While a dog barks at the moon.

Lulled by faint breezes of a summer eve

We strolled hand in hand along a glassy beach

Waves lapping the shore line

Sun setting

 

This evening born for lovers

We glory in its being

You, I and the rising moon

I wish I could buy you tomorrow

 

As the stage curtain falls on another day

Wending our way homewards steal a kiss

Sleeping on a feather bed

Sigh, nothing happens, no one cares.

 

When we awake, morning shining

Bird song fills the air

An angel arising to comfort the world

All now well and God is in his heaven.

(c) Chris Black. June 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

Hear a spoken word version @ https://soundcloud.com/the-poets-poet-1/while-a-dog-barks-at-the-moon

 

 

 

 

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Following years of waiting.

Many years ago she said

What turned out to be goodbye;

Now alone I sleep in my double bed

And cry

 

So I, as I grow grey and old

Must find someone else to woo

Rolling over, the right side feels so cold

Someone who will be true

 

It came to pass on a bright summer day

In a coffee shop we both frequented

To her friend I over heard her say

That man there, with him I am tormented

I cast a smile across the room

Our friendship was cemented.

(c) Chris Black. June 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

Of another time.

As night time falls, during a writing break

I sit with just my thoughts

At my table of words

We do not speak to each other.

 

Filling my pipe, striking the match

Relaxation hovers over me

In silence I smoke my pipe

While a fox nearby raids a hen house.

 

The inner relationship I have with

Thought, pen and paper

Far out weighs the relationship

Of farmer and fox.

 

After readying the pipe it is again

Time to plan another attack

Back to the drawingboard

Strip back words written, taking no prisoners.

(c) Chris Black. June 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

Scrambled happy moments.

Listen – ewe bleating after lambs

Sit – observing cattle chew their cud

Hear – the sky lark sing their merry song

On the beach sand castles are built

Succumb to the silence of a moving river

On a forest walk, listen to the trees speak

Walk a country road, stop. Listen as someone practices scales.

feel your heart beat.

Spider busy at weaving.

Reading “The Song of Wandering Aengus” (W. B.  Yeats)

Walk, uplifting heart and eyes

Watch, dog play chase through lapping waves

Welcome home hugs from family

Sharing special moments with your grandchild.

Spellbound at the works of mother nature.

On a walk in the silence of the country side, listen to what farmlands are saying.

 

Marvel at the inner relationship of thought, pen and paper.

“Poetry is the opening and closing of a door, leaving those who look through to guess what is seen during a moment” Carl Sandburg.

(c) Chris Black. June 2018

~Poets Poet~

More words on a page.

Be it on a page or on the tongue

The lingo of the poets words should engage

Should they rhyme as a song is sung

Not always, yet they should hip-hop from the page.

 

Flowing through the mind from some poetic force

Inspiration drives the poet on, on a straight and narrow course

Gnawing away these secret words emerge

Reaching for his implement lays down this poetic surge

All manner of poetry at times coupled with the spoken word

Mystifying the Poets Poet as to how this has occurred.

(c) Chris Black. June 2018

~The Poets Poet~

~The Poets Poet~ A handle bestowed on me by my writerly friend Walt, The Tennessee Poet. Find Walt @Waltswritings and be inspired.

More Spoken Word Poetry on SoundCloud @ Chris Black 36.

Life Story.

It happens when least expected, the muse awakens

Follow the route which you are taken

Words of calm, words of peace and beauty

Make a fine statement.

The flashing light above shines brightly

Sun, opens up eyes to stars in the universe

Write your thoughts on a piece of paper

There are many things you wish to say

Make your words stick like glue.

 

It happens when least expected, the muse awakens

Dreams become reality

You are transported to the calmness of a cobble-stoned street

Sipping on sunshine in the land of the Aphrodite hills.

 

On a page you can travel anywhere you you wish

It happens when least expected, the muse awakens.

 

Walking higgeldy piggeldy streets

Two up two down houses with an aged look

Enough to take your breath away

Some shaded from the sun by overhanging canopies

All painted in the many colours of the rainbow.

 

A place where destiny awaits someone.

In the distance the sound of a bouzouki.

 

It happens when least expected, the muse awakens.

(c) Chris Black. May 2018