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


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.


(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


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.

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