The village chapel

High on a hill the village chapel
Where first our marriage vows we exchanged
Now lies in a dilapidated state of repair.

In natures garden it stands
Winds singing through fractured stain glass windows
Golden beams of light shine through.

I can still see her face lit with sunshine
My heart filled with the music of her I do
There lost behind a veil she smiles

Crowned with the calm and peace of togetherness
The humble man kneels
Do you take this woman, those words

Falling from the heavens lead to paradise
Out through open doors to breathe nature’s rich perfumes
Its beauty opens our lives leading us to the splendour
Of being as one, bound each to each until death do us part.
(c) Chris Black. February 2018.



Do not over complicate.

He asks himself what next
As he sits to write his Villanelle
Think for now of nothing outside this text

It is important to keep everything in context
Useing his writing impliment to cast a spell
He asks himself what next

Do not over complicate, do not make it too complex
This in turn should leave it easy the Villanelle to re-tell
Think for now of nothing outside this text

Read, see how an other writer injects
Excitement into each line they write, do they dwell?
He asks himself what next

Is it really all about optics
All about casting a spell?
Think for now of nothing outside this text

What if all who read rejects
Never ever contemplate undersell
He asks himself what next
Think for now of nothing outside this text.
(c) Chris Black. Februrary 2018.

Emotion, Conflict, Circumstance!

The letterbox snapped shut, Siobhan’s heart skipped a beat as she rose from the breakfast table and walked quickly up the hall – there it was, the pink coloured envelope beautifully scented.
With trembling hands she opened it. She began reading the Valentines card and enclosed letter, not quite believing what she was reading.
Siobhan put the card and letter back into the envelope, placing her head in her hands she cried.
After taking what seemed like an eternity to compose herself, Siobhan revisited the letter and began to read aloud.
My dearest Jennifer, how can I begin to thank you for the pleasures you have brought into my life these past three months, Siobhan is now a faded memory, enveloped in the mist of time.
Let us treasure this time together as we close the door on past relationships. Siobhan reads and rereads, her tears have long since dried up.
Eventually, she fires card and letter across the table and shouts her loudest – Paul you bastard, pounding the table she repeats bastard, bastard, bastard.
Paul had left the comfort of the bed they had shared earlier, showered and breakfasted, kissing her on the forehead, he said see you later Siobhan enjoy your day.
Meanwhile on the other side of the town Jennifer answers the intercom buzzer, a familiar voice is heard saying it’s your friendly florist. Jennifer’s heart skips beat, she accepts the flowers, removes the attached envelope and leaves it on the hall table while she tends to her bouquet of a dozen red roses.
Feeling giddy with excitement, she returns to the hall table picks up the envelope, returns to the kitchen, decides to treat herself to a coffee and chocolate biscuit before opening the envelope.
As Paul should be over for elevenses, Jennifer convinces herself to put off opening the envelope until he arrives. Paul arrives on cue, she hears the key turn in the lock and rushes to greet him in the hallway.
They had not long ago rented the apartment overlooking the river, close to where Paul had his accountancy offices.
The vision in pink silk that greeted Paul as he hung up the pinstripe jacket and silk tie, was enough to take his breath away. All he could utter was, Jen you look ravishing.
Jennifer stood back admiring his firm manly presence, then gently took him by the hand gushing – those roses Paul it’s so thoughtful of you, the delivery caught me completely off guard. She could feel Paul freeze in his tracks, roses, what roses he stammered – yes they just arrived before you, so I decided to put off opening the card until you arrived so we could read it together.
Paul’s head was now in an absolute spin, Siobhan – card, Jen – roses. Jen – roses, Siobhan – card, his brain was now in total meltdown.
Then into the mix the dreaded mobile phone rings, reading the flashing screen he sees, Siobhan calling.
Paul had showered Jen with flowers from the first time they met, but not on this occasion, he had planned something special for later that evening, hence the card.
How did I make that mistake – all that damn brandy?
Paul, answering the phone whispered to Jen – have to take this call outside. Stepping outside he had a side view of the office block – Siobhan was outside, pacing up and down frantically, shouting at the top of her voice – how could you Paul, you son of a bitch – she was now attracting a small gathering of passer’s by, and some office staff members began to emerge from Paul’s office.
Without hearing the apartment door open in all the commotion, next thing he knew Jen had her arms around his waist.
Happy St. Valentines day all enjoy the pampering especially those who may be pampering themselves. Go on indulge your secrets safe with me.
(c) Chris Black. Februrary 14th 2018.



