Emotion, Conflict, Circumstance!

IMG_20180214_094246IMG_20180214_094043
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.

 

 

No pipe and slippers.

Sitting on his worn down perch at the bottom of his vegetable garden he supped his long cool beer. The view of the nearby mountain continued to fascinate him though he had lived under its shadow most of his lifetime.

Vanish his trusty Border Collie lay at his feet, both content in each others company.

The dog as was his want went missing for a couple of days every so often, he is gone about a little business his master would tell Marmalade his sooty black tabby.

From his seated position, his beloved garden had a lasagne look about it, fashioned in three layers.

He kept the local market supplied all year round with the freshest fruits and vegetable.

Every morning six days he would stock up and be market side by 6:00am.

He never classed himself as overly religious yet always followed the edict – on the Sabbath day you rested.

Vanish was away on his mission this particular Sunday when trouble raised its ugly head.

The remoteness of where he lived held no fear for him, so when he had afternoon callers which he did have on occasion enquiring if they could purchase some of his fresh produce he would promptly show them in.

Vanish returned later in the evening, blessed he couldn’t comprehend what had gone on in his absence.

Sniffing around his dishevelled master, finding no sign of life he lay himself down by his side.

Monday morning arrived, the masters favourite companion rose and made the long journey alone to the market.

Those who first encountered Vanish were shocked at his condition. His always immaculate coat matted with the blood of his master.

(c) Chris Black. November 2017.

Also on Soundcloud @ Chris Black 36

Youtube @ chris-black-poetry-spoken word

A short story.

Champ had never seen a stick fly so high or fall so hard in all his years of stick catching.

Captain, his owner would take to the skies each morning to take the fly over, checking on his stock and the adjoining lands.

Champ followed him down to the plane as usual this morning, the usual scenario – nuts in a bowl, fresh water and a run in the pen with his master.

Then he’d take his place outside the wired fencing, watching as the single engine plane took to the skies.

He related this to me when I came on the scene of the plane, which on returning overshot the landing strip, struck the hanger causing a massive explosion.

With ears drooping and a sad look on his face, he told me – he had turned his back on the plane just as his master had thrown the stick from the window of the plane as it was coming into land.

The last sound he heard before the accident was the sound of his masters whistle.

(c) Chris Black 2017.

If it wasn’t so serious…

Jean was well used to his antics, paying scant attention once they were home alone.

Mark could well negotiate stairs, go from room to room, naked as a jay bird without ever stubbing his toe.

She never ceased to be intrigued at his co-ordination.

This particular weekend they had a group of friends over for a birthday celebration.

Copious amounts of drink was consumed and the meals also went down a treat, a good time was had by all.

It was late into the night when they retired, Jean was out for the count as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Waking next morning she found Mark missing from her bed – she found him stretched out on a couch downstairs wrapped in a bathrobe – she never owned a PINK bathrobe?

Peeling it off him quicker than you would peel an orange – SHOCK HORROR, he was found to be wearing a G-string.

The party was now turning out to be a nightmare, shaking him awake – he couldn’t explain this away with the excuse I must have been sleep walking.

Just then from the lounge area appeared a vision – the owner of the bathrobe dressed in a fancy dress chicken outfit…

(c) Chris Black 2017.

Seated comfortably?

Today while seated on a park bench I thought, do those adjoining benches ever communicate when left alone. Surely they would never be short on topics of conversation.

For instance they could discuss conversations overheard such as, lovers tiffs the intimate thoughts of courting couples.

Couples escaping for an hour of freedom to meet a secret lover and discuss what if?

Business men in pin striped suits busying themselves on laptops and other aids of communication while enjoying a Starbucks takeaway.

The times when a down and out would make themselves comfortable for a nights sleep.

Would they ever complain to one another about weather conditions – being left alone on days when it would pour rain or when they are left to shiver in times of severe frost and heavy snowfall.

When one of their companions suffered badly from rot and rust and had to be removed to park bench heaven would they whisper a communal goodbye?

Possibly be jealous of the sparkling new replacement or would it be fondly greeted with tales of what to expect during its lifetime.

So many imponderables.

Perhaps they would discuss how and from what wood they were hewn, the hands that assisted in their manufacture.

Did the bench I had rested on ever think it would have brought to mind that it could be a topic of conversation, written about and shared for others to maybe think – now there is something to expand on or indeed think, just what does go through some peoples head when sitting alone on a park bench!!!

(c) Chris Black 2016

Stepping over the edge.

‘Each day this Same Train of thought takes me down a Different Track assisting in my writing helping the mind relax’

Following along the river that has no end means in reality I will not return to this space. gone in search of the dawn of a new age. There has to be something out there to challenge this restless mind?

I passed a nest of cottages in a quiet country lane, history had forgotten them as it will the young family gathered around their picnic basket, settled comfortably on their soft quilted rugs enjoying their repast also the farmers in nearby meadows threshing those same meadows that year on year always yielded a good crop.

I walked on unfurling this new map life had laid out for me, thinking not alone what can I do only what must be done.

(c) Chris Black 2016.

Something borrowed something blue.

A Doll called Peaches.

  1. C. J. Black.

The voice at the end of the telephone line

Faceless, continued the weeping and crying

He thought he could read me like an open book

The tremor in her voice left me totally dumbstruck.

 

I tried my utmost to calm the situation

I knew not who the caller was, nor would she reveal her location

Explaining to her that her call was not in vain

And that I would listen for as long as she wished – once it eased her pain.

 

He had beaten her to within an inch of her life she said

All was good the night before as we laid on our wedding bed

Suddenly, as though taken over by the devil

My husband turned from lover into a man of evil.

 

The more she talked the calmer she became

I told her who she was talking to, she revealed her name

An hour had passed or maybe more

When a loud banging could be heard on her bedroom door.

 

Raised voices could be heard coming down the telephone line

Recognising those voices she assured me – all now will be fine

Just then the line went dead – there was no more I could do –

Be assured, this has been a fictitious poem – not one word of it is true.

 

  1. C. J. Black©β

Wednesday, 29 July 2015

http://www.chrisblack2012.com