W. H. Whaaaat is this?
Well, it’s a poem,
To prove that I can write them,
because I said to Aimee that I wanted to be a writer.
So I’m not sure what to write,
which is a recurring feeling because you stun me into silence,
thinking nothing I say will be enough or right.
But sit tight,
Because I’ll try to do my best,
to express,
the feelings on my chest that I have yet to put into words,
into sentences,
into paragraphs that mean anything,
unlike the days that I see you.
Which have meant everything,
to me,
and the days leading up, and the days that have followed
When I can’t help but think about the times that I’ve borrowed
your hand,
and your smile which is to die for by the way.
As are your eyes which I’ve already said just amaze me,
but I’ll have to say it a thousand more times to convey
the extent of their beauty,
I hope you’ll stick around to hear that,
in fact,
this is the last line
before the million more on the way,
which maybe won’t rhyme,
or fully justify what I want to say.
But I’ll give it a shot and try not to miss because I’m already missing you and can’t say I enjoy it,
I think i’ll stop there though and save some words for the next one but don’t forget that you’re brilliant in the time until then and I really can’t wait to see you again.

Language can be difficult,
Often there aren’t enough words,
And sometimes there are too many to say together without each one becoming cheaper than the last,
Not to mention that societies chosen meaning of a word can change wildly and incredibly fast,
Which is why when you find one that describes something or someone perfectly you need to tell them as quickly as possible,
before the moment has passed.
That’s what this one is all about;
I worked out,
The word that would appear if the dictionary was visual and the entry was a picture of you.
It was stiff competition but the winner is clear at least from my point of view.
It’s no easy task defining an individual like you in an individual word,
So i’ve put some more before it.
Only for emphasis, but not exaggeration,
And only for impact, but not for inflation.
And I won’t ask for a drumroll, because you deserve an orchestra,
And I’ll keep this one short, I won’t waffle on and i won’t keep you guessing
Because, Aimee, in one word plus three, you are completely and utterly and dangerously, arresting.

“Hey” – that’s all it takes,
On the phone, over video, in person –
the context doesn’t matter.

Anyone can say it, but when it comes from you it calms earthquakes.
Maybe not the ones that the world can feel but definitely the shakes,
the shakes that come from a good place,
but have no place when face to face with you.
So thank you, thank you for calming the world everytime – even if it’s just mine.

Okay, so this one will be a little bit different,
the rhymes might be a bit more frequent,
because I wanted to write something that resembled,
the speed at which you got my broken down heart completely reassembled.
Not with glue nor with tape,
Just yourself – the adhesive,
You’ve got it beating again and made the rhythm cohesive,
to the beat in my brain that’s overlaid with your name,
repeating again, again and again.
Yes,
I can’t not think about you, 
because I swoon at every thing that you do,
that you say, that you’ve done and that you say that you will do,
especially the plans that include me, selfishly, I wish they all did,
but I’m happy with as much Aimee as I can get.

Anyway, I’ve flattered you enough in the previous two,
that’s not what this one is for,
I’m trying to give you credit for making my life better than it was before.
And heck is it better, so much so that even seeing your name in lights on my phone
Is, alone,
enough to improve my world,
My world which before was painted in grayscale and framed by faded old wood,
Now boasts millions of colours and is wrapped in jewels, just like anything you touch should.
Sure that might be a bit over the top and my life wasn’t a mess before,
I’m just trying to depict the extent to which I’m addicted to all that you are, 
as if you were handpicked to contradict my view on people so far.

So thank you is all I can say.

I wanted to write a poem that spelled out a particular phrase, but then I changed my mind.
Leaving that idea behind,
Obviously because it’s a form of poetry most…
Verbose, I tried to design a different kind of rhyme,
Entwining delicate words with hidden meanings but I couldn’t manage it,
Yet.
Of course, I didn’t give in and,
Ultimately, I changed my mind.

