Jak Black

Jak Black Poems

Enveloped in his cotton wraps
He rests his weary pate.
The day is used, the night is young,
Time, now, to meditate.

I'm sitting alone on my throne of cold stone,
High up on the mountain top.
I'm sitting alone with memories to hone,
Where the sandstone dares to outcrop.

A lady I thought was a friend,
Rubbished the words that I penned.
She thought such a slur
Would be of profit to her.

Where do you go to Gypsy Rose,
When you retire to your bed?
Where do you go to Gypsy Rose,
What dreams play inside your head?

The old man sat in his fireside chair,
His old dog lay at his feet.
Silence, pregnant with regret.
Answers incomplete.

Daydreamers build castles way up in the blue,
And fill them with pictures that are never quite true.
A castle in clouds is a secret retreat,
Where hope for the future and fond memories accrete.


She was such a pretty child,
And so much loved her dad.
Her mum had died two years ago,
Each was all the other had.

Experiences, both good and bad
Help to character define.
You'll reflect on what you learned from them
Further on along the line.


You left me with a broken heart,
I wouldn't let the teardrops flow.
Although, inside, I fell apart,
I couldn't let it show.

We long to meet you, little pal.
The month of June is nigh.
A precious bundle born of love.
That, no-one can deny.


On a journey soon I must embark
And leave this land I love.
No more I'll see the hovering lark,
Or hear it's song above.

Searching deep within my soul
For that which I most miss.
The same answer keeps returning.
A lady's heartfelt kiss.

Ill health struck him down, he no more could cope,
A rapid downshift, to a slippery slope.
He's transferred to a box, of concrete and brick.
Windows and doors made of glass and plastic.

I've now grown used to traffic rushing past my door,
Don't notice now exhaust fumes, and combustion engines roar.
I'm getting used to adverts that bombard my picture box,
And junk mail pouring on the mat now seems so orthodox.

Jak Black Biography

'There is a principle which is a bar against all information, which is proof against all arguments and which cannot fail to keep a man in everlasting ignorance- - that principle is contempt prior to investigation. - Herbert Spencer)

The Best Poem Of Jak Black

The Dreamer.

Enveloped in his cotton wraps
He rests his weary pate.
The day is used, the night is young,
Time, now, to meditate.

Seduced by sleep he drifts into
Foretold felicity.
Unwinding coils of wracking nerve
To their gentlest quality.

Nyx awakes his secret soul,
His spirit mounts moonbeams.
He glides along contentedly in
The pleasance of his dreams.

Relaxed in sensuous slumber,
His subconscious unconfined.
Lost pleasures resurrected,
In the magic of his mind!

Then suddenly, with daybreak,
He's wrenched into the ‘morrow.
Wading through the mire of
His world that feeds him sorrow.

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