The sleepwalker. Poetry from the pen of ~The Poet’s Poet~

She was well used to his antics

Paying scant attention once they were on home turf

He could negotiate stairs-wells with ease

Go from room to room naked as a jay bird

Never even stub a toe.

They were party animals as were their friends

Occasionally they would have themed nights 

It was their turn this particular weekend

The partying went on until the early hours of the morning.

Once it finally wound down

She went unconscious once her head hit the pillow.

On waking next morning he was missing from her bed 

She found him stretched out on the couch downstairs wrapped in a bathrobe 

She did not possess a pink bathrobe.

Peeling it off him as quick as you would peel a banana 

Shock horror he was wearing a G-string 

The party was now turning into a nightmare.

He couldn’t explain this away with the excuse it must have been the sleepwalking 

Then from the lounge area emerged the owner of the bathrobe

Dressed in a fancy dress chicken outfit.

©Chris Black. May 9^th 2019

#Poetry #amwriting

Off now to lie down in a dark room. Poetry from the pen of ~The Poet’s Poet~

When I shuffle off this mortal soil

If it happens to be today

Here’s hoping that in the space beyond

I’ll still be able to correspond

Also that I don’t recoil

Or find myself with nothing to say.

There are those of course who would tip their hat

Nod in my general direction think that is that

To them I say, do this at your peril

You will find that I am a constant.

If you have been with me for the past 30 days

Or any part there of

To you I tip my hat and give praise

Thank you for your patience, follows, kind comments and those likes

Your encouragement it must be said assisted me make those 30 strikes.

©Chris Black. April 30^th 2019 #National #Poetry #Month

#Poetry #amwriting #poemaday #30Days #30Poems

The layout of language. Poetry from the pen of ~The Poet’s Poet~

Today, sitting in the imagination of his mind

He found himself in illustrious company, that of Samuel Beckett

Imbibing dry white wine at Cochon de Lait

Looking out on passers-by through a dimly lit window

This in turn charged the imagination.

Weekday mornings as apart from weekends

See him do most of his writing

Laying down a marker

His way of motivation

Eager, like a golfer on the first tee.

Always hoping at the off

He was not going to find himself bunkered.

Trying continuously to mould a poem to his own design.

The growth of a mind

The University of Life

Connecting with the landscape

Savouring all those aspects.

Longing to be a free thinker

Allowing always his words complete freedom.

©Chris Black. April 29^th 2019 #National #Poetry #Month

#Poetry #amwriting #30Days #30Poems #poemaday

The White blackbird. Poetry from the pen of ~The Poet’s Poet~

THis complex thoughts scatter on the page

Today he can think only in monochrome

It is not a good writing day

Though he has lots he wishes to say

He simply can make no sense of it all

Today he feels like a fish out of water, all clammed up

His eyes glance away he cannot afford to even look at the page

Words are in fact leading him a merry dance

Where to from here is the puzzle

He cannot allow inanimate objects dictate.

Of late it has become a burden

Sharing his difficulty has eased the tension

The door to the library of the mind

Which had been tightly secured, now flung open

This gives him the opportunity to again read and write.

*The white blackbird by Lennox Robinson has no significance to the poem it just seemed like the perfect title.

©Chris Black. April 28^th 2019 #National #Poetry #Month #30Days #30Poems

#Poetry #amwriting #poemaday

When the birds stop singing. Poetry from the pen of ~The Poet’s Poet~

Night writing brought about by storm and heavy rainfall

Black leaves seeking the shelter of partially built nests

Their home for the summer being buffeted by the gale.

We are reaching the final days of spring time

Climate change is happening in more ways than one

From this vantage point the loud clatter bang

Shows the wind has gotten beneath some outhouse tiles

The damage will not be accessed until dawn, in the name of safety

By small margins are we saved in times of storm?

An offence to man, woman and beast such weather

Then again is it not man, woman and beast that has us where we are?

Of course industry has a hand in the situation we find ourselves in

But which of us are going to be the first to dance to the tune of change?

We are living in the time of long silence

The alarm bells are ringing, their sound falling on deaf ears.

