Gave the sawdust a shake #400 post.

Children these days.

  1. C. J. Black

They grow way too fast these days

Her story must be told

All those happy days together – for them I give praise

When I’m feeling lonely – this photograph which I hold

Has framed in it many memories

Which I carry with me daily

To add to this I gather around me her many child accessories

Thoughts of her are with me constantly.


She moved house many moons ago

It must be said – against my better wishes

To set up home with her beaux

Both were young and free – probably overly ambitious

But there comes a time when we must cut the cord

Allowing them the freedom to find their place in the world

Hoping that their faith in you will someday be restored

That when eventually we both embrace – a flag of peace will be unfurled.


  1. C. J. Black©β

Sunday 2 August 2015


Whipping it into shape.

Started out as a matchbox, ended up a tea chest.

C. J. Black


Life being a one way street

We should be kind to all those whom we meet.


Enjoy it while you can, try and stay on the right track

Life; is a one way street and there is no one coming back.

It’s quite alright to party and have a real good time

But it’s very hard to write a poem when you get stuck for a rhyme.

Only these few lines in already and it appears that I am lost

Yes some days; I’m the dog, some days I am the lamp post.

No point in getting discouraged, sure it’s just words on a page

No one except yourself will know of your feeling of sheer outrage.

It really is gratifying to know that no one will ever know

Of the bother that you went through to put this poem on show.

They probably think – he sits there and writes words at will

Like the artist painting a race horse – He still ends up with a still.

I know I will never be a proper poet, no matter how hard I try

So don’t attempt to follow me – there are many better poets then I.

I will finish off with this line, I am not saying anymore

Except, those to whom nothing is impossible, never tried to slam a revolving door.


  1. C. J. Black©β

Thursday, 30 July 2015

I know my sheep and they know me.

Inspired by an old photograph.

  1. C. J. Black.

It’s not easy being old

Even on a sunny day my body feels the cold.


Sitting alone, longing to talk

This arthritic body to sore to walk.


Sitting in my favourite armchair by an empty grate

A mug of tea to dunk my biscuit in, now that would be great.


Rain beating against the window pane, makes an eerie sound

Fetch me my pen and paper Dear – in my head these words go around and around.


But I am all alone now – you’d think after all these years –

At the memory of her passing – I’d have no more salty tears.


Yes we were friends and lovers – 60 years we were together

We travelled many a long and winding road – it’s nearing time that I joined her.


The family deserted me when I became a burden

I’ll never know of their reaction when they draw that final curtain.

“Fear not for when I’m gone be ye not deterred

There will be another shepherd elected to take charge of the herd”

  1. C. J. Black©β

Monday, 27 July 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

Living in the shadow of fear.

Suffer little children.

Living in this wonderful but rather weird world gives one cause to sometimes worry when so called leaders of peoples act in diabolical ways.

What causes them to create such havoc and fear in people is something hard to comprehend and quite impossible to defend it must be stressed.

Every other day seems to bring to light another catastrophic episode in the life of innocent people both young and old, the mentality of those on the ground who carry out such deeds seem not to be for questioning by parties looking in from the outside.

When they have the temerity to question it appears especially to the naked eye that the real truth can not or will not be broadcast for those on the outside to pass judgement, one must offer a great deal of gratitude to those brave medics and reporters who hit the ground running to expose such travesties at absolute risk to life and limb.

Living in my own little cocoon away far away from these happenings, I guess like thousands more I flick over newspaper pages and switch radio/TV channels away from scenes of destruction and sights of body bags and open graves, helpless as how to offer support except to offer up a prayer to which ever God one believes in for the innocent who suffer.

Let me round off by posing the often asked question and possibly starting another debate, if there really is a God why this continuous slaughter of the innocent?

  1. C. J. Black©β

45-33 1/3 the perfect speed.

“Scarlet were the clothes she wore”

  1. C. J. Black.

“Rechico” The main place to be on the strip where “All The Things That Go To Make Heaven and Earth” are to be found.

Where all “The Perfect Couples” go, there is also a dimly lit quarter to perfect your “Moondance”

“Zephyr & I” decided to check out the “Popscene”

There we found “American Life in The Summertime” at its most brilliant – “Highway To Hell” in a real good way, left both of us feeling “Comfortably Numb”

“Up Against The Wall” D. J. “Dagenham Dave” was moving us through the gears as well as through the years – he really “Got Some Rock “n” Roll Thunder” going on.

As he let the “Hammer Fall” on the next track “I’ll Dream Of You” we were all “Living in the Song”

The “Girl Right Next To Me” whispered in my ear would a “Punk Sandwich” be the “Way To Your Heart”

That started the “Fire Inside My Heart” raging.

