A Bolt From The Blue.

C. J. Black

The rain has eased, the wind has dropped, and the sun has got his hat on
All the seasons bundled together, summer appears long gone.

Dress this morning, khaki trousers, and short sleeved shirt
Went for morning constitutional – had to quickly put on a spurt.

In this part of the country – it’s greeted as, soft day praise the Lord
Dripping wet you nod agreement, you could greet it with a stronger word.

Except there is no point, you can’t change your circumstance
No point being forlorn, chin up, chest out prepare to go the full distance.

It’s a great topic of conversation – the weather
Meet a stranger – undoubtedly it will be, sure we’re all in it together.

Good job we don’t have control of the weather-vane
Or for sure we’d be awash with reasons to complain.

I’m a bit like the weather myself, wet behind the ears – I know I should rehearse
Or I never will be poetry, I’ll continue to be doggerel verse.

C. J. Black©β
Tuesday, 12 August 2014
http://www.chrisblack2012.wordpress.com

Advertisement

Tracing Footsteps.

C. J. Black.
Pushing in the half door it was as though I had accidently started the old gramophone in the corner of the small hallway – the tune followed me throughout the house.
I often think of home Dee-ol-ee-ay
When I am all alone and far away;
I sing an old refrain dee-ol-ee-ay
For it recalls to me a bygone day.
The clock on the mantle showed the exact time twice daily.
Cobwebs moved gently in the breeze that passed through the place where once there were glass panes.
There were stories aplenty within the four walls of the dilapidated building.
It takes me back again to meadows fair
Where sunlight’s golden rays beam everywhere
My childhood joys again come back to me
My mother’s face in fancy too I see
The old rusted Raleigh bicycle lying against the weeping wall, tyres punctured, child’s seat on the crossbar – where are they now?
A walk through the parlour, wallpaper hanging off the walls brought me into the kitchenette, small round table, three legged stools pushed in underneath, the small open fireplace an old kettle still hanging from the crossbar.
In the only bedroom the most spacious room in the house, a single bed, two matrasses on the floor with springs protruding, one window looking onto an overgrown lawn, a wardrobe in the corner with its door hanging on just one hinge, on top could be seen two old round battered suitcases one showing a label stating cabin class while the other had the name Mary O’Hara Cobh attached.
It was my mother taught me how to sing
And to that memory my heart will cling
I’m never sad alone while on my way
As long as I can sing Dee-ol-ee-ay
On the wall hung the Sacred Heart picture its red light long extinguished.
Beneath that picture hung a family portrait and the words of THAT song –
Though years have come and gone, dee-ol-ee-ay
And though my heart is young my head is grey
Yet the echoes ring, dee-ol-ee-ay
And dear memories forever stay
This song will bring me visions full of light
And sweetest dreams throughout the darkest night
Of all that life can give, that song is best
I’ll take it with me when I go to rest
And when at last my time on earth is o’er
‘Twill ring more joyfully than e’er before
For up to heavens I will take my lay
The angels, too, will sing dee-ol-ee-ay.

C. J. Black©β
Friday, 08 August 2014
http://www.chrisblack2012.wordpress.com
Credit for the words of the song (The Old Refrain) in italics interspersed throughout this piece goes to composer Fritz Kreisler.
Born: February 2nd, 1875, Vienna, Austria.
Died: January 29th, 1962, New York City, U.S.A.
The song is from the musical “The King Steps Out” (1936)
The Mary O’Hara referred to in this piece is totally of my choosing and does not refer to any specific person living or deceased.

Go to the top of the class.

C. J. Black

Here is the burning question – are you a little bit like me
When sitting down to write, do you have a plan B?
Once you set out with a plan B in place –
You can plot your way as you wish, move freely at your own pace.

It’s like the old adage – take an umbrella with you and it will rarely rain
Carry a head ache tablet – you’ll rarely suffer pain
You should never say I’m going nowhere – this place does not exist
Writing nonsense as you can see is something I just can’t resist.

What is the purpose of this poem? So well you may ask
It is the result of setting myself this daily task –
To write something, anything regardless of how obscure
It may not ease the pain within, but it will assist the cure?

So you see it is that simple – go on give it a try
Don’t let it defeat you or your confidence destroy
There is a proverb out there that totally sums up Moi
“Believe nothing of what you hear, and only a little of what you see”

C. J. Black©β
Wednesday, 06 August 2014
http://www.chrisblack2012.wordpress.com

Brush V Quill.

C. J. Black

Beneath the sun umbrella the artist sits
Waiting to sketch or paint a portrait
You take your seat, hoping the end result befits –
And that when framed you can admire, and think, yes it was worth the wait.

On the other hand the poet sits
Waiting for inspiration
To paint a picture, he commits –
Himself, to frame in his mind his own creation.

They sit close by one another but never the twain shall meet
Artists in their own right
Hoping for a similar outcome, dancing to a different drumbeat
Both wishing success to each other, that their end product will delight.

