Tomorrow’s Bread

Kevin Barrett's Blog

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:
2018Impeach 45: Make America Great Again
2017Training Shoulders
2016You Just Have To Care
Day 4 – Blending
2015My Slow Education
2014Great Service
2013You Really Should Wear More Sweaters
Here I Am God
2012The Serenity Prayer
2011The Victory Of Life

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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.


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 @

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.


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.

The Immortal Jukebox

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…

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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