Editor Christopher Writes – A Poem A Day For A Year: 07/02/15

Well today has been a mixed sort of day. Things have happened. Things that I cannot rightly talk about. One thing is a bad thing that I cannot talk about.

However, there are some good things that have happened today. One of them, which I cannot talk about, I am not allowed to talk about.

The other thing, which I’m not sure if I’m allowed to talk about, I shall not talk about, because I do not know if I am allowed to talk about it or not.

So yes, not a lot I can talk about really. This is censorship really, isn’t it? I’m being dictated to what I can and cannot talk about.

There was one thing though! Wait, no, still can’t talk about it.

I do realise this is pretty much verbatim a post I did a few weeks ago. There are reasons for that but I cannot talk about them. Well I can but I don’t want to.

I did get a new phone today though. Well, ordered a new phone. That is about as exciting as it gets.

It is exciting actually! I’ve been stuck on a Windows phone for a good while now. I don’t really think I ever got the most out of it. I never linked it to my laptop or x-box to increase work for the magazine or my gaming experience. I spent most of my time playing Candy Crush and Bingo on it. It does have a cool app that lets me have noises from retro games as ringtones though. I had the sound of Mario mounting Yoshii from Super Mario World as my text message tone. Keri didn’t like it though. Heathen.

Seeing as there is very little I can talk about today we may as well crack on with it.

Here is a poem. Today’s prompt is ‘promote’ and comes courtesy of Verse Reversal.

Decline to promote

the cream it’s the shit

that floats and they cling

to the arses above,

wading out of their depth.

I am having a lot of fun with prompts from Twitter feeds at the moment which obviously only gives me 140 characters to play with. Which is why the poems are getting a little shorter at the moment. That being the case…

Here is a(nother) poem. The prompt is ‘hyggelig’ and comes courtesy of Poetry Girl.

She takes my finger

up to her lips, parts them,

pushes it into her mouth and

gnaws with molars, purring.

Her eyes dance like

camp-fire embers.

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