Untitled.

Watching through the lens of a camera
In the comfort of home or a presidential office
Buildings gutted, fogs of dust rising high into the air
Eerie screams, medics rushing hither and thither
Hospitals unable to cope with broken bodies
Street after street showing dead being covered over
Broken children crying out for loved ones
Brutalised bodies lying not just in their own blood
Soldiers and civilian alike bodies rent apart
Scattered like rag dolls all in the name of WAR
Will common sense ever prevail?
© Chris Black. April 2018

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Today is Record Store Day.

Celebrating your vinyl collection and the 11 year on 21st April the day designated to celebrate independently owned record stores.

Vinyl record collecting is a sort of addiction, I know in my head once inside the door of the shop “just for a browse” I end up with an armful of sleeved vinyl “bring me back in time goodies”

To celebrate the day here are some of what will be spinning on my turn table.

Do you have your favourite vinyl album you would like to share with the world?

(c) Chris Black. April 2018.

Haiku

Blue umbrella sky
Sitting here under birdsong
Each dog has his day
© Chris Black. April 2018

Dappled greys.

“You look at me and you see only an ugly old man, but within I am filled with great beauty. I sit on a mountain and look into the future”
Sandoval, Hastin Tlo’Tsi Hee/Old Man Buffalo Grass, Navajo.
The lines in his face tangle
He sits looking out at nothingness?
Sucking on his peace pipe
In his ninetieth year
Too weak to engage himself
The old chief watches
As young warriors
Paint themselves for battle.
Italics from her book – Native American Wisdom by Helen Exley.
Poem not true to form of the photo in the book but from the imagination of
© Chris Black. April 2018

Letters don’t you just love their generosity.

Way way back in the sands of time
Back when I first thought I could write in rhyme
I made a total cobblers of it
Everything I wrote went head over tit.

No matter how hard I tried
Those words I laid down just curled up and died
Throwing up their imaginary hands in despair
Silently screaming this just is not fair.

I was never really given a chance
Words, they lead me on a merry dance
The alphabet it too was of little assistance
Gathering up words, keeping its distance.

My insistence though made it quite plain
That if this continued I would without hesitation inflict pain
There was no way I was going to be held ransom
Rhyme would be written and then some.

Eventually you’ll be glad to hear it came to pass
Words decided let’s not be so crass
Let us join together and in harmony
Allow this writer create a symphony.

So early one morning taking pen in hand
I began writing, I had nothing planned
Words between them suggested it’s time
Put him out of his misery let him write in rhyme.
So off I went on my merry way
I had lots and lots I wished to say
At this point in time I’ll just say that is that
What is to come tomorrow I’ll keep under my hat.
© Chris Black. April 2018

After the cat was run over.

Alone in my garden separated from my thoughts
Nerves taut and fraught
Are these feelings for real?
Need a word blackout really have this effect?
There must be an easier route to tug at heart strings
Sometimes it is ok to be melodramatic.
© Chris Black. April 2018

WordPress milestone

Today I got this notification – today you reached One Thousand posts on WordPress. A massive thanks to all and to those whose posts I shared over the years you are part of this memorable number.

Away from the water cooler.

Sometimes your poem needs only be three chords

To be a hit.

(c) Chris Black. April 2018