Editors Christopher & Keri – #PoemADayForAYear: 15/04/15. NaPoWriMo Day Fifteen

Well tonight we have the honour of announcing a few things on BlogTalk Radio tonight. We will be talking to the wonderful Catfish McDaris about various things that you will just have to listen in to find out about.

Other than that, here are our offerings for NaPoWriMo. I do promise that very soon I will start writing proper blog posts soon. It was easier when I was depressed. I had too many thoughts then. At the moment I don’t feel like I have time to think about scratching my arse, never mind thinking about real things. Though I did have a semi-political conversation with a Labour canvasser on the doorstep before. I say semi because it was just after Keri called me to tell me we were having chippy for tea and I was a little excited.

I wish that was more true than it is.

Here is a poem. The NaPoWriMo prompt for today is to write a poem about a poem.


Sometimes when I write,

I wonder if there is any

connection between the thoughts

in my head and the movement of my

fingers over the keyboard.

I struggle to find connections between the

first line and end line.

The middle is a mystery.

Sometimes I get an itch in my brain when

my fingers cannot keep up with

with my thoughts.

Sometimes I only discover what I want to write about half-way through.

There are connections there.

This is must assume.

I think I write as I think. Disparate thoughts

that somehow makes sense but not in an immediate


Imagine seeing a letter box hanging on a last fraying hinge

then suddenly playing football in a brick-lined passage-way

between two terraced house forces its way

from the back of your childhood memories.

You know the two things are connected but it is

only after scratching around that you make that


Poetry should be about scratching for connections.

The reader’s brain should itch long after reading,

working the words round the cortices.

If the read reads then is not compelled to re-read,

the writer has not written, or at least, has not written well.

This is the connection I have made but hey,

that is just the connection of one poet

who did not know what he was going to say

at the start.


Troubled Dreaming

A memory of something slightly unsavoury

Stretches distasteful tendrils

Down my wanton spine

Which aches for sleep.

The faceless mouth of my alarm clock

Screams horrors into my dreams,

Saturated with the melting features

Of everyone I have known

And people I have yet to know.

The womb cocoon spits forth

Birds, all screeching and squawking for dominance

While I shudder my way into the

Morning hours where safety lies in the arms of my waiting almost husband.