Roach Ripped Postcards – Gwil James Thomas

Do You Remember
The January Blues?


The once proud
centrepiece of
a Christmas tree
lies in the gutter
totally fucked and
waiting for disposal –
every month
has its own unique way
of saying bah humbug –
you just
have to



A Monte Igueldo Poem.


High and a little hungry
beneath the oblivious sun
we stared out at
the picturesque view –
on one side was the city,
looking all petite
nestled there between
the mountains –
on the other side was
small and verdant island
of Santa Clara,
before the deep blue Atlantic
that drifted out into the horizon –
seemingly connecting
with the sky,
like it was part of
some strange kinda loop.

The nearby funicular then
shuddered to a stop,
as a crowd stepped off
and attacked each other
for the best selfie spot
with their selfie sticks.

We wandered on and rode
the rollercoaster that
was scary in a different way
and later you gave me a kiss,
as a lime green butterfly
landed on my shoulder
to whisper rumours
of change.