For every problem there is a word fix.

Though I am old with a sometimes wandering mind

Never blind enough though to see what the day requires

The writers mind may wander down many different roads

With persistence comes rich rewards.

 

A word from my younger days. Not today or yesterday

Coaxiorum, still when called upon bears the seed to succeed

It may well have been a nothing word, but it worked at the time

When syrup of figs was dished out, to work its oracle?

 

Now whenever I want to get ahead of the posse

Beat words at their own game I, coax them

By pouring ink into inkwell, refilling fountain pen

Lay thoughts on a page, unafraid to bare my soul.

 

Problems shared are problems halved

Which can be achieved even for the lonesome writer

I may think I am alone, which is absolutely absurd

For with pen in hand, a virgin page, a poem is built word on word.

(c)Chris Black. August 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

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Go on give it a try.

Live life with a smile

This will assist you

As you walk that weary mile

A door never closes

But another opens

Live life with a smile.

 

Live life with a smile

Bring happiness with you as you go

That burden may be heavy

Stand upright, face that foe

Turning your back is not the answer

Live life with a smile.

 

Live life with a smile

Learn not to recoil

As you step out into a new dawn

Smile instead of yawn

You have made it through another night

Live life with a smile.

 

Live life with a smile

Although at times it’s burdensome

That cross we have to bear

There is always someone less well off

Their cross they may wish to share

Live life with a smile.

 

Live life with a smile

Spread the happiness within you around

Put a spring in your step as you go

Chin in, chest out, give that cheery wave

That may be all it takes, a life to save

Live life with a smile.

(c) Chris Black. August 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

Hear a spoken word version @

Meditation.

All things speak

Whether with or without a voice

Cattle working the cud in a distant meadow

Woodquest’s in early morning conversations

Rattling of the magpie

Peace, Harmony, Love

Sun, Moon, Stars

The entire universe

All things speak.

 

There are times we are too “busy”

To stop and listen

We must allow ourselves silence.

 

Stop and think

At days end

What did we gain from

Hustle and bustle?

 

Life is too short.

 

We don’t know how short

All things speak

Take time

Stop and listen.

 

The clock is ticking

It’s speaking the time.

(c) Chris Black. August 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

Hear a spoken word version @

Slaying of the archfiend.

Keeping that incessant dragon from infecting his mind

He truly believed he could be that word messenger

A wordsmith for all seasons

Living in the poems bestowed upon him.

 

On the lookout always for a beginning

Knowing then there would be an end

Sometimes feeling blue, bluer than sea water

Pulverized by words.

 

Yet fully confident in himself that

On the far side of that mountain

Though it was a distance away

Word claustrophobia would lift

As does a mountain mist.

Thus he slew that dragon.

(c) Chris Black. August 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

 

 

Miracles do happen.

Watched him as he looked through an empty cigarette box

Nervously fidgeting at a cider can lying on his cardboard seat

Matted hair hanging scraggily loose beneath a Red Ferrari cap

A greying beard badly in need of grooming.

 

A long black well-worn Crombie over coat

Buttoned up keeping the chill of the day at bay

The tattered sign at his bended knee

Donate to feed the hunger in me. Thank you.

 

Two crutches either side of him

Upright against the wall

He appeared an affable kind, eager to converse

Gathered a small crowd once the harmonica was warmed up.

 

We kept our distance for quite a while

Then proceeded to donate to feed his hunger

Making our way then to complete our town excursion

Deciding to venture back some hours later.

 

We were approaching some fifty paces

In a drizzling rain, when the Crombie overcoat moved

We stood in a shop doorway, astonished

As a lady friend picked up the crutches and they both walked off.

(c) Chris Black. August 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

Awakening to the call.

A morning consumed by beauteous words

How could he not be inspired to write poetry

Wellness music from the heart

The written word makes a fine statement.

 

The ways of the poet are many

Steering away from violence and aggression

There are of course times when

Radical changes must be made?

 

Listen to what the poetic voice is saying

Is it worth portraying at this time?

Should he choose a different route

Once called into action?

 

He must obey the Muse

Write, then hone

Review

Once satisfied

Give his poem wings.