Aimee asked for a Christmas Poem,
So I could only say ‘Yes’.
After all, who could turn down
Such a beautiful person’s festive request.

For some, a perfect Christmas might entail
Snow-topped trees all a-glisten,
Carols, Turkey, Family & Presents.
But mine? Well, listen…

There are few things in this world
That I consider to be perfect.
One of them is Aimee,
Over that my heart has no conflict.

So a perfect Christmas for me,
Need only include my favourite teacher,
My favourite wannabe witch,
My favourite musician
And my favourite view.
Luckily, all of them are you!

Imagine for a moment that I’m lying where you lay,
Wishing you were here, but this time here to stay.
Hours, days, months melt away,
in a way so conducive to a love that makes me question if this is all okay?
Okay that time itself could only stand by and watch as you stole my heart instantly?
Or okay that, being truthful, it was less of a theft and more of an offer that I hoped you’d accept?

Recently I’ve been thinking a lot,
not about the things you’ve brought into my universe,
Of which there are many,
But the things that may have been, had you not appeared.
Simply put, my life would be worse.

When I think back to how I was before I became us,
The ‘what if’s signpost only paths that turn to tunnels.
I wasn’t desperate or in turmoil before you came,
yet the very concept of never meeting you,
now gives me feelings of dread and wonder that I can not tame.

Now, being able to lie where you will lie, telling only truths such as these, well that’s something I could not have planned for.
How something so physical as you being next to me can mean so much mentally, well that’s something I could not have planned for.

Virtually everything that you do either:
Amazes me,
Lightens my mood, or
Excites me.
Never before have I felt a feeling of compatibility
That,
If our love was a house, would be so strong a foundation,
No wind, nor rain, nor atomic blast could blow it down.
Every single day with you is the best day; every
Single

DAY.

I wrote this one while you were sleeping.
You said that you felt nothing.
To someone else, that statement could break a heart,
Yet it brings us closer together over something that could tear others apart.

It’s windy and raining, you’re done with the day. 
Me? I’m still thinking of what rhymes with ‘day’. 
You see I’m writing this hoping it brightens your day, 
When you wake up and read it as you’re starting your day. 

If it doesn’t and bad dreams betray your brain, 
That’s okay, constructing this won’t have been in vain;
The point isn’t to make you wake up and feel, 
Rather its to reaffirm something nightmares can’t steal. 

To bond over apathy sounds quite contrary,
Yet its a foundation with strength most extraordinary. 
At times when you’re done with the world you know I’ll be there;
Because we have found a way to love even when we don’t care. 

Of course, not to feel numb at all might be great,
But it makes our good times easier to appreciate,
They are elevated to higher levels and cherished for longer,
Making our ‘us’ be ever so much stronger.

So it’s goodnight from me, and good morning to you.
Know that I love you and that you love me, too.
Don’t rush to feel something, when nothing will do,
Because for us, nothing is something and it’s going to pull us through. 

Earlier you asked for a distraction
So I put this together to give you a fraction,
Of a second, a fraction of this day
So that you might keep everything at bay.

Pair this with a cuddle and get lost in my voice,
Shelter behind these words until everything is just a bit ‘noice’-r.
Know that in this one second you are away,
From all the things that the black dog can say.

And while I’ve got you here in this ‘smol’ bubble,
I want you to feel protected from all that life trouble.
Right now your life is a cuddle and this rhyme,
Ignore everything else – you’ve got time.

When this brief relief is over, by all means return to worry,
But not til the last word – there’s no hurry.
Though, if in this moment the bad things in life are blurred,
Maybe, just maybe, I don’t want to write the last…

There stands a woman.
A lady, a girl, a miss, a her,
A wonder that stands nowhere else in the world.

Brave, battle-hardened but without sharpened edges,
A she that this he admires,
For she possesses a past and future that only inspire.

Built not from a template but molded by love,
By hate, anger, joy, sorrow, pressure, love, life and by love,
Forging a rock with imperfections of diamonds.