C. J. Black©β
Monday, 04 August 2014
http://www.chrisblack2012.wordpress.com

Both unquestionably worth the effort.

C. J. Black

I know little about giving birth
I do know though about the joy and mirth
An event that brings much joy
Once all are healthy, mother, girl or boy.

The birth of a poem to its author
Is cherished as you would a son or daughter!
From the time you sow the seed
You nourish it until your eyes bleed.

For it too must be handled as you’d raise a child-
Or you will have a problem, as both of them will run wild
It’s all about correction, keeping them in line
A child will grow to be upright and your poem will rhyme?

There will always be difficulties which ever path you take
But once that bun is in the oven, it is yours to bake.

C. J. Black©β
Sunday, 03 August 2014
http://www.chrisblack2012.wordpress.com

Clock Watching.

C. J. Black

Sitting here passing time
Thinking out loud in rhyme
It’s funny if not strange
Not to find a word that rhymes with orange?
When the mind begins to play tricks on you
Silently my expressions turn the air blue
Little beads of sweat or should that be perspiration?
Join in and they both form a sort of relation
Perhaps they’ll get together and breed
Or for that again they may concede
To give that idea a miss and go their separate ways
Leave me floundering, groping at straws in a foggy haze
I love it went an unplanned plan plants an idea in your head
For when I started out to write I had nothing in my head
Did I hear a sarcastic remark? Did I hear someone say?
When you start out to write is ever any other way?
I know this poem will make no sense to anyone but me
But just accept it for what it is that is my earnest plea
Tonight I’m feeling rather fragile I’m in need of some TLC
I will do better next time, just you wait and see
This could go on for pages more be of little doubt
So I’m putting the cap on the bottle of ink and opening a bottle of stout.

C. J. Black©β
Sunday, 03 August 2014
http://www.chrisblack2012.wordpress.com

Accepting the bounce of the ball.

C. J. Black.

It gets no easier or so I’m told
The acceptance of growing old
But I retort and say why ponder
Accept with grace what we can’t tear asunder
Live every day as though it were your last
Greet each new dawn with a trumpet blast
Why hold a fear of dying, it is part of what we are
We started out, as a twinkle in the eye, someday we’ll be a shining star.

C. J. Black©β
Saturday 2nd August 2014
http://www.chrisblack2012.wordpress.com

The Horse – Whisperer.

C. J. Black

Ah! Million why the blank stare?
Did they not whisper you are going to the mare?
I knew that little snippet would bring a twinkle to your eye
So drop the blinkered outlook and I’ll undo your tongue tie.

I’ll give you all the rein that you require
This will give you a head start, you’d never know what might transpire?
Remember, you are the stallion I am but your groom
What’s going on between your ears I can’t start to assume?

She’s waiting in her stable, a real good looking mare
Who knows, this could be the start of a fruitful love affair
I’ll lead you to the stable door, you know what that denotes?
There will be a nosebag waiting for you, after you have sown your oats.
C. J. Black©β
Friday, 01 August 2014
http://www.chrisblack2012.wordpress.com

It’s not always simple.

 

C. J. Black

 

I left this poem simmering for quite a long while

Which if you knew me, that’s really not my ‘style’

The reason for this, I was trying hard to gauge-

Is poetry really such a strange language?

 

It’s dangerous I suggest to get to philosophical

Or you’ll end up with a poem reading somewhat diabolical?

A poem I guess, that should never see the light of day

Until you are satisfied you have something positive to say.

 

This poem is what could be classed a sort of work in progress

What the end result will be is anybody’s guess

If you are confused with what this poem is about

Too much psychoanalysing will in turn breathe extra doubt.

 C. J. Black©β

Wednesday, 30 July 2014

http://www.chrisblack2012.wordpress.com

 

 

 

 

 

Make of it what you will.

 

C. J. Black

 

Tonight, I feel as though I’ve been thrown to the wolves

Left hanging, out in the wilderness no sign of a friendly face

It’s not that I crave being treated with kid gloves

But surely there are kinder ways if you want to put me in my place?

Being judge and jury, who gave you that distinction?

Just because you have a bone to pick with me

Do you suffer from the fear factor of encountering extinction?

Be open minded, be a man, not the fruit of a poisonous tree.

 

Fiction is so much easier to write than something that is fact

Not every time you sit to write though, it must be strongly stated

I find this to be the case – truth you can’t retract

For should you slander somebody, it’s right, should you be berated.

 

Poetry is many things to many different people

There are poets whose works I’ve read which I’ll never understand

Agreed, there are times one must use certain dialogue

Yet they continue to travel down the road signposted – abstract.

 

This poem to me proves, that is if you needed any proof

That a picture can be painted that makes sense to someone

I am not that someone, to me this is just spoof?

Some will enjoy, try and decipher, never give the kiss of Judas.

 C. J. Black©β

30/07/2014 00:26

http://www.chrisblack2012.wordpress.com