©Chris Black. April 27^th 2019 #National #Poetry #Month #30Poems #30Days

#Poetry #amwriting #poemaday

She smiled coquettishly. Poetry from the pen of ~The Poet’s Poet~

There may be times his poetry can be cold and austere

Frame of mind or phrasing of poem can have this effect

Cold as rocks on a stark mountainside

Austere as in words actually paving the way of the poem.

He has to approach each poem in the right frame of mind

Falling down at this fence leaves phrasing sadly lacking.

Trying hard to separate himself from his poem

A priority, fantasy is difficult to write about.

He stood by his bureaux this morning, pondering

How to put today’s ink blots into conversation pieces

Leafing through dog eared pages, never discard a thought

He found this scribbled line, the lady at a nearby table

Dressed in banana peels wearing a fascinator made up of burned toast.

There are times his poetry takes a different turn?

©Chris Black. April 26^th 2019 #National #Poetry #Month

#Poetry #amwriting #30Poems 30Days #26of30 #poemaday

Companions. Poetry from the pen of ~The Poet’s Poet~

He heard the call

Before nights end he had his poem

The cry of a poem

Music to his ears.

The economy of writing

Line by line

In the privacy of his mind

Brings the birth of a poem.

Penholder on the horns of a dilemma

He heard the call

In his mind’s eye he could see the first version

Before ink blotted paper.

Words running through drops of ink

From the crevices of his mind

As rain taps quietly on window panes

Tonight, this is the best poem he has written.

©Chris Black. April 25^th 2019

#Poetry #amwriting #National #Poetry #Month

#30Days #30Poems #poemaday #25of30

Turning the camera on himself. Poetry from the pen of ~The Poet’s Poet~

In some shape or form the ideas for his poems

Come from the ups and downs of life in all it various forms

Drinking in the beauty of nature

Losing himself in a vast library of books

Being a news junkie has its benefits

Leaving his ink splash on a page, satisfies

What is the point in poetry he asks himself frequently?

Self-gratification, getting something off his chest?

Some poems can confuse and irritate

Still they must be completed

We can learn a lot from poems?

Once he has lost all interest in the poem he’s writing

Then it is finished.

©Chris Black. April 23^rd 2019

#Poetry #amwriting #April 2019 #National #Poetry #Month #30poems #30days

#HappyBirthdayWilliamShakespeare

Words. Poetry from the pen of ~The Poet’s Poet~

These inescapable creatures

Everyday tempters

Intelligibility, they have it in spades

Unavoidable once you wake

Undoubtedly they never sleep

They are there in your dreams

In your screams.

They have no problem with repetition

Thrive on hyperbole.

O’re yon high eastward hill

 Housed in his hamlet he’ll write words at will

Shakespeare he may never be

Lives in a land of fictionality

Living in the world words

Equates to waking each morning to joyous madness.

©Chris Black. April 22^nd 2019

#Poetry #amwriting #April 2019 #National #Poetry #Month

And the wheel goes around. Poetry from the pen of ~The Poet’s Poet~

He blinks, the shutter closes

Etched in his mind

A green field being grazed

Cattle chewing their cud

Later they are dispersed to greener pastures

The farmer arrives with tractor and plough

Green field turned over to dark soil

Gulls swoop feeding on unearthed delicacies.

©Chris Black. April 19^th 2019

#Poetry #amwriting #April 2019 #National #Poetry #Month #30Days #30Poems

In the space between his ears. Poetry from the pen of ~The Poet’s Poet~

Staring from a horizontal position pondering

At a star pierced sky in wonderment

Would it be possible that somewhere

In the far reaches might someone be peering down?

Perhaps there is just emptiness, an escape from life

He feels a quiver as if an unseeing hand

Was placed on his shoulder

Imagination and the darkness of night

Can play havoc with the intelligence.

©Chris Black. April 16^th 2019

#Poetry #amwriting #April 2019 #National #Poetry #Month #30Days #30Poems

A little nugget. Poetry from the pen of ~The Poet’s Poet~

All those treasures that lie dormant in the mind

Waiting only for the ribbon to be unbound

Lid to be lifted so as they may be exposed

It is then the secrets of the mind can be disclosed.

