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~

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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

 

 

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~