He has given of his best.

 

Hopefully, a reader somewhere at some point

Will be consumed by his beauteous words.

(c) Chris Black. August 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

He refused to panic.

Crying salty tears

As though he had a cistern

Inside his head

Arriving at his writing bureaux

Discovered a closed for business sign

Devastated

Sitting himself down

He could only stare blankly.

 

Uncharted territory

Became a fresh challenge

With his desk out of bounds

He had to harvest elsewhere

He was born to be here.

 

Moving to his left side

Placing his hand on his bible

Albeit a dictionary

Emitted these words

Lord, you never close one door

But you open another.

Thank you for these words

For without them

This poem would never have been formed.

Amen.

(c) Chris Black. August 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

 

 

 

Words, his companion (Salaska his inspiration)

He sat motionless, as questions made an indent on his brain.

The strain was telling

Every word laid down misspelled.

 

There was motion.

Nil frustration.

 

A strange calmness enveloped him

Situations such as these – few and far between.

 

Seeking sanctuary in the surrounds of his music

Comfort washes over him.

 

Sitting by his typewriter

Shadowed by a veil of thin emotion

He diligently typed

 

Words, per his heartbeat

Which brought a sudden calmness

A Haiku was born.

 

He was ageing

Yet wintering well

Happy in his mind

As he walked with words in the company of Salaska

Along imaginary cobbled streets.

 

(c) Chris Black. August 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

Hear a spoken word version at

https://www.soundcloud.com/the-poets-poet-1

Salaska – Looking for the Way

Since the origins of the indigenous peoples of the Americas music, dance, and ceremonies worshiping nature and mother earth have always been visible expressions of the deep spirituality shared by our people” An excerpt taken from a longer piece on the sleeve of their album/CD Looking for the Way.

A Numerical Poem.

Uno (i)

The poet wrote many words. Soon seeds sown will flourish.

Duo (ii) Double the joy.

Tres (iii) Great, celebrate whatever the mix.

Quattour (iv) You are beginning your expansion, progress gently.

Quinque (v) More hard to handle, but you set the bar, it will fall on more than one occasion.

Sex (vi) Now the task is, to make sense of what you write. Nonsense will not be tolerated nor will it be purchased. The reader is correct in stating Caveat Emptor.

Septem (vii) Trying too hard only confuses the matter. Finding yourself under pressure then fold the copybook, place the cap on the inkwell. Walk away.

Octo (viii) Walk in silence, contemplate your thoughts, study nature, allow your surroundings speak to you. Never discard a thought, you will get results.

Novem (ix) Write down that thought, don’t expect it to remain especially if it comes to you in a dream during the dead of night. Remember always, keep a pen and notepad beside your bed, jot down that thought.

Decem (x) When dawn breaks, rise and shine, shower then breakfast, time is of the essence. One thought will borrow another. Show gratitude not surprise it will not yet be the finished product. Persevere.

Undecim (xi) It is good at times to show elation, whether inwardly or perhaps you wish to share your success with your greatest critic, which in most cases is yourself. Don’t keep looking for that stick with which to beat yourself.

Duodecim (xii) Now this is where you encounter that invisible brick wall remember no matter how many times you stumble and fall dignity is the only thing which will be hurt. Patience, teach yourself patience success will not happen overnight. Quit when the time is right. Don’t attempt the farmers dozen (Tredecim)

(c) Chris Black. August 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~ 

 

Webs of intrigue.

when a dreamer dies

what happens to their dreams?

Is their dying their awakening?

Where their dream is just a fog

No point trying to remember

It’s gone, lost in the ether

Gone to dreamland.

 

when a dreamer dies

Dreamland, is that their heaven?

a place of euphoria

a sea of dreams.

Being a dreamer has its moments

Night dreamer, not day dreamer

Schemer, not doodler

The end result of daydreaming is this

while the night dreamer will search for a positive/

 

So the time has come to light that spark

Quit this daydreaming lark

concentrate on the task in hand

Build on solid ground not on quick sand.

 

when a dreamer dies

Dying is their awakening.

(c) Chris Black. August 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

Hear the spoken word version at