There are times the mind is tired and weary

Seeking nothing only rest

Which is a test for the writer

Who wishes to conduct the business of the day –

Yet pen, his baton won’t dance to his tune.

©Chris Black. April 11^th 2019

#Poetry #amwriting #April #National #Poetry #Month #30Days #30Poems

Self-Portrait. Poetry from the pen of ~The Poet’s Poet~

In his secret room

Filled with dreams

He sits and writes

Short pithy poems.

©Chris Black. April 9^th 2019

#Poetry #amwriting #April #National #Poetry #Month #30Days #30 Poems

Sometimes they bomb. Poetry from the pen of ~The Poet’s Poet~

You put soul in the poem

Allowing words to freely roam

At times they fight hard against rhyme

Yet they succumb in time

Well-seasoned, words are

Confident, with lots of flair

Invite them to your table

Be assured they’ll be reliable

Compose in any way you wish

Words will know when you should finish.

©Chris Black. April 8^th 2019

#Poetry #amwriting #April #National #Poetry #Month #30 Days #30 Poems

A demonstration of how his mind operates. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

His mind works best when connecting things

When it is idle he is also idle

His mind when in turmoil

Spews out liquorice allsorts

His mind thrives on different orders of experience

There are days when his mind bears no resemblance

To the prostituted language used to construct a poem

Some may beg to differ

Which is their prerogative

Staring back at him once the flap of his bureaux is laid open

The works of William Carlos Williams, Thomas Hardy, Ogden Nash

D.J. Enright Collected Poems, In Natures Garden a collection

To mention but a few, of course there is Joyce, Yeats and Kavanagh et al

His mind works best when connecting things.

©Chris Black. April 7^th 2019

#Poetry #amwriting #April #National #Poetry #Month #30Days #30Poems

A page finally printed. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

Caught between meltdown and sundown

Struggling to comprehend what to write

Reflecting, neglecting the scent of a poem

In the great scheme of things with heart beating

He imagined the unimaginable ending the day unfulfilled

Start anywhere, take any route, there had to be a way out

His tongue felt dead in his mouth

He could not speak the language of the living word

This particular poem, afraid of going anywhere

He was alike to a stationmaster waiting for the train to arrive

He knew it was on time, amused by the fidgeting of those waiting to board

Then the light bulb flashed, destination in sight

He didn’t mind that he was going to be labelled injudicious

Enough of this poetry in motion he suggested

He had expressed himself as best he could

It was more terminus than terminal, he had finally reached

The End.

©Chris Black. April 3^rd 2019

#Poetry #amwriting #poemaday #poetrymonth

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

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

Beneath a blanket of cloud. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

This morning, on his forest walk

Partly shattered by recent storm

In the now, stillness, made harmonious

With the singing of birds

Alone with nature, time to ponder

Inspired by poetic thoughts

Thoughts of living out his life

Retiring to the mountains or perhaps

An island retreat

Leaving behind the regrets of gloom

Live life in the age of radio

In the company of his personal library.

© Chris Black. March 2019

Listen to a #SpokenWord version @https://soundcloud.com/the-poets-poet-1

#Poetry #amwriting #JohannSebastianBach

#GoldbergVariations #BWV988: #Aria #LarsVogt

Watching through the glass panel. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

He has all the ingredients at his fingertips

Next step, the kneading process

Onto the invisible pan, toss them skywards

Making sure to catch each and every one

26 may sound like a small number

But if you happen to drop one

25 becomes practically impossible to work with

Horror of horrors there would be more of a flurry in a graveyard

With the full complement he can add shade to shade

He can have Jack Kerouac sitting close by

Ray Charles in St. Peters Square playing piano to the masses

Uncle Sam crying into his beer following the election

Of a “president” the world did not want?

He can create any world he wishes it would have Alan Ginsberg in it.

A black panther chewing away on the bones of Father Time

Would then indicate it was time to call a halt

Lay the thinking cap to one side, take a deep breath

Slip his arms into the straight jacket and take his medicine.

He left the room, it was so quiet outside you could just about hear leaves cry.

All happening under the looming shadow of Alfred Hitchcock.

