All those decades ago.


They said.

  1. C. J. Black.

Remember heed the rule

Don’t tell tales out of school

So I was told all those years ago

Always have your ducks lined up in a row.


You’ll never drown once you, keep your head above water

There is life in the here after

So I was told all those years ago

Always keep a happy face, when you’re on the go.


Hurry on now, take your time

You won’t feel it ‘till you’re in your prime

So I was told all those years ago

Keep your mouth shut while you’re eating, you look a holy show.


Off you go now, don’t be there ‘till you’re back

Take heed of your elders, they’ll set you on the right track

So I was told all those years ago

Always shame the devil or too hell you’ll go.


When I was but a youth the elders used to say

Don’t give up on a thought “seize the day”

So I was told all those years ago

A consequence of this, words continue to flow.


  1.   C. J. Black©β

Wednesday 12 August 2015


Calliphora vomitoria.

Blood on your hands!

  1.   C. J. Black.

Bluebottles they drive me crazy

The moment you put food on the table

They seem to appear out of nowhere

It’s not just my imagination?


You make a swipe at one

For a few moments they disappear

Only to go out and alert their friends

Back in they come in force.


Teasing you, hovering over food

Doing high dives from ceiling height

What annoying filthy creatures

You roll the newspaper make a swipe


With a satisfied smile you say

Ah, got one of you at least

Then that little voice sounds in your ear

Grandad you just killed one of God’s creatures.


You show outward guilt, I was only trying to frighten him

He collided with the paper!

Can we bury him grandad?

You think to yourself – with pleasure.


You gently scoop him off the floor

Place him in a paper tissue

Out to the nearest flower pot you go

Bury the creature, return to the kitchen

Fill the room full of fly spray

Leave quickly, closing the door firmly behind you.


  1.   C. J. Black©β

Tuesday 11 August 2015



The beauty of nature.

The elderly crow.

  1. C. J. Black

Sitting here in the morning sunlight

Wagtails sipping from the dog’s water bowl

Swallows encouraging their young to leave the nest

Silvery cobwebs, with spiders working tirelessly

Birds alighting on walls feeding on “ants” not visible to the naked eye

Vapour trails, like six lane highways in the sky left by big silver birds

Listening to the chatter of two magpies on a nearby roof

An elderly looking crow balancing on a wire – vulture like.


A gentle breeze. The beauty of nature.

The dog moving in and out of shade and sunshine

His rest disturbed by a passer-by walking her dog

They forecast rain but at 10:00 this Friday morning – bright sunshine, cloudless sky

A busy bee seeking its next victim perhaps?

A fly just got entangled in a large spider web!!


  1.   C. J. Black©β

Friday 7 August 2015




Alphabetically speaking.

Spinning a web to ensnare someone.

  1. C. J. Black.

The silence, on entering my writing den

Astounds me again and again.

Sitting alone listening to nothing but my heart beating

Listening intently, I can hear that spider breathing!


Caught up in this web of silence

Away, miles away from the outside world of violence

By the light of the moon, watching cigar shaped clouds sail by

I heave a long contented sigh.


Situations such as this, assist the writer in me

Being honest with myself, it does not always guarantee –

A result to satisfy this being

Weaving a patchwork quilt of words can be awe inspiring?

Urging me on in my quest

To give of my very best

Each time I take my Quill in hand

Knowing I will obey its command

Can indeed be most gratifying

Expressing oneself through the alphabet is so satisfying.


Going in search of the answer is not the answer I believe

It will take a lot more than that, this poem to conceive?

Picture whitecaps out at sea for a poetic theme

This concept can then be transformed into a poetic scene

Now your blank canvas looks a lot more inviting

The prospect of the finished product now is a lot more exciting.


What started out as a monkey puzzle many lines ago?

Has been knocked into place blow by blow by blow.


“I try to be solution focussed at all times

This is not as easy as it reads when I am short on rhymes”


  1. C. J. Black©β

Friday, 24 July 2015

Heed that inner voice.

Dial P for poetry.

  1. C. J. Black

Attack your subject with great gusto

Starting out I was told that is the thing to do

With that in mind reaching for my trusty Quill

I’ll attempt to paint a poetic still?


Dialling P for poetry my inner voice –

Whispered to me, is that the correct choice?

Until I reach the end I guess –

I’ll not know if I’ve unravelled this unholy mess.


Scratching about looking for ideas on what to write about

Don’t dwell on thoughts for too long it will just increase your doubt

Sow your seed, sprinkle it with ink

It may just grow into a proper poem you might think.