A learning teacher, a listening singer, a clumsy tightrope walker,
A daughter, a sister, a her,
A wonder that stands nowhere else in the world.

Here sits her man,
Grateful; for a woman.

In life there are so so so so many paths to take,
Some lead to the same place regardless of any choices we make.
Others only appear because of what we decide, 
And some you’ve chosen because of a gut feeling inside.

It’s easy to be critical of decisions that lead to things not working out, 
But when there are so many options, making a choice at all is something to be proud about.
There are infinite ways to go, leading to infinite results, 
So how can we truly know if our choices are worthy of insults?
A path deemed too slow could be the second fastest or the billionth, it’s impossible to know. 
Consider that when comparing the path you’re on to the ones down which you can no longer go.

I for one am tremendously grateful for the choices you’ve made over 21 years,
They led you to me, to us, to smiles and to happy tears.
If there’s one thing my paths ever give me, then I truly hope it’s time;
Having time to share paths with you is a privilege that I’m truly amazed is mine. 

I’ll be glad to have you back.

Whether it’s a day or three weeks or three minutes since I had to say ‘bye’ and close the door,
The feeling of missing you comes so strong and so fast it could knock me flat to the floor.
Doing all I can to stay standing when it feels like I’ve lost a body part,
Telling myself it’s enough to have seen you at all while you walk out carefully holding my heart.

Does the distance between us make the time we do have together better?
It’s hard to say when it has reduced us to tears,
and our days together are sometimes spent with the “but we’ll be apart again tomorrow” fears.

The important thing, I think, is that the feeling doesn’t fade; we miss each other the same or more each time we go away.
And we miss being together because we love being together, because a day spent with you is better than any other ‘normal’ day.
It’s hard being apart, for any length of time, and often it’s the little things that we miss;
The head scratches, and bear hugs, silly voices and back tickles, a gentle forehead kiss.

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder but ours are already pretty damn fond.
I might not say it much, maybe because I know there’s not a lot about it we can do,
But Aimee Louise Lewis, I really really really really really miss you.

I’ll be glad to have you back.

Now, I won’t name names, or point fingers at sources, Aimee,
But there’s a snore in my life that comes from someone.
And it’s a snore that’s reliable, familiar, and, to me at least, actually a mini phenomenon.

See, if you’d said to me before that I would ever adore a snore,
Well, I’d have laughed you out the door, then probably laughed some more.
But I’ve genuinely come to appreciate a snore.

Maybe I can concede that some of this adoration could be bias,
But so much of it comes from knowing it means you’re asleep,
Because the world can’t hurt you and your brain can’t drain you, when you’re counting sheep.

Sure it might wake you up and keep me awake at times,
But it’s worth it to me, as confirmation of your temporary relief from all that’s got you down, 
And as a joyful audio celebration on nights you think you won’t be able to get past the frown. 

I’m not saying it’s a sign all your troubles are gone or won’t come back, 
But it’s a sign they didn’t beat you today and that you’re giving tomorrow a go, 
Which, to me, will always be, enough to justify an assault on my ear holes. 

I might be reading too much into an involuntary noise,
But it’s unintentional nature makes it even more meaningful to someone who watches the fights from the sidelines,
Like the end of round bell that saves the boxer, or singing canaries in the coal mines.

Hearing that noise pierce the silence of a video call is such a comfort to me,
Not that any of this is relevant to you, Aimee, cause you know, I’m naming no names,
Though I’d hope if I were to do so, the snorer would understand how much I love it and would never feel ashamed. 

One plus two – that equals twelve.
I’ve already triggered the teacher brain and not a lot rhymes with twelve,
So I’ve really made a great start to this poem.
Crap, ending the sentence with poem isn’t any better, let me take a moment to get myself together.