© Chris Black. March 2019

#Poetry #amwriting

Feathered friends. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

The glory of this spring morning

Dog at heel, accompanying him

On his constitutional.

Birds, amazed by their trajectory

Improvising as they soar

Their action complimenting the surrounds

Serenading as one voice

The language of birds

As they climb high into an azure sky

Trumpeting delightful notes

Sun their backdrop.

© Chris Black. March 2019

#Poetry #amwriting #whereisVivaldiwhenyouneedhim

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

As it should be. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

Sweet is the breath of this spring morning

Green fields, glistening with dew

After soft showers, fair daffodil bows its head

From that nearby rippling stream

Its waters, make sweet music for the listening ear

This time of year, how sweet it is to roam

Sit and listen to a thousand blended notes

Book in hand, shadowed by the umbrageous multitude of leaves.

© Chris Black. February 2019.

#Poetry #amwriting #Octave

Taking a constitutional. Poetry from the pen of ~The Poet’s Poet~

Today there is nowth but sunshine

Cloudless sky, bird song

Dog panting, seeking shade

Cattle flaked out in pastures green

A picture postcard scene

The bleet of sheep can be heard in distant fields

Farm machinery being transported, land to be tilled

In a nearby field horses drinking from a trough of water

Butterflies, colours of the rainbow on a mossy bank

A murder of crows kicking up a racket in a forest of nests

Silver birds leaving white trails behind, bound for foreign parts

On the beach no sign of carbon footprints.

©Chris Black. May 11^th 2019

#Poetry #amwriting

Don’t we all deserve to have a blip. Poetry from the pen of ~The Poet’s Poet~

Bank holidays can knock you out of your stride

Good for the sanity, leaving technology on the side

Getting back into the groove another thing entirely

Knuckling down to the task in hand

Not going quite as planned

Working hard to get out of first gear

The clouded mind will slowly clear

It is now all in the lap of the Gods

So back to the scribble pad

Don the thinking cap

Wipe those sweaty palms

Now you’re on the straight and narrow

Feeling good in yourself again

Relishing the thought of pen on paper

If nothing else happens for the rest of the day

You got a poem out of having nothing to say.

©Chris Black. May 10^th 2019

#Poetry #amwriting

With teeth clenched. Poetry from the pen of ~The Poet’s Poet~

Night time sees him fixed in his chair

Trying hard to win the war against stubborn words

Sometimes it is easier to pen sheep.

He stirred, twisting, turning

Allowing words leap onto a blank page

Show your fangs he moaned

His ears open to latch onto a moment

He paused and stared, scared

He could feel a veil of sleep overpower him

“When I get older losing my hair will you still need me

Will you still feed me when I’m 64”

Humming away to the Beatles track in sheer amusement

If he couldn’t write this night at least he had his music.

©Chris Black. May 8^th 2019

#Poetry #amwriting

We’ve blocked the sun and choked the flower.

jpoet7/Joseph Black Photography

Silence now no birdsong tweet
Concrete pylons in the street
Conifers that once stood tall
Nesting chicks no longer call.
Plastic populates the planet
Choking cormorant and gannet
Smoking chimneys, acid rain
Deserts populate the plain.
Icebergs melting tumble down
Rising waters islands drown
Blinded by our greed for power
We’ve blocked the sun and choked the flower.
J. Poet 7 ( @wordverse.me )

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A not too risque limerick. Poetry from the pen of ~The Poet’s Poet~

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.

Cutting your cloth according to its measure. Poetry from the pen of ~The Poet’s Poet~

A real source of inspiration

To part quote Samuel Beckett

“The exercise book that opens like a door and lets me far down into the now friendly dark”

We all, without doubt have a way of motivating ourselves

Once in the zone anything is possible

Never over think, consoling himself daily with this thought

Writing daily, allows it become a habit.

Taking down the nearest book to hand

Randomly opening it, a line will prompt a response

Then allow the mind wander, ponder

This poem, these thoughts

Emerged when he flicked open The Life of Samuel Beckett.

©Chris Black. May 1^st 2019

#Poetry #amwriting #SpokenWord #soundcloud

Listen to a spoken word version @ #soundclound

www/https://soundcloud.com/the-poets-poet-1