A rain filled day.

Later, ate again
Watched through a patio door window
Rain drop fall on rain drop
With pen in hand wrote a little
Ate again
Looked out at leaden skies
Listened as wind whistled through chimneys
Ate again
Interior bright turns to interior night
Landscape the colour of death
Ate again.
Ah! Springtime.
(c) Chris Black. March 2018.


Modern times?

The bus shelter has its tenant again tonight
Bedded down inside a rucksack and black plastic bag
Rain sleeting down, running off the inner window of the shelter
The soup run conversation, similar to last night
The night before and previous nights
Gave very little insight into how he was
Health wise or mentally
He would just say, thank you for the food and if the Lord spares me
I’ll see you tomorrow night
The murmur of those passing by must sound like the volume
Is turned up to the highest of decibles
The orange street lighting beaming in on him
Makes life that much more intorable
From his bed for the night
The yacth club, no more than the lenght of two olympic swimming pools away
Hopping with the sound of party revellers
The emptiness, the hunger for life outside the shelter
Comes once 6am arrives
Life at this time finds him under a nearby bridge
Waking to a world unchanged from
Yesterday, yesteryear, the squalk of gulls
Rats doing what rats do
In this town full of voices, nodding heads
The only constants in his life
Fear and the chime of the 24hr town clock.
(c) Chris Black. March 2018.

Quantum leap.

The pen can weld into words
Health, happiness, discord.
The white spring sunshine
Glistened on the water
This in turn brought about
A feeling of happiness.

Whispering a silent prayer
Thankful for the good health
To enjoy the call of spring
Life is real, life is earnest
Life is a journey not a destination.

Life is too short for discord
Where a problem exists, talk
Silence will only cause a wound to fester.
(c) Chris Black. March 2018.

Ear to the ground.

Last night the rain fell with a fierce gentleness
A southwesterly blew it horizontelly
The inhospitable soil flodded
Not aiding delicate cultivation

Come morning time with smog rolling in we arise
It fells like walking through a painting
As we venture from dawn into daylight
Clouds floating above our heads, daydreaming we pondered.

Poets a peculiar breed would you say?
What possessed her to ask I thought
Answering her own question in the same breath –
Sometimes they write peculiarly, other times it makes perfect sense?

Some images they form I can’t quite fathom –
Such as, I ask timidly
#”I finally bought a colour T.V.”
Ah Bukowski I said, retiring to my writing quarters, pen to paper for the days first indentation.
(c) Chris Black. March 2018.
#First line from the poem – perfect white teeth by Charles Bukowski.

Only for the weather…

The beast from the east has made landfall
Siberian cold, snow drifts
Isolated indoors, no way out
The pressure the drifts are putting on exit doors
We Irish were not born to this
Sheep morooned in fields
Some on the verge of lambing
Be prepared those in centrally heated buildings
Cry out
Easier said than done
The dog, bred for outdoor living
Now suffering from cabin fever
Thinking to himself perhaps
I want to get out, yet don’t want to go out
He never witnessed snow
The drifts in places are six foot high
No singing from the blackbird
Heavy snowfalls, strong easterlies
The forecast for the next couple of days
See you on the other side
Stay safe, stay warm.
#amwriting #amreading #amspinningdiscs
(c) Chris Black. March 2nd 2018.

Walking the poetic way.

His palette keeps filling with words
Those words like rainbow colours
Illuminate his pages

A perfect space, a special place
Deeply emotive, some words
Could find you in a unique setting

Floating into your special hideaway
Travelling along life’s poetic highway

Some are post cards from the past
Turning invisible into the visible.
(c) Chris Black. March 2018.




Thundering breakers.

Yesterday beach side the sun shines
Down by the seashore seagulls hovered

Today a totally different scenario
No geoligical chit-chat
Shredded sunlight

Waves beating, hearts beating
Seagulls scouring
Haunting the seashore

Standing breathless
Breath being frozen
The elements, jewels
In the crown of nature.
(c) Chris Black. February 2018.