11/30/2023 Poetry By Gwil James ThomasEdmund Garman CC
Keith’s War. It wasn’t the seagulls that’d attack him on his balcony, the bin men that never turned up, the inconsiderate cars parked outside his garage when trying to leave, the kids that drew cocks on his dusty car bonnet, when he parked across the road, or the overpriced breakfasts in the cafe that I worked in, below his flat. In the end, Keith’s war was not one waged by anger - these battles were there to keep him animated, in a world that otherwise wanted his surrender, since in his own words - most people were just too scared to do anything, about anything, anymore. 13. 09. 2023. How’s death? You once said, that my life was like someone trying to put out a fire with lighter fluid - that hasn’t changed, since we last spoke 10 years ago and in truth, I thought that I’d have more answers to this life thing by now. I may no longer, think that I can see you in crowds, but every so often - you’ll appear in a dream, to deliver some thought or message. I kept up my promise and carried on writing and since then I’ve written myself out of so many corridors of hell. Yet, I can’t help but shake the feeling that all of this, you somehow, somewhere, already know - so in the meantime, wait for me and until then, I can’t help but miss you upon this earth. Gwil James Thomas is a poet, novelist and inept musician. He lives in his home town of Bristol, England but has also lived in London, Brighton and Spain. His twelfth chapbook of poetry Wild River Carry me to Sea was recently published by Back Room Poetry. Other work has recently been published in Vipers Tongue, DFL Lit, Paper & Ink Zine and Roi Faineant Press. He plans to one day build a house, amongst other things. Instagram: @gwiljamesthomas Comments are closed.
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