In hushed tones he wrote

Let today be productive
Allow the writing be constructive.

Write all thoughts down
Don’t just converse.

Writing couplets, is not like pulling teeth
Think razor sharp mind.

10am: coffee brewed
Beethoven on the turntable.

Viewed through the window pane
Softly, snow flakes tumble from the heavens.

Ravens quarrel over scraps
A symphony of noise.

Two wagtails, in time beak tap the window
Seeking shelter?

Snow flakes then turns to rain drops
Listen, as it speaks to the roof.

Observing, hearing natures varied notes
Makes one glad to be alive.
(c) Chris Black. February 2018.


Was God watching?

Remember no one is watching, but God
God can take many forms
This mantra was trotted out to all
As we played innocent games.

Do anything out of turn
God is watching.

Was God watching when Johnnie’s
Father knocked seven bells
Out of Jockser’s old fella
On the side-line
At the kids football match.

Nearly started a riot
Among the dozen or so
That were there most
Of them mothers.

The other fathers probably
Still in the scratcher
After having a skin full
The night before?

Some of whom spent the weeks
Wages moving between the
Bookies and the pub
Was God watching?

When your man next door
Contininually beat his wife
Was God watching?

If you don’t wash behind your ears
You’ll not get out to play
A minor offence you might think?
For attempting to back answer
Got a good clouting for both offences
Was God watching?

In the school playground
We were playing spin the bottle
And got a stern finger wagging
We were told sternly
By those “christian brothers”
No hanky panky
Remember no one is watching, but God.

At 9 or 10 years of age
We were always in the wrong
Couldn’t do right for doing wrong
They’d take out their frustrations
Of the day on us
Was God watching?

Little did they know
We didn’t give a continental
Even if God was watching.

When we stumbled on those
Shooting up on the stairwell
Was God watching?

The night they
Shot up Rosie’s flat
And she asleep in bed
Hugging her teddy bear
In fear of her life
Was God watching?

Or the day they bombed that hospital
Killing all those innocent children
Was God watching?

© Chris Black. February 2018.





Villanelle – A wordy piece.

Words can stab, hurt, cut, bruise
Equally words can soothe
Writing obsenities, really is there an excuse?

Words do not have a choice for such misuse
They never know if or when they are to be used like a sychte
Words can stab, hurt, cut, bruise

To bow in the face of this I refuse
I, the poet am here to openly exude
Writing obsenities, really is there an excuse?

How am I supposed this dilemma to diffuse
When in this villanelle I must include
Words that can stab, hurt, cut, bruise

Yes words were born to confuse
Before any exclusion, we should appreciate the smoothe
Writing obseities, really is there an excuse?

Sixteen lines in, it is beginning to confuse
Time at this point for the poet to denote as RUDE
Words which can stab, hurt, hurt, bruise
Writing obscenities, really is there an excuse?
(c) Chris Black. February 2018.

Mary Chapin Carpenter : When Halley Came To Jackson

The Immortal Jukebox

‘It’s not every night a comet comes around’

The current President of France Emmanuel Macron is a man, as you might expect, of Gallic flair and charm as well as vaulting ambition.

Un homme pour Le Grand Geste.

So when he visits other World leaders and presents a gift it’s not going to be a silver salver!

When he went to China Emmanuel gave his host a throroughbred Horse – Vesuvius.

And now, in a master stroke of diplomacy, he has decided to ‘cement’ relations between France and The United Kingdom by loaning us the priceless artwork The Bayeux Tapestry (which just happens to commemorate the successful Norman invasion of England in 1066!).

I will be at the head of the queue to see the Tapestry because it is a great work of art and craft with immense historical interest and significance.

Not least be because it includes one of…

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