So what I mean, is twelve is made of the numbers 1 and 2,
It’s the number of months that I’ve been in an official relationship with you,
It’s also the number of ‘presents’ you’re getting for sticking with me,
Though this incredibly crafted masterpiece counts as one so I wouldn’t get too giddy!
I am though – I’m super giddy! Looking back at all we’ve done and thinking about getting even more of it…
Excuse me while I do my happy wiggle for a bit!

Okay, wiggle completed;
Being serious now.
Thank you for being a part of our team,
You put me on a cloud that’s far higher than you can lift your one eyebrow.

Sorry, being serious.
I should probably try to calm down,
But this year has been emotional, exciting, educational, extraordinary, enthralling, everything to me,
And those are just the adjectives that begin with ‘e’ (plus one noun).

You make me so so happy,
Sometimes I wish I knew how to convey that so you’d never question it again.
But maybe in another 12 months you will believe me more than ever before,
And then after another 12 months and another 12 months it’ll be firmer in your brain.

Oh yeah, did I not mention that I’d like some more twelves together?
If that’s okay with you? Of course only if you 1 2!
Get it? 1… 2…? Like the numbers? 
Holy WHSMITH, I’ve just realised twelve flipped is our anniversary date, too!

You see, it’s just meant to be!
It’s written in the stars, that I love watching with you.
And scattered in the leaves I love walking through with you.
And engraved in the heart that belongs entirely to you.

(mine, it’s my heart, obviously)

I haven’t been a poet for a while, and I know it.
It makes me wonder if she knows I love her, and hope there are other ways that I show it.
A busy head isn’t a good source for written word and a charming rhyme,
But neither are excuses, so I think it is about time,
That I take to the… thesaurus?

I hope she doesn’t think this absence of poetry correlates to an absence of admiration,
or an deficiency of devotion, or a lull in love.
And I hope that she still knows that the poems preceding this one hold true, and always will.

Ah, I’m a little bit rusty,
That much is clear.
What I hope is clearer, is that I do not hold her any less dearer just because I’ve not provided her with opportunities to be a reader.
In this wordly drought, I hope she reads my actions – rather than between the lines I’ve not written – and doubts not that I am still her most enthusiastic cheerleader.

It would be a tremendous tragedy and failure on my part, if she believed she did not have my heart; which she has truly had right from the start.
And a calamitous catastrophe, if she were dejected, feeling disconnected, unaffected and neglected.

Way too many syllables – maybe I’m trying too hard?
But I’m desperate for her to know that she’s cherished and that my world is still colourfully jewel-embellished, because of the woman that I’m grateful for. 

Perhaps she already does, and this reminder isn’t necessary.
If that’s the case, then this poem is a gratefully unneeded addition to our poem library. 
Alternatively, if doubts do remain, then I hope this serves its purpose as a reminder,
to remind her,
that her name-laden beat is still looping in my brain.

Today didn’t rhyme,
It was an uphill struggle just get to rock bottom,
The birds chirped to annoy you ,
The sun only served to blind you,
The phone vibrations shook you ,
And the small talk only served to choke you.

Yesterday wasn’t better,
It went downhill despite starting in a trench,
The birds chattered someplace away from you,
The clouds took the sun from you,
The phone vibrations got no response from you ,
And the small talk took the life from you.

Tomorrow won’t care,
It will make its own way regardless of where it starts,
The birds might sing in tune for you,
The sun might warm your skin for you,
The phone vibrations might bring smiles for you,
And the small talk might warm your heart for you.

I’m here anyway,
Grinning beside you on cloud nine or finding the lift from ground zero,
Trying to help you fly higher than the birds,
Trying to help you find a path in the sun.
Trying to help you look forward to the phone vibrations,
And trying to help you find love in the small talk.

I’m here anyway.

Happy Birthday, you’re Twenty-Two,
It’s not as exciting as Twenty-One,
But it’s not the only thing to celebrate about being you.

