| I tire so of hearing people say, | |
| Let things take their course. | |
| Tomorrow is another day. | |
| I do not need my freedom when I’m dead. | |
| I cannot live on tomorrow’s bread. | |
| ― Langston Hughes | |
| . | |
| On This Day In: | |
| 2018 | Impeach 45: Make America Great Again |
| 2017 | Training Shoulders |
| 2016 | You Just Have To Care |
| Day 4 – Blending | |
| 2015 | My Slow Education |
| 2014 | Great Service |
| 2013 | You Really Should Wear More Sweaters |
| Here I Am God | |
| 2012 | The Serenity Prayer |
| 2011 | The Victory Of Life |
Month: March 2019
Chance would be a fine thing. Poetry from the pen of
~The Poet’s Poet~
Early this morning the sky had a greyish face
Placing a decaying look upon our village space
Deep breath, smile on the face
He drifted into his work space
Wake up the clock silently tick-tocked
As he sidled up to the coffee dock
Fingers twiddling knobs
Toaster burning hob nobs
He tiptoes to another room
Burying thoughts of doom and gloom
Radio blasts out talks of Brexit
He switches channels, time to exit
The talk now in banquet-halls
Amid those annoying cat calls
Was for some respectable noise
From the mouth of politicians, now that would surprise.
© Chris Black. March 2019
#Poetry #amwriting #pleasenomorebrexit
Mugged by words. Poetry from the pen of
~The Poet’s Poet~
Foraging around for the write ingredients.
There are days he tries to write.
Nothing.
It is as though the vein has been severed.
No ink will flow from pen in hand.
Thoughts cannot be registered, his mind scarred.
He is the only one to bear witness to this.
Words can do this to you a voice whispered.
No one but he lives in this room of crisis.
Mugged by words.
© Chris Black. March 2019
#Poetry #amwriting #soundcloud #SpokenWord
Hear a spoken word version @https://soundcloud.com/the-poets-poet-1
A poem of myth? Poetry from the pen of
~The Poet’s Poet~
Poet, partners with words.
Allowing them stand alone once written down.
You will hear no protesting from words.
There will be of course times where
The poet’s words will be taken out of context.
Anything we write can and will be used against us.
Those connected to us and at a far divide are also at risk.
We need to know these things.
Sitting with pen in hand this bright spring morning
At his bureaux, allowing the imagination stray
Seeking a theme for a poem.
The school of thought in a ruinous state.
Spilling ink coloured blood onto a page.
Watch the human eye engage.
Patience has taken him thus far
Blood, sweat and poetry will scar this soft vellum.
© Chris Black. March 2019
#Poetry #amwriting
Face and three hands. Poetry from the pen of
~The Poet’s Poet~
The shadow of the clock
At all times looms large
Tick-Tick-Tocking away, seconds, minutes, hours
Yes our life is lived by the clock
We may not always be aware of its presence
It is always there.
Time-Bomb
Tick-Tick-Tocking our life away.
© Chris Black. March 2019
#Poetry #amwriting
Eleanor McEvoy, Ailie, Paula Meehan, Moyra Barry : Ceiliúradh Mhna Na h-Eireann (Celebrating the Women of Ireland 5)
Don’t allow this pass you by without taking a few moments to read Thom’s inspiring words and listen to melodious voices.
A little over ambitious with my scheduling!
I forgot that not only did I have a duty to celebrate the season of St Patrick here on The Jukebox I also had to celebrate in person and recover from those celebrations!
So, a little delayed, but I trust well worth the wait, the Official Immortal Jukebox St Patrick’s Day Post!
Now read on ….
All Hail St Patrick!
All Hail the Women of Ireland
Today we conclude our tribute to the intelligence, wisdom and beauty the Women of Ireland have brought to the arts of Song, Poetry and Painting.
Songs by Eleanor McEvoy (At the Mid Hour of Night & A Woman’s Heart) & AIlie (The Rocky Road to Dublin).
A Poetry Reading by Paula Meehan – ‘The Pattern’.
A Painting by Moyra Barry (1886-1960) : ‘Cinerria’
More years ago than I care to count seeking sanctuary from the crazed cacophony…
View original post 984 more words
Overtaxing the brain. Poetry from the pen of
~The Poet’s Poet~
He has poems scribbled on paper of every hue
Poems he’d written, nay, scratched on foolscap margins
Poems he’d typed and printed then put on the back burner
Clever poems, short poems, even stupid poems
Luckily the poems did not know that
Then again who knows?
Those monsters come to haunt him in the dark of night.
As he awakens to the fresh scent of dawn
Poetic thoughts now long gone leave him blank faced
He speaks to no one but himself, the loudest response his echo
Entering the kitchen wearily scratching his head
God is in her element humming away to herself
Kneading dough for early morning bake.
© Chris Black. March 2019
#Poetry #amwriting
Given a passport to write. Poetry from the pen of
~The Poet’s Poet~
I’m watching you the word from afar came through
Like a hand lifted by a distant friend
Ink made its blot upon a virgin page.
He was mesmerised, feeling the cold
Breeze in from the sea, he put the squeeze on the pen
Squared his shoulders, lit his readied pipe
Realised instantly as the poets eyes peered through a smoke haze
This was never going to be an antiseptic landscape
The Man Shed walls were not going to close in on him
This team of man and pen, the perfect crutch for each other
Were not going to give a lunchtime lecture
Rather they were in a roundabout way
In this museum of words where no boundaries existed
Creating a poetic landscape to be viewed near and far.
© Chris Black. March 2019
#Poetry #amwriting
Yielding to the pen.
In celebration of #WorldPoetryDay
Yielding to the pen. Poetry from the pen of
~The Poet’s Poet~
This tiresome, pained body pushes at pen
As eye must obey mind.
Reading between these lines
One can almost feel his pain?
Yet he continues to write
This is his time to distance himself
Never allow the distraction intervene
Medication for mind and body.
At one with the world
Happy with his lot
Poised, each word measured to complete a line
Detail at times difficult, curiosity wins out.
© Chris Black. March 21st 2019
#Poetry #amwriting
Feeling disgruntled. Poetry from the pen of
~The Poet’s Poet~
Of course he was correct in thinking
That not having an idea to conjure with
Was not in the nuclear- disaster range
Delivering humour never a thorny issue
Retreating into his shell not a consideration
It’s a lonely place seated at the writing bureaux
With just an audience on one.
© Chris Black. March 2019
#Poetry #amwriting
