In side looking out. ~The Poet’s Poet~

Wind torn country side

Early morning day light ebbing away

The chill of winter feeding into the bones

Turning to the landscape for inspiration

Little forthcoming

Bereft of animal

Water logged fields

All fail to inspire.

Unobserved he slithers back into his cocoon 

Captain of his pen seemingly defeated.

But wait, he could if so inclined turn this poem around

It would change nothing though

Splintered words would continue to fall

So he’ll sit and suffer in his dark shady room

Draw a quilt over his head drown out the sound of winter.

(c) Chris Black. December 2018

#Poetry #amwriting

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As the night wind heaved.

~The Poet’s Poet~

Thus did he speak – this poet brother of mine.

They watched as moonlight climbed

Listened as the midnight bell chimed

Transparent beneath a full moon

Pacing up, down, hither and tither

Awaiting that moment of vision

Away in the distance sounds of the trembling sea

The rains came down in slanted sheets

Washing away poetic thoughts.

(c) Chris Black. December 2018

#Poetry #amwriting #SpokenWord

Hear a spoken word version @ https://soundcloud.com/the-poets-poet-1

Poetry. ~The Poet’s Poet~

Could be classed as a tapestry of words

A mix of different unravelled thoughts

and ideas, the texture of living a life.

Clicking the fingers, tapping the feet

To the sound of the world passing by

All writing has a certain quality.

Somewhere behind yesterday’s hills lies history

With age comes a different perspective

As each door in life we pass through

leads us to pastures new.

There are times, of course,

When it is good to diversify

Head off out into the world of words

Keeping a level head.

The end product is made up of many particles;

Among my words is who I am.

There is no end, only new beginnings.

#Poetry #amwriting #SameTrainDifferentTrack

Impercipient perhaps? ~The Poet’s Poet~

Walking through the darkened corridors of the mind

Drawing back that darkened veil

The aim, to write poetry with substance.

There are times the mind works in fast forward mode

Rarely in rewind.

Should themes at all times vary?

Walking along the sidewalks of life

On every corner nothing but struggle and strife

Drug pushers, drug users, child molesters and abusers

Rampant rape culture, homeless, street sleepers

Civil unrest, political leaders put to the test

Business heads not leading by example

Both given more rein

Rather than be shown up for what they are

Signs that the Law is an ass.

Maiming, disclaiming, earthquakes, pollution

Raging fires. We are self imploding.

Will we one day rise from the ashes?

See the folly of our ways

Or continue hiding behind that darkened veil.

Never feel alone once in the company of the alphabet

Allow each line written have its own juice.

Written to be analysed not experienced.

We all should consider this picture – not just at Christmas time-

Sitting around the table contemplating that empty chair.

(c) Chris Black. December 2018

#Poetry #amwriting

 

Trust this inner wisdom.

Pondering on the burning question of the hour

Details, details, the revolving door syndrome

Going round in circles, ‘literally’ moving on the spot

Following his tail, playing catch up

Using his pen like a fork to drink soup.

Constantly telling himself

Concentrate on detail

If only he would heed himself.

Just keep on writing, something will emerge

The flood gates will open

He’ll then find himself swept away in a word surge.

Elation might well follow

Try not to be overwhelmed.

Watch those thought spilled onto a page

Transform into a poem

For us all the approach differs

Each time we get an inclination

It is all about persevering, ink spilled and perspiration.

(c) Chris Black. December 2018

#Poetry #amwriting

~The Poet’s Poet~

Dilettante

Once he sits with pen in hand

Even though he has nothing planned

It is essential he writes.

Those thoughts that stay are good

Others he allows take flight

They may yet find a place to roost

Their time will come.

When that time comes to pass

He will write to the sound of a different drum

Not getting overly excited

That never assists the cause.

It helps him in his endeavour though

To step back and take stock

Then mind refreshed, head decluttered

Return to his writing desk

Read what is already penned

He being the sole judge and jury

On leave well enough alone or amend.

(c) Chris Black. December 2018

#Poetry #amwriting

~The Poet’s Poet~

Tomorrow may well be too late

Thoughts

Disregarded, lost to the world

If not written in stone.

Thoughts

Gone forever if not recorded.

As will be achievements

Be they big or small

Like thoughts

If not saved for posterity

Will be lost to one and all

Thoughts

Throughout our lives

For future generations

Should be logged

For at some point

Into dust we must.

(c) Chris Black. December 2018

#Poetry #amwriting

~The Poet’s Poet~

Revealing inner thoughts.

Poetry, should that be the root of all these words?

Perhaps, then perhaps not

Don’t we all view the written word from different perspectives?

There are times that from the work of his own hand

This writer ponders on what he really means

where did the inspiration come from?

What is he trying to announce at this given time

is he trying to express a certain thought?

Maybe just gather a head of steam

Which may just well grab the readers attention

Encourage them to put pen to paper, thinking

I can do better than this, I can write proper poetry.

If it succeeds in getting just one person

To sit and write, is that not a good thing?

Gobbeltygook, can at times be inspiring.

(c) Chris Black. December 2018

#Poetry #amwriting

~The Poet’s Poet~

Use it well.

The mind-canvas, yes it can leave you speechless

The excitement, of being given the power of the pen

should not be taken for granted.

It is a gift, irrespective of what word picture you paint.

The pen is the baton words the orchestra

Together, they make sweet music.

Bottom line – whatever talent we were given, use it well.

#Poetry #amwriting

(c) Chris Black. November 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

 

Are You

Intoxicated by consuming a measure of words?

Within the context of this poem will be found

What could never be described as temporary text?

Once laid down they should become

The magnet which draws the reader into

A world they might never have dreamt about

A world which is real somewhere in the universes vast expanse.

Things happen.

Take Darkie the snow white #Shiba Inu for instance

He will spend his night and day guarding his “city”

Sleeping it would appear with one eye open

One ear cocked.

(c) Chris Black. November 2018

#Poetry #amwriting #mansbestfriend