From rotations around the sun, to grades, to the schoolyard,
This big folded, hardened paper conveys it all,
(And hopefully compensates for last year’s teeny tiny card).

The future is looking BRiTE; thanks to the work you’ve put in across your years,
It’s been challenging, painfully slow and stressfully quick, but,
It’s time to reap the rewards of your mental sweat and tears.

It’s time to be Twenty-Two, in front of Five & Six year olds,
Tooling them up for their own paths to Twenty, too, and beyond,
And giving to Pheasey Park Farm your best self, however the rest of 2020 unfolds.

So, Miss Lewis, Happy Birthday once again, congrats on the degree,
And here’s to a fledgling career full of happiness for you, Aimee.
I’m happy being part of a big club of people watching you turn Twenty-Two,
All of whom feel love for, excitement for, and, proud of, you.

My challenge,
Should I choose to accept it,
Is to rhyme you to sleep.
Your challenge,
If you choose not to reject it,
Is first to listen, and then, count sheep.

So how do I,
Write a lullaby?

Poems that romance; I can do those,
But I’m not used to writing words that ensnare you in a slumberous lair,
So perhaps I should start with some strokes of the nose,
And a few minutes of playing with your hair?

That’s probably cheating though,
I know.

Perhaps, I should seek to baffle and confuse?
Get you to sleep by sleepily using the sleepy word ‘sleep’ a lot?
Maybe go for dullness and bore you into a snooze?
Even…gradually…talk…slower…or not?

One thing I do know about catching some Z’s,
Is that, 
for me, 
at least,
I can ease,
better into dreams,
wearing a smile that beams,
inwards,
So, Aimee,
If you would please,
Think about nice memories,
And the days ahead you will seize.

Breathe.

Is the secret to a lullaby rhythm?
Is it word composition? Or repitition?
It could be the way it’s read. Or repitition.
What if it’s all of the above, including, of course, repitition?

What effect would it have if I changed my speech speed?
Changed from a higher pitch to lower?
Increased the spaces between the words I read?
Switched from incoherent mumble to elaborate enunciation?

Whatever the right techniques are,
However the words should be said,
Whenever they need to be read,
If nothing else, I want them to calm your head.

Forget dread,
Worry, stress.
They have no place in a sleep-ready mind.
If they are as important as they feel, 
then you will have time to feel,
them tomorrow. 

It is time for rest, in whatever form it arrives;
Whether it comes as an escape from the bad,
A celebration of the good,
Or the fastest form of travel to an exciting tomorrow.
Borrow from it relief, 
Give to it your white flag,
Take it’s hand as a friend,
Let go, even if temporarily, that which you contend.

Sleep well, Aimee.
Dream well of us.
Conquer mountains, conjure spells and reset the day,
Rest your head, your eyes and sleep where you are lay.

Sneaky sneaky,
I’ve not told you about this one;
Uploaded without comment, notice or fanfare.

Hopefully surprising,
At a time you’re looking for old comforts, 
And crafted with thought, feeling and care. 

I’ve no idea when you’ll read this, 
You’ve no idea when it was written;

And yet it doesn’t matter.
Because, whenever it’s said,
Whenever it’s read, 

I’m still absolutely smitten. 

W. H. Whaaaat is happening?
I think you know, let’s not pretend now,

Of course it had to be done this way – with rhythmic words,
most of which you probably won’t hear;
The first poem you can’t wait for me to finish.

But listen when I say I love you,
Listen when I say it, it’s true,

From that hug on the station,
A kiss at the library,
A park where the world stood still.

Via windy beaches and broken tents,
Pinky promises and becoming a team,

To now,
to us.

And yes, he approved, on the clay pipe walk,
So there are no obstacles left,
And,
Only one question to ask, right?

So, Aimee Louise Lewis…

While I write this, I love you,
I’ll love you when I read it.
In between, I’ll surely love you,
Just like I loved you before it was written.

