Poetry By Gwil James Thomas

Edmund 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
​