Editor Christopher Writes – #PoemADayForAYear: 03 + 04 + 05 + 06/17/15


Here is a poem. The prompt is ‘a price too…’ from #AsymLife.

A price too

Too what? Too high is too cliche.

Too far makes no sense.

Have to use a word? Maybe just letters.

A price tooth. Done.


So I was going to do a bit of a blog about a dream I had last night. I hate talking about dreams. Whenever someone opens their mouth to start telling me about a dream I can feel a black hole swallow the next 5 minutes of my life. I think all the books that claim to be dream dictionaries or encyclopedias are a sham. I have been having a sequence of recurring dreams for the past 8 years though that I do feel actually speak a lot about me. Before I went to university, whilst I was in the process of applying, I had a recurring dream that I am on the bus on my way to campus for the first day of the term. About half way there, there is a crash that forces me off the bus. It suddenly turns to night as I step off the bus and there is a gang of marauders with knifes blocking my path to campus. That was obviously my brain telling me I am not going to uni. My brain was wrong.

Whilst I have been completing my studies through the Open University, I have had a dream that I have been back at high school, on the last day of the year, the last day ever there, two minutes before the bell that marks the end of the year and the completion and success of my studies. The bell goes and just as I am about to step out of the building for the last time knowing I have qualifications under my belt, there is a hand on my shoulder that turns me round and a teacher telling me I have failed my courses and that I would not be allowed to resit. This I can only interpret as me dropping out of university proper and, even though I did get the chance to resume with the OU, my brain has obviously taken it upon itself to remind me that I will probably not complete my studies or fail completely. I have completed my studies so my brain has been wrong on that part.

I am still waiting on my final mark so I do not yet know if I have actually passed but last night I had a dream that made me think my brain is processing with a little more positivity. I was going to do a bit more of a blog about that but I have just thought sod it, I’ll do a poem so…

Here is a poem.

A Monday afternoon in a

high-ceilinges, suede-curtained,

wooden-benched assembly hall.

The last day of term, the year

and of my studies.

Monday seems an arbitrary day

for such an occasion but the

board of governors are arbitrary.

Sat in the hall is every student of the school,

hot and annoyed having sat through a

full day of lessons while other schools

have spent the last two weeks

watching films and generally

having a nice time. Our school

is different – they are all about preparation

for the next level of academia.

This is not the first time I have sat in

this hall, on this day, looking up at the stage

as the headmaster aridly congratulates us all.

It seems to happen every night in fact.

One time I was sat here naked with the head of my year

pointing at me and encouraging everyone to laugh.

They used my nakidity as a reason to hold me back.

The time before I was held back because

I used an erroneous apostrophe in an exam three

years before. Everyone else in the school

threw rotten bananas at me.

They always find a way

to keep me in starched collars for another year.

This time there is a crackle in the air.

I can feel strings pull the edges of my mouth

upwards, pressure in my throat and tears

welling in my eyes. I want to cry out in joy.

As soon as the bell goes, I leap up

and over everyone to the stage.

I unbutton my trousers and pull them down,

flashing my arse at the entire senior staff of

the school. This is met with rapturous

applause. I straighten up but let my

trousers fall to floor before toddling

out, everyone clapping and cheering,

whistling, jeering the headmaster.

I reach the door and turn, flashing a smile,

knowing that this is the last time

I will ever step foot in this

prison of the imagination.


Here is a poem. The prompt is ‘arisen phoenix’ from #ThePaths.

The phoenix,

arisen, has lost its glow,

working as a temp

in a call centre.

The phoenix arisen

has fulfilled its purpose.


Here is a poem. The prompt is ‘chosen one’ (reference to Buffy the Vampire Slayer) from #GeekVerses.

She was the chosen one,

apart from the other one who turned up.

And Faith.

And every woman on Earth.


chosen for focus then?



Our fantastic editor Rhea is trying to go above and beyond for Bunbury. We first got in contact with her about an anthology project she was starting off. Then when we started the magazine she was one of our first contributors, having pieces in pretty much every issue. Then she moved up to help us edit and give great support to the people who submit to the magazine. 

Not content with that, she is making a massive push to help us secure funds to get this support network off the ground. She is planning to spend a week dressed as a literary character – she is open to suggestions too! Get over to Just Giving and help Rhea make a difference to the the support we can give to you and the writers and artists you love!

Rhea Phillips

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