First Aid Kit : Emmylou

The Immortal Jukebox

Some things we know to be true.

No life escapes the bitter wind.

Everybody wants to have a home and someone to come home to.

Like The Boss says : Don’t make no difference what nobody says –  Ain’t nobody like to be alone.

Two can easily do what’s so hard to be done by one.

Elizabeth and Darcy.

Tristan and Iseult.

Rochester and Jane.

Scott and Zelda.

Odysseus and Penelope.

Anne and Gilbert.

Everybody’s got a hungry heart.

Every wandering bark is in search of a guiding star.

And, once found, will sail, unafraid, even to the edge of doom.

Everyone yearns to find that voice they were meant to harmonise with.

Someone, a confidante,  who knows just where you keep your better side.

Someone who forgives your falters.

Mere speech cannot wield such matters.

Turn to Song.

To Harmony.

Find someone you can sing out loud with in your…

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Leaving a void.

There was fear in those eyes

sorrow in those eyes

What was he trying to tell me?


He lay there trembling

still his tail wagged

For whose comfort did I stroke his head?

There remained fear in those eyes.


Faithful friend I whispered in his ear

It is time to release you from your pain

His snout wrinkled as I shed another tear

The vet asked if I wanted to remain…

(c) Chris Black. July 2018

Blue Spanish Skies.

Young yachts bobbing, knocking quietly on the promenade wall

Oblivious of the longing glances in their direction from holidaying hoardes

The cross of Saint Joan loom large on street corners

Tee-shirts with the emblem on sale in all flea markets.

How many thoughts can you cram into a day?

When might the reader become the book?

Distraction for him can be as simple as a dog looking for attention

Which is not really a distraction

Just a lead down another path.

A holiday Thursday

He arose early showered and breakfasted

Limbered up, to the extent the arthritis would allow

thoughts of labour buried at the bottom of a suitcase

Crossed himself said a silent prayer

Walked out into early morning sunlight and bird song

Turning the key in the door shut silence inside

Speaking to himself in monotone he stepped out counting only cobbles

Happy in his holiday world.

Busily observing the austere faces of those making their way to various work stations

getting inside someone else’s vision

The reader soon will become the book.

(c) Chris Black. June 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

Willy Deville : Rebirth in New Orleans – Beating Like a Tom Tom

The Immortal Jukebox

If you can’t find your way follow The River.

The River.

The Mississippi River.

More than two thousand miles all the way.

Well it winds through Bemidji, St Cloud and Anoka.

St Paul, Redwing and Pepin.

On through Minneiska, La Crosse and Potosi.

Lansing, Prarie Du Chien and Galena (hats off to U S Grant)

Sabula, Moline and Oquawka.

Right by Keokuk, Kaskaskia and Hannibal (hats off to Sam Clemens)

Thebes, Cairo and Osceola.

Memphis, Greenville and Helena (hats off to Levon)

Vicksburg, Natchez and Baton Rouge.

That’s how you find your way to the Crescent City.

As it flows The River is always picking up freight.

Flotsam and Jetsom.

Ramblers, Rebels and Gamblers.

No account Losers and Aces up the sleeve sure fire Winners.

As it flows it gathers up and gathers in tall tales and stories, myths and legends, bawdy jokes, rhymes and half rhymes, drunken vows and…

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A Haven of Rest.

Because I could not stop to say farewell

A veil was cast over me.

It was time to move on

To a place devoid of choppy waters

No storms, no climate change

The entry gate says Immortality.

Yesterday I thought it centuries away

Not allowed time to stop for understanding

I’ll leave this short message for one and all to digest

Having loved being loved

As each leaf falls, that is me returning love endlessly.

(c) Chris Black. July 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

As morning was shining.

Above him a sky filled with words

Today he could paint line upon line of poetry

His brush, a single vein poured forth these words

Nature in its nakedness so became his inspiration

The eruption of birdsong melodious to the ear

Scorched earth also where hungry cattle grazed

High in a cloudless sky air craft left behind them silver trails

In silence he watched butterflies flutter by

On a beach close by blazing sunshine burning and bronzing naked flesh

He stopped and mopped his brow.

The dog sipped from his water bowl, continuously seeking sheltered spots to rest

Spiders busily knitting webs to capture the unfortunate fly

Busy bees buzzing from flower to flower

Sea gulls rising so high disappear out of sight

Crows alighting on electrical wires cawing – on line conversation perhaps?

In his off road haven devoid of vehicular traffic, peace abounds

Far off in the distance donkeys braying, cocks crowing

It’s Wednesday 10:00am July 4th 2018

The face of the clock tells him – We have all the time in the world

He sets aside his single vein, closes his book

Sips from a long cool glass.

(c) Chris Black. July 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~