I said slip me your number, “Tomorrow” I can arrange to be free, if you fancy a “Frolic”

The note read – meet you in the “Grey & Blue”

When “I Got The News” I thought “What You Is” is one selfish guy, at the moment it’s all “Glad Tidings” tomorrow you could find yourself with “The Ugly Things” from your past coming back to haunt you as you are left trussed up “Hands Are Tied” by a jilted ex-lover, who makes that mobile phone call to your betrothed, giving her the sordid details and where you can be released from, if she so decides.

  1. C. J. Black©β                                                                        

The rights of all artists is acknowledged in the use of the titles and song words used in the making of this story.

“Scarlet Were The Clothes She Wore” a line from “Yes it is” a song written by John Lennon & Paul McCartney.

“All The Things That Go To Make Heaven and Earth” by “The Pornographers” ”Perfect Couples” by “Belle & Sebastian”

“Moondance” by “Van Morrison” “What You Is” by Robyn Hitchcock” “Zephyr & I” by “Susanne Vega”

“Grey or Blue” by “Schnauser” “Popscene” by “Blur” “Got some Rock “n” Roll Thunder” by “AC/DC”

“Highway To Hell” by “Hayseed Dixie” “Comfortably Numb” by “Hayseed Dixie”

“American Life In the Summertime” by “Francis Dunnery” “Dagenham Dave” by “The Stranglers”

“Up Against The Wall” by “The Tom Robinson Band” “Hands Are Tied” by “The Gin Blossoms”

“Tomorrow” by “Joe Walsh” “Glad Tidings” by “Van Morrison” “The Ugly Things” by “Brindsley Schwarz”

“I’ll Dream Of You” by “Airstream” “Punk Sandwich” by “Dixie Dregs” “Girl Right Next To Me” by “The Goo Goo Dolls”

“Frolic” by “Komeda” “Way To Your Heart” by “Persephone’s Bees” “Rechico” by “Goodwolf”

“Fire Inside My Soul” by “Ian McNabb” “From a play list compiled by Titus Jennings for More Music Radio”



At War with my thoughts.

Murder and Mayhem.

  1. C. J. Black

Write a ‘Dark’ poem – I don’t imagine I could-

A poem that would make you shed, tears as red as blood

I have never attempted to write a poem of this kind-

But to add another string to my bow, should I feel inclined?


A poem, about the slaughter of the innocent worldwide

Or the murder and the mayhem closer to home – hard to decide

Is it right to stand in judgement of the actions of another?

How can a son or daughter take a knife and kill their mother?


Planting a bomb, never giving any thought

Of the end result – families left distraught

A suicide bomber on a crowded street

A promise at the time of death – virgins they will meet?


Surely those who are called to perform such an evil deed

Realise the consequences of their actions, whether they fail or succeed.

In times of war who defines who is your enemy?

Is the word peace written out of the war-lords dictionary?


The civilian on the street who then dons a uniform

What possesses them to go and kill – it’s really not the norm.

Do those sitting in their ivory towers-

Feel the pain and suffering inflicted by their powers.


Write a ‘Dark’ poem, I doubt I was built for this would you agree?

But not to try and express myself would be remiss of me.

  1. C. J. Black©β Friday, 03 July 2015


Back In The Groove.

Diatribe Perhaps?

  1. C. J. Black

I am a poet down in the gutter

Because a word I cannot utter.


Not a word to dress a page

Its soul destroying when you can’t engage.


When you eventually hit that imaginary wall

You hit it hard and there you sprawl?


You lie prostrate, not a move

Waiting for that moment you get back in the groove.


Who knows how long that will take?

Before once again you undertake

To sit down and transcribe

It may well be diatribe?

What the scribe in you will manifest –

Its contents may well be hard to digest

As words start to flow with rapid ease

Have you found a cure for your non-writing disease?


C.J. Black©β

Friday, 12 June 2015




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



With Quill in hand.

A Host of Words.

  1. C. J. Black.

As I sit here at my alter

I contemplate, on whether I will alter –

This page I am about to cover with tiny sentences –

When I awaken from this beautiful dream and come to my senses.


Will I remember word for word this poems contents?

Write it down Verbatim in a language which presents –

To those who take the time, to listen or to read

Believe, like me that what is written is what was decreed?


For once we reach for our writing implement

In our mind we should be quite content –

That whatever pours out onto this page

Was meant to mentally engage.


When we read the works of others or listen to the spoken word

We all come away with differing aspects – there is no writing which is absurd

As we write, each one of us use a different structure

Which looms large and is indeed for posterity – a piece of beautiful architecture.


Everyday a new poem arrives to add to my repertoire

One day hopefully I can write a classic, in proper poetic dialect?

Moving as it were from paragraph to paragraph

Like chess pieces, moving words until I form a proper graph.


Sentences start out like trees in winter

Bare – like the skeleton, skinless

But as writing begins to flow

Your page comes alive – begins to show

The plot come alive – begin to grow.

The plot you have tended has garnered new fruit

Presenting itself to the outside world, still – as a Van Gogh painting.


  1. C. J. Black©β

Monday, 01 June 2015