A Numerical Poem.

Uno (i)

The poet wrote many words. Soon seeds sown will flourish.

Duo (ii) Double the joy.

Tres (iii) Great, celebrate whatever the mix.

Quattour (iv) You are beginning your expansion, progress gently.

Quinque (v) More hard to handle, but you set the bar, it will fall on more than one occasion.

Sex (vi) Now the task is, to make sense of what you write. Nonsense will not be tolerated nor will it be purchased. The reader is correct in stating Caveat Emptor.

Septem (vii) Trying too hard only confuses the matter. Finding yourself under pressure then fold the copybook, place the cap on the inkwell. Walk away.

Octo (viii) Walk in silence, contemplate your thoughts, study nature, allow your surroundings speak to you. Never discard a thought, you will get results.

Novem (ix) Write down that thought, don’t expect it to remain especially if it comes to you in a dream during the dead of night. Remember always, keep a pen and notepad beside your bed, jot down that thought.

Decem (x) When dawn breaks, rise and shine, shower then breakfast, time is of the essence. One thought will borrow another. Show gratitude not surprise it will not yet be the finished product. Persevere.

Undecim (xi) It is good at times to show elation, whether inwardly or perhaps you wish to share your success with your greatest critic, which in most cases is yourself. Don’t keep looking for that stick with which to beat yourself.

Duodecim (xii) Now this is where you encounter that invisible brick wall remember no matter how many times you stumble and fall dignity is the only thing which will be hurt. Patience, teach yourself patience success will not happen overnight. Quit when the time is right. Don’t attempt the farmers dozen (Tredecim)

(c) Chris Black. August 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~ 



Webs of intrigue.

when a dreamer dies

what happens to their dreams?

Is their dying their awakening?

Where their dream is just a fog

No point trying to remember

It’s gone, lost in the ether

Gone to dreamland.


when a dreamer dies

Dreamland, is that their heaven?

a place of euphoria

a sea of dreams.

Being a dreamer has its moments

Night dreamer, not day dreamer

Schemer, not doodler

The end result of daydreaming is this

while the night dreamer will search for a positive/


So the time has come to light that spark

Quit this daydreaming lark

concentrate on the task in hand

Build on solid ground not on quick sand.


when a dreamer dies

Dying is their awakening.

(c) Chris Black. August 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

Hear the spoken word version at

Once Upon a Time There Was a Writer…

Never ever fails to inspire.

A Thing for Words

Still Life with Lemons on a Plate. Vincent van Gogh, 1887

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to write a new story for my kids collection.”

“What’s it about?”

“I don’t know yet because I haven’t been able to start it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I keep getting distracted.”

“I only just came into the room. You’ve been in here for over an hour.”

“I’m blocked, Jeannie, okay?” 

“What does that even mean?”

“It means I can’t find anything to write about, or can’t get started for some odd reason…like being distracted by my daughter.”

“So this is my fault again. Here, let me help you begin.”

“No, really, I’d prefer it if you’d…”

“Once upon a time, there lived a shoemaker who couldn’t make shoes anymore.”

“Seriously, would you please…”

“So this shoemaker had a daughter, who was the most beautiful and intelligent girl in the kingdom.

“Where’s this going?…

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Moonlight and rainstorms.

Just as the elevator doors lurched apart

It struck him

This is where this poem should start

Alien faces trooped out one by one

While those patiently waiting to enter stood aside

Some perhaps left memories inside

Those entering do the very opposite?

If you go in search of who wrote these words

Who do you look for male or female?

The ghost of times past?

A poet of the present?

Someone with a head full of ideas

Or perhaps full of sawdust

All is never black and white in the writerly world

Perhaps you won’t, never will find the culprit

Yet the writer has trust always in the written word

The door opens you step in or out

Think on the choices made and the consequences

In the flickering light apparitions sometimes show themselves

They are just that.

Once the door opens in the poets mind

It could well be the end of the world as he knows it.

Yesterday – walked through a cemetery

Dead interesting.

(c) Chris Black. August 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

The Dark Streets

Do check in on Ivor while out browsing.


I’ve been listening to The Waterboys songs lately, their lyrics are meaningful and their music is always dramatic. In this following piece of mine I’ve used 18 of their song Titles as the foundation for my poem. To other Waterboys fans who read this post, I hope my words have done The Waterboys the justice they deserve, by all their glorious songs. 

The combined Trumpets of the world are sounding

Being carried on today’s Lonesome Old Wind

Resonating loudly for The Stolen Child

And Choirs are singing The Faery’s Last Song

Where did their promise go, and there’s no Sweet Thing in sight

Will the children get to view The Whole Of The Moon again

When will they ever cry out, “This Is The Sea”

Searching for their parents, crying “Where Are You Now When I Need You”

Children crawling Down Through The Dark Streets

Cowering under black…

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Let the good times roll.

This Little Old Lady

One of the Poor People Of Paris

Humming her favourite tune I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles

Cecilia was her name.

Though ‘poor’ dressed elegantly, her blouse a rainbow of colour with puffed out Greensleeves

Sitting alone outside the One Mint Julep sipping her mint tea

Suddenly she stood bolt upright and in her best pigeon english shouted out Walk Don’t Run when she spotted her beau, he of Hidden Charm

Sitting quickly in beside her, a peck on either cheek then a prolonged hug.

She was so excited, turning to the tables close by urged each and everyone to say bonjour Meet Mister Callaghan.

He had just returned from Martinique a proper Country Gentleman at least that is what everyone about him, thought.

The writer though knew better! He had returned from there broken hearted with the strains of the Concerto In C Minor still ringing in his ears.

All he could think was Show Me The Way To Go Home as Somebody Stole My Gal while she sung her Lullaby Of Leaves and he whispered Goodnight Irene.

He had then considered spending April In Portugal taking in his favourite show Unchained Melody but in contemplating Zing! Went The Strings Of My Heart sitting down his Black Russian for company allowing The Terry Theme From Limelight waft over him pondered his next move.

(c) Chris Black. August 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

With special thanks to Chet Atkins all 20 tracks in Italics are original recordings from a CD titled Chet Atkins Zing! Went The Strings Of My Heart LTG 39577.

Indulge yourself – check it out.


See The Tide Turn.

In the anaemic half light

He finds this time when the inquisitive mind is at its brightest

No need for alarm call

The call of early morning suffices

Looking out on the grey world

Spills words onto a white grey lined page

Paints a poetic scene

Yellow sun trying hard to brighten  Morning

Soft rain falling at a slant  Silently

Fresh coffee permeating  House

Mellow music modulating  Elbow

Stop take a moment to listen  Look around

Jolene, Dolly Parton another easy on the ear and eye combination

Spotify a welcome distraction from  WAR WAR instead of JAW JAW

Sweet Dreams are made of this sing The Eurythmics

As the anaemic half light gives way

To a glowing ball of light in a clear azure sky

Love Affair sing Bringing On Back The Good Times.

(c) Chris Black. August 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

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