1000 days of loving you,
So many more to go,
But what hasn’t changed since day one,
Is our commitment to our fun,
Our love,
Our anythings,
And our everythings.

Keep dreaming of our futures,
But keep space for what we’ve done.
In ways it feels like we’ve done everything,
In ways it feels like we’ve only just begun.

Our days have reached milenniam,
10 Centuries spent together,
Decades of weeks and a million minutes,
Perhaps we’ve already had a forever.

We can make this our happy ever after,
That shouldn’t be a challenge,
We’ve already been forever happy, after all.

A third anniversary,
Of being us.
A third anniversary,
Let us discuss…

It’s been fun,
It’s been great,
It’s been awesome,
Hold on, wait…

I wanted to write a new poem for you,
But I got a bit stuck and then got confused,
This isn’t my forte, that much is true,
But I hope it that still gets my love message through.

It’s been 3 years since the day we began,
Since, you’ve been my woman and I’ve been your man,
Hold up…

That was possessive, let’s be more progessive,
Prevent that regression, cause it’s not obssession,
We work to be better, forget the trendsetters;
We got that ambition, don’t kneel to tradition.
Created the flow and made our own beat,
When we’re together we know we’re complete.

Foundations’ untouchable,
Livin’ life colourful,
Life is just wonderful.

We do things differently around here,
Me and you, you and I.

We look at tradition and take the bits we want,
Whether that’s in our day to day relations,
Or for the big occasions.
And it makes us better and makes us, us,
Whether it’s sharing balanced expectations,
Or working hard on communications.

You are the Queen of revolution,
And, while I strive for resolution,
I love to watch your transformations,
Your independent declarations;
You are just always worthy of my admirations.

Never afraid to break the mould,
You’d give me your jacket if I was cold.

We do things differently around here,
You and me, I and you,
Not just for the sake of it,
But because we should and want to.
We love when we want and not how we’re told to,
We balance and share, amid pressures we push through,
This is just one of the reasons why, Aimee, I love you.

Remember when we walked to that Wales Waterfall?
It got me thinking about the way water, falls.

The more you think about it, the more it seems like it’s a foregone conclusion –
presented with a steep drop,
the river doesn’t bend away or start flowing backwards,
rather it cascades itself,
without hesitation,
almost with a sense of duty,
as if it always knew this was meant to be.

Even though it doesn’t know what comes after the fall,
straight over the edge it goes.
And while, as an entity of nature lacking consciousness,
anyone could objectively attribute any emotion or meaning to that moment,
I choose to think of it as acceptance.

Not necessarily bravery, nor stupidity or ignorance,
Any of which could also easily be bestowed,
But rather an understanding, of necessity,
A sense of, “This is going to happen, and this is okay.”
An unyielding abiding to the laws of physics and nature, as apposed to a struggle against them.

Perhaps I choose to think of it that way because it aligns with the way I would hope to think of myself, and
Water isn’t the only thing that falls.

I fell for you, and fall for you.
And each time, despite any estimated guesses or joint history,
Like the water,
I can’t know what awaits me over the edge.
Like the water,
I do so without doubt, knowing it’s the next stage of my river.

Like the water,
I drop with acceptance, but,
Being an entity of nature that does posess subjective feelings,
It is not a cold, indifferent acceptance.

It is acceptance with excitement, happiness and hope.

A fall of acceptance that produces colourful rainbows when the sun shines through it,
and instills a sense of gleeful anticipation for future falls.

Today we observe another major milestone on our not-so-Roman road,
Naturally, deserving of celebration by poetry;
Today, it’s finally our chance,
That we can start leaving used mugs on coasters in the lounge,
Worn socks strewn on the bedroom carpet we’ve not had for years,
And, enjoy debating who left the upstairs light on this time (probably me).

How else to mark this starting moment of an exciting future,
Than to look over our shoulders to see the transformations we have made;
To the rooms of darkness, now beaming with colors,
To a tileless kitchen, a lightless hallway, and whatever the hell the lounge used to be.