One day perhaps, keeping your nose to the grind stone

You may just write your classic poem

Then you can as they say, sit on your laurels

Curse and swear to yourself forget about morals.


Winning as they say is all about fractions

You can feel it in your bones – the reactions

It’s a bit like Custer’s last stand

Being around me if things don’t go to plan.


“Now I have no more to say

Except, I tip my hat to what they call word play”

  1. C. J. Black©β Monday, 20 July 2015







Can you make sense of this?

Compiling my thoughts!


To write some poetry I was inclined

Waiting to be laid, to create a special style

From the dark recess of the mind

Words, they stand there in single file.


Using my pen as the painter uses his brush

Compiling my thoughts as myself I ready

To compose, there simply is no rush

Akin to the fisherman reeling in his catch, slow and steady.


A wondrous sight to behold

Your creation being brought to life

As the perfect form of words unfold

It’s then and only then can you breathe a sigh of relief.


  1. C. J. Black©β

Friday, 10 July 2015








Getting it out of the system.

In The Man-Shed.

  1. C. J. Black.

Sitting comfortably in my Man-Shed

Ideas spinning around in my head

Time to take my Quill in hand

Write down what I guess was pre-planned?

For the thoughts which lie dormant

Must not be allowed torment

They have to be given freedom to escape

To brighten up a blank landscape

Like the graffiti artist with their tin of spray

The writer will do the same to a page, once they have something to say.


You get no second chances once you sit to write

So get your thoughts together you have one shot at it

On a dull day such as this write something airy and bright?

You can do it have no doubt, push yourself to the limit

10:45 Monday July 6th 2015 had to switch on a light

Reminds me of A November day

It was meant to be like this I guess, it gives me something to recite

Must write it down quickly and without delay

Any port in a storm as they say

Never discard a thought they will always come in handy

In those immortal words “go ahead make my day”

A poem out of nothing, now is that not fine and dandy?


Wind blowing, rain falling, summer has disappeared

It has to be the holiday season

After a few days sunshine this feels quite weird

Guess there has to be a reason?

It can’t all be down to the Ozone Layer

If that’s the case do we have a prayer?

So before someone shouts the end is nigh

I going to end on a high

This just maybe the last poem penned?

If tomorrow comes “I’ll be back” on that you can depend.

  1. C. J. Black©β

Monday, 06 July 2015




A proper joker.

Worth every penny?

  1. C. J. Black.

Today was a nonsense writing day

Which left my brain frazzled and me in disarray

I started out with a perfect line?

Which of this poem I hoped would be its spine.


But I soon found myself running out of track

With no chance in the world of turning back

Where to from here the little voice screamed

This dilemma would have to be somehow redeemed.


Speaking with forked tongue is something I do well

A lie to you, would I ever tell?

A proper diamond in the rough

My forte is, hang in tough.


Writing nonsense, is a skill in itself?

One day perhaps my nonsense book will adorn a shelf?

Purchase it if you are able

When read, use it to prop up your wonky coffee table!


Pulling the pin in this hand grenade

Leaves me totally dismayed

The realisation has just hit me of what I have achieved

I’ve just completed a proper nonsense poem, I feel so relieved.


  1. C. J. Black©β




A Rose by any other name.

Dressed in petals pink.

What a pose this summer rose

Standing most exquisite

Outstanding there among the thorns

Dressed in petals pink

Basking in the summer sun

Honeysuckle bee alights

Takes a sample then takes flight

Returns again spends some extra time

A picture that is so divine

To sit relaxed in a wicker chair

In summer months without a care

Inhaling the sweet perfume

Of summer roses in full bloom.


C.J. Black©β

A Mixed Bag.

A Passion for Poetry.

  1. C. J. Black

Is something I continue to instil in my-self?

So I continuously remove poetry books from my shelf

Sit and peruse learning as I go

Taking time to learn the ebb and flow.


I’m not the best at writing prose

I try occasionally, but faults expose

Continue I will and perhaps in time

I will write prose combined with rhyme?


There is no writing obstacle that can’t be scaled

Always tread carefully – you’ll not then be impaled

That does not mean you should not take risks

Once you sit down to write the outcome is not always clear

At least that is how it is with me I must confess

Honesty I do believe is the best policy

That way you will never fall down the black hole

Making excuses for not being able to write

Are we not all capable of putting pen to paper?


Once you take the first step who knows where it will take you

Down the road of prose perhaps or perhaps given time

You may even write an epic poem simply using rhyme?


  1. C. J. Black©β

Wednesday, 03 June 2015