Editor Christopher Writes – #PoemADayForAYear: 18/05/15 & 19/05/15

Again, because we were away and access to doing my blog was limited what with all the walking up and down, this one has been delayed til tonight as well. This comes with the same assurance that the poem was written on the day itself. Believe me, I do not want to be doing this challenge at the moment – I do not feel like I have anything to write about any more but every time I want to give up, Keri tells me I have to keep going. I do not know whether to be thankful for the push or annoyed.

I know I will end up being extremely grateful to her. I do not think I will be writing a single poem in 2016. This may be a good thing.


This day, three years ago, I was visiting Keri in Swansea. We had just eaten dinner and were watching a film. Our hands snuck into each other’s and stayed, fingers intertwined, for quite some time. Eventually, we looked at each other after the film ended and we agreed that we were now an item.

In this moment, my life changed completely.

Before then, I was living in a squat of sorts. A house that a friend of a friend owned that had be unoccupied for a number of years. There was junk everywhere and it was as close to inhospitable as it gets. I moved in because I needed to move off of my mother’s sofa. I had just dropped out of uni, the place I worked had closed down so I was unemployed and I was pretty miserable. I had no money, no real home and no real grip on my sanity.

Then I got with Keri. I found a job in Swansea and moved down to be with her. I had somewhere to live and things were looking up.

Since then, we now live in a proper house, we have started our own business. Life has been – better. A lot better. I am happy. I know what happiness feels like. I am moving towards doing what I really want to do with my life, with the magazine and poetry and all that. I know that all of this is only possible because I have Keri.

I have been in some dark places in the last three years too. I was off work with depression and my head was a complete mess. I know I only came through that because of Keri. I know that, in her, I have the best woman in the world on my side and there is nothing that seems too overpowering.

There are never enough ways in which I can thank her but I will always try.

Today, I thanked her on our anniversary buy buying her a burger as big as her head and then failing miserably at a pub quiz. It was a really fun night. We found out in the quiz that Britain’s only gold medalist at the 2014 Winter Olympics was Pat Sharpe and that W in the periodic table stands for Wesley Snipes.

Funny old world.

Here is a poem.

When I think of life without you,

I know how it feels to drown.

I know how it feels to be filled

with hot clouds of electric-shot darkness.

When I think of life without you,

I imagine staring at chipped-paint off-white walls

and a brown stain under a faulty

sink in the corner of a one-room flat,

wearing noise-cancelling headphones

to drown out the cacaphonic melancholy

of a house-share-mate in a ketamin hole.

When I think of you,

it’s like The Matrix and Children of Men

and Mad Max and The Hunger Games

all happening at once.

When I think of my life with you now,

I can define emotions that were previously

beyond my comprehension.

True, honest, whole-hearted frustration.

The boredom of finding your socks

from the day before in the bed again.

When I think of my life with you now,

I smile because I know the minutia of life

does not really matter. When the palm of

your hand brushes my cheek,

when your lips meet mine,

when your eyes roll in exasperation

and your mouth crinkles into a tired smile,

when you look at me through a sleepy fog

first thing in the morning to shout at me

because my alarm is blaring,

I know that I can define true love.


I ‘aven’t learned much in my time,

lad, but I knows ‘ow to do a quiz.

Gimmeh that pen and shut thee face,

I ‘andle this. What was that?

What city is connected to t’London

by the Emmmm wun?

Bakewell, just put it down, lad.

I know Ah’ve got the pen, just put it.

What city was who?

Franz Ferdinand?

What city was he killed in?

Dumfries. That’s the winner right there.

Picture round now. Periodic table.

Enn ayyy? Nag’s Head.

They’ve got in in’t pisser. You’ve seen the poster,

lad. Aitch Geee’s got t’ be T’Hare ‘n Grouse

over on Fitchmore street.

Them beer token’s as good as ours,

I tell thee.


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