in the world.


His name, yes. Ozymandias. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

During my many travels.

I met a man from an antique land

Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert.

Most observant of him I thought, it had been a rough night.

Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies,

Good she was out of ear shot

Whose frown, and wrinkled lip,

And sneer of cold command

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

(He did recognise my attention to detail)?

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal these words appear:

“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:

Pleased to meet you I spoke, in a most quite voice

You may not have heard of me I’m ~The Poet’s Poet~

Look at my works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

That was me now – totally exposed.

The lone and level sands stretch far away.

                                       Percy Bysshe Shelley

His masterpiece in Italics.

© Chris Black. February 2019.

#Poetry #amwriting #iknowwhatyouarethinking

Their criticism, quite succinct. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

The reviewers, could not have been more hostile.

Enough he ranted, pulse leaping out of his body

Blood on the brink of boil

It was a serious piece, not a parody.

That poem you offered is unfortunately fetid

You present with this monograph

Which we expected to be lucid

Instead it disappointed paragraph after paragraph.

The subject in our opinion lacked vitality

It need not have been complex

Given more thought it could have been a poem of intensity

He woke from the dream screaming syntax, syntax.

© Chris Black. February 2019

#Poetry #amwriting #playingwithwords

Written by withered fingers. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

There are times he is a poet of motion

Then on occasion, emotion

All depending on the mood

It should be understood.

Poems written in celebration

Then on occasion, confrontation

Rarely written to draw blood

Honestly, as if he would.

Words, scurrying across a page

Wanting badly to engage

Knowing that they could

If allowed present a darker presence.

© Chris Black. February 2019

#Poetry #amwriting #latenightsession

Nirvana. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

That smile, those crinkled lines about your face

Moving to the rhythm of your beating heart

Always humming that happy tune

As a child he recalls sitting in awe of grandma

How she could light up a room with that smile

Grandma was one for keeping letters

I can’t throw that away she’d tell granddad

He’d just scratch his head, make no reply

Granddad loved the great outdoors

During long hot summer days

We’d lie off on a hay rick

Bask under a cloudless sky

He’d tell all sorts of stories

Then once it was time for home

He’d say, clapping his hands, not a word to grandma.

In the silence of the night

Grandma and granddad could be heard having a goodnight chat

Then once they knelt to pray

It was time to drift off into slumber land.

One wonders what they would make of today’s world

Zen and Feng Shui, a place for everything and everything in it place

Tommy rot that’s what granddad would say

Among all the clutter he always knew where to find the necessary tool.

Where grandma who was quite house proud in her own way

Would never go on the warpath if she couldn’t find items in an instant

God is good she’d say if it’s to be found it’ll turn up.

© Chris Black. February 2019

#Poetry #amwriting #thegoodoldtimes

Up at cock-crow. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

If you listened closely you could almost hear flower buds opening

In the soft stillness of early morning.

Then a bird singing the self-same song he sings each morning at day break

Yes of course it may not be the self-same bird but the song is just as sweet.

Then that domino coloured bird alights on the wicker fence

One for sorrow they say as the sweet song bird takes flight.

© Chris Black. February 2019

#Poetry #amwriting #birdsong #springtime

Lemon Loaf

In Dianes Kitchen


If you love Lemon then try this Lemon Glazed Lemon Loaf. It has the perfect sweet and tart combination making it great for any occasion. You poke holes in the top with a toothpick so the Lemon Glaze can drip inside the Lemon Loaf as well as on top.

Click on the link below for the step by step directions and a printable recipe card.


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Do you understand where he’s coming from? Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

Just when you think it’s safe to move away

You’re hit with another thought

A more profound thought

Another invention from the tomb

A hidden likeness to other poems you’ve written

All it is is a likeness nothing more

A reputation is at stake here

Twins perhaps but not identical

Allow the train of thought go down a different track

In your poem, think at all times

One line may hide the next line

It’s down to you to expose it

There are times when one word is jealous of the next

It is down to you alone to show them they belong together.

At this juncture I guess it is time to reveal

He is preaching to non-other than himself.

If poems were straight forward

This writing lark would be no fun

Reincarnations, nothing to gladden the heart

He finds reading poetry anodyne

He has at times been referred to as an ‘anorak’

As this hardly interests the reader

He should sign off, return and reread what is written.

Words wish to make it clear they are exculpated

For there are times he expatiates on subjects he knows little about.

© Chris Black. February 2019     #Poetry #amwriting #onlyforscrabble

It develops like this. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

Strutting his stuff, on the wings of imagination

He sets out his stall on writing his poem of the day

Steering well clear of the computer

Using the grey matter to select the appropriate word formation

Oyster or shrimp words, either will do in his estimation

This may not be the correct approach

But who can deem what is the correct approach?

It is like the old cliché – horses for courses

Once the commander lines up his troops

Gives them free rein

He sits back confident that the end result

Will be much more than satisfactory

Once the winning post is past.

© Chris Black. February 2019

#Poetry #amwriting #soundcloud #SpokenWord

Listen to a spoken word version