there is nowth but sunshine
sky, bird song
panting, seeking shade
flaked out in pastures green
picture postcard scene
bleet of sheep can be heard in distant fields
machinery being transported, land to be tilled
a nearby field horses drinking from a trough of water
colours of the rainbow on a mossy bank
murder of crows kicking up a racket in a forest of nests
birds leaving white trails behind, bound for foreign parts
the beach no sign of carbon footprints.
Black. May 11th 2019
holidays can knock you out of your stride
for the sanity, leaving technology on the side
back into the groove another thing entirely
down to the task in hand
going quite as planned
hard to get out of first gear
clouded mind will slowly clear
is now all in the lap of the Gods
back to the scribble pad
the thinking cap
those sweaty palms
you’re on the straight and narrow
good in yourself again
the thought of pen on paper
nothing else happens for the rest of the day
got a poem out of having nothing to say.
Black. May 10th 2019
was well used to his antics
scant attention once they were on home turf
could negotiate stairs-wells with ease
from room to room naked as a jay bird
even stub a toe.
were party animals as were their friends
they would have themed nights
was their turn this particular weekend
partying went on until the early hours of the morning.
it finally wound down
went unconscious once her head hit the pillow.
waking next morning he was missing from her bed
found him stretched out on the couch downstairs wrapped in a bathrobe
did not possess a pink bathrobe.
it off him as quick as you would peel a banana
horror he was wearing a G-string
party was now turning into a nightmare.
couldn’t explain this away with the excuse it must have been the
from the lounge area emerged the owner of the bathrobe
in a fancy dress chicken outfit.
Black. May 9th 2019
time sees him fixed in his chair
hard to win the war against stubborn words
it is easier to pen sheep.
stirred, twisting, turning
words leap onto a blank page
your fangs he moaned
ears open to latch onto a moment
paused and stared, scared
could feel a veil of sleep overpower him
I get older losing my hair will you still need me
you still feed me when I’m 64”
away to the Beatles track in sheer
he couldn’t write this night at least he had his music.
Black. May 8th 2019
There was a young man called Updike
One day threw his leg over a bike
Being accident prone
He now has but one
Which his girlfriend has come to dislike
(c) Chris Black. May 2nd 2019
#Poetry #amwriting #Limerick.
A real source of inspiration
part quote Samuel Beckett
exercise book that opens like a door and lets me far down into the now friendly
all, without doubt have a way of motivating ourselves
in the zone anything is possible
over think, consoling himself daily with this thought
daily, allows it become a habit.
down the nearest book to hand
opening it, a line will prompt a response
allow the mind wander, ponder
poem, these thoughts
when he flicked open The Life of Samuel
Black. May 1st 2019
#amwriting #SpokenWord #soundcloud
to a spoken word version @ #soundclound