Can someone please explain?

365 And Counting

How can more than 100 people working in the White House be there without security clearance? Accessing top secret information? Seriously, how?

How can Donald Trump be president with all his conflicts of interest, never mind all the other issues? Seriously, how?

How is it okay that Jared Kushner met, in the White House, with one of the founders of Apollo Global Management and Citigroup’s chief executive, and then both companies gave a combined $500 million in loans to his family’s companies? Seriously, how?

How is it okay that Jared Kushner backed a blockade of Qatar just weeks after their minister of finance turned his family down when they tried to get him to

View original post 198 more words


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.

A sombre gathering.

The parlour, had a faded green patterned carpet, its walls hung with a jaded cream fleck wall paper.
The room, scattered with ornaments gathered through years of travel, smelt old.
A wallnut cabinet with stained glass windows housed the best china and beautiful white linen table cloths.
The round table with its eight high backed chairs took centre stage in the room.
A six foot booming grandfather clock with a large gold coloured monocle face stood erect to the left side of a dull marble fire place.
This it would appear had not seen a flame for years, the crows saw to that.
The six inch nail embedded in the right side chimney breast wall, on it hung a black two piece pinstriped suit.
Jacket with wide lapels, trousers wide leg complete with turn-up.
Covered by the jacket a white shirt, its collar now faded, cuffs showing below the jacket sleeves, complete with gold embossed cufflinks.
To one side of this suit hung a shocking pink shirt with its butterfly collar and frilled cuffs, covered in dust and cobwebs.
Heavy red velvet drapes, drawn three quarter way shading any sun from entering the room.
A snapshot in real time of quaintness Jenny said, once she got her breath back.
Turning to me and taking my hand, softly she said, the sun setting and the moon rising were the things that would go on for ever, pain is ephemeral.
The priest said his beads, they placed the lid on the chestnut brown coffin.
In the cold of the night and soft drizzling rain we walked grandma to the church nearby.
Tomorrow following 10:00am mass she was to be buried next to grandad.
To add to the sorrow of the long day, the dimness of the night.
The shrill peal of the church bell, brought the demise of the departed to reality.
(c) Chris Black. March 2018.

The Loneliness Of The Lonely

Everyone should read Walt’s Writings such positivity. Let him know your thoughts whenever you chance to visit.

Walt's Writings

What is it like to feel lonely?
To be lonely?
To feel lost… alone… unwanted?
You may think you know
But you don’t

How can you be surrounded by people
Yet nobody sees you
Talks to you… smiles at you…

How can anyone live like this?
Why even go on living this way?

I’ve found so many lonely souls here
Searching for answers
Wanting someone to talk to
Someone to listen to their pain
Someone to help

I’ve tried to help
But I can’t do it alone

Will you be their answer?
Their saving grace?
Will you step up and help them?
Lead them out of their loneliness?

Or will you turn your back
And walk away?

It’s so easy to help
Just listen to them
Talk with them
Be a friend

Be the difference in their life
Just be there

Make it happen
Do it now!

©Walt Page 2018

View original post

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.


Thursday night 1st. March 2018 it arrived with a vengence.
The Beast from the East, “Altai” we christened it on account of its Siberian bite.
There was no muzzeling this animal.
Digging in, it pervades more than our lives.
The eerie feeling that afternoon, as we waited for it to make landfall was bizarre.
It was most disarming watching on in the dark of night.
There was a total different framed picture next morning peering out through the curtained window as dawn broke.
The sheer volume of snow which accumulated over night was blinding in it whiteness.
The Beast was telling us in no uncertain manner that it was insuring our isolation from the outside world.
The Beast was now the central figure and topic of conversation, fodder for the news hounds, as if nothing else on planet earth existed.
March many weathers the Beast roared, as the country succumbed to cabin fever.
Bad enough its arrival in the first place but did it have to rub our noses in it to this extent?
The cold was not cold until you put your nose outside the door.
The pain of it, the body is not ready to comply with what “Altai” is hurtling our way.
You could feel the brush of wilderness against your face, the one part of the body that could not be fully shielded. (One has to venture out?)
“Altai the Beast” once he howled, the invisible became one of lifes nightmares.
Mounds of snow rising like the Rock of Gibralter.
Standing, gazing at this site expecting a St. Bernard to appear out of the swirling snow storm bearing a golden gift. While birds were on the look out for the ghost of Noah.
Nothing only wind making guttural sounds. The blue cold of the day leaves us with nothing but the traces of empty.
Searching the distances of stars and moon at the fall of dark.
The sky hangs like a canopy, as we stand in the porchlight.
(c) Chris Black. March 2nd. 2018.

we can also intend to have a society free from slaughter.

Pdlyons's Explorations

the choice is to do nothing or to do something about this problem. the Florida students have inspired the most activity and attention to this issue in decades. there is a big problem with gun death in America. it needs to be addressed. the first step is acknowledging that the current situation is not healthy. that doing nothing about it will not help. and for those who say that law changes would not prevent more deaths or past deaths – that is the lamest argument of all. since murders aren’t prevented by law should we strike the law from the books? a law is a statement of intent. the intentions of a society are framed in law. we intend to have a society free from murder. we can also intend to have a society free from slaughter.

View original post