Let the good times roll.

This Little Old Lady

One of the Poor People Of Paris

Humming her favourite tune I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles

Cecilia was her name.

Though ‘poor’ dressed elegantly, her blouse a rainbow of colour with puffed out Greensleeves

Sitting alone outside the One Mint Julep sipping her mint tea

Suddenly she stood bolt upright and in her best pigeon english shouted out Walk Don’t Run when she spotted her beau, he of Hidden Charm

Sitting quickly in beside her, a peck on either cheek then a prolonged hug.

She was so excited, turning to the tables close by urged each and everyone to say bonjour Meet Mister Callaghan.

He had just returned from Martinique a proper Country Gentleman at least that is what everyone about him, thought.

The writer though knew better! He had returned from there broken hearted with the strains of the Concerto In C Minor still ringing in his ears.

All he could think was Show Me The Way To Go Home as Somebody Stole My Gal while she sung her Lullaby Of Leaves and he whispered Goodnight Irene.

He had then considered spending April In Portugal taking in his favourite show Unchained Melody but in contemplating Zing! Went The Strings Of My Heart sitting down his Black Russian for company allowing The Terry Theme From Limelight waft over him pondered his next move.

(c) Chris Black. August 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

With special thanks to Chet Atkins all 20 tracks in Italics are original recordings from a CD titled Chet Atkins Zing! Went The Strings Of My Heart LTG 39577.

Indulge yourself – check it out.


Writing 201: Day 2.


Writing 201: Journey. On the menu today; Journeys, Limericks and alliteration.


As I Journey through this poem

Allowing my mind to freely roam

I may just come up with a gem

Words which fit, if I remember them

But then again maybe not

Then on my copybook I’ll leave a blot

Walk away not quite frustrated

Perhaps a little agitated?


Tried to write a Limerick once

But of sense I haven’t an ounce

Good I have fleeting feet

Can run a mile from defeat

Tried to write a Limerick once?


There was an old man from Japan

Who tried to fry fish on a pan?

I thought it quite odd

When he said, yes its cod

It need not make sense – but must scan?


I tried writing a Limerick and failed

On these words was firmly impaled

But write one I will

I won’t stop until

I’ve writing Limericks nailed.


Am I improving as I go along?

Could I be in line for a gong?

A Limerick Bafta

That’s what I’m “Afta”

On stage is where I belong?


Now that I’m on a roll

And look like I’m reaching my goal

A Limerick I’ll write

Out of pure spite

Might even one critic extol?


From writing Limericks I thought I’d refrain

Then I thought, what then would I gain

So decided why not

Give it a second shot

“Limericks” could drive you insane?


By putting these “Limericks” on show

Just proves how little I know –

About, writing I guess

But onward I’ll press

Undaunted, my trumpet I’ll blow.


I’m not a feather plucker, I’m a feather puckers’ son.


I rattled my bottles in Hollick’s yard, my bottles I rattled in Hollick’s yard.


Red leather, Yellow leather.

  1. J. Black©β

Tuesday, 17 February 2015