There’s more to do, but we’re here and we’re in.
Do you hear that Mr. Wolf?
We’ve built this house (metaphorically and literally),
with our blood, sweat and tears,
So we won’t be leaving, or letting you in,
Not by the hairs on our chinny chin chins!

Nursery rhyme plagiarism aside,
Let’s enjoy what we’ve made of our humble abode;
Cuddles by the TV, Dinner around the table,
Bathroom queues & sunday morning PJs,
Halloween Parties, Gaming days,
Rose bushes and silver birches.

So, Hi, Honey – we’re home!
And what better way to commemerate,
On this day we move into the house that was once black and blue,
Than to finally give what’s mine that is yours, back to you?

It is not easy,
Being busy bees.

Feeling like you are,
Low on time and energies.

Often, we will fly,
and it will not be,
despite all that we may try,
To the same flowers or trees.

And, it is okay,
Even on the days,
When we lose our way;
Tired from flying against the breeze.

Which is because,
Eventually we get back,
To share our hive of two,
And give each other a big squeeze.

You will always be my Queen,
I will always be your Lavender,
Even in spite of the fact,
That pollen makes me sneeze.

Hey, new job, who dis?
Gave my teacher, a goodbye kiss.
She said she’s goin’,
With no way of knowin’,
What was up next, for this former Miss.

Said it’s time for a change, pal,
And then became a city gal,
Needed the change badly,
Got herself a new Radley,
And a desk not far from the canals.

“Gotta call up some candidates,
To fill up roles at where they educates,
And might just cash in,
On some of that comish’in,
So as to put more Timmy’s, on ma plates.”

But it ain’t just the dollar,
For which to brum this gurl hollas,
Change and learning,
Is what for she’s yearning,
And all what else from a new job that foll’as.

Sure, her Mister gon’ miss her,
But only the best will he wish her,
‘Cause for the first time in a while,
She comes home with a smile,
And brings back happiness with her.

I keep getting half ideas, or complete ideas,
That I only get half way through writing.
But that does not mean I love you half as much,
And it certainly does not mean I’m not trying.

But let us not get lost in fractions, there is no sense to.
Because an encyclopedia of completed poems could still only ever really convey, a fraction of my love for you.

Yet, I get, that an unfinished poem is like a tree falling in the woods with no one around to hear it;
Or a letter lost to the post, you can not read it if you have not received it.

So here’s to the poems unfinished;

Like, the one about my enjoyment of our lazy days,
That I just can not yet seem to convey in the right ways.

Or, the one in which I explain how I know I’ll love you tomorrow,
Where the start was so complex, that nothing written after it felt fit to follow.

Would that they should eventually see the light of day, in the meantime accept this that forms a conduit of their sentiments;
A reminder that love for you is still written, even if not read, still thought, even if yet unsaid. The adoration you do not see, is what this one represents.

Hi Aimee,

This one has been written on the spot,
At a time when ‘us’, to you, feels a little bit lost.
It doesn’t matter if it is written because it was asked for,
That doesn’t make it any less real or heartfelt, of that I am sure.

So it feels like ‘us’ is on hiatus, on hold,
Left outside in the wintery wind and cold?
Well, I have some good news for ‘us’ that will always hold true,
Because the only two people who can let ‘us’ back in, are me and you.

And we both have a hand on the handle of the door,
So we just need to figure out how to open it once more.
That is, unsurprisingly, an Adam-ised analogous way to say,
That the ability to get ‘us’ back falls to us, come what may.

Which, always, fills me with confidence and hope,
Because our relationship has always been resilient and built to cope;
We always pull through, we always communicate and we always try,
And that tells me that ‘us’ is still there, albeit hiding away and we will find out why.

Stuff happens, and the candle flame of ‘us’ may flutter and flicker,
But to me, it never goes out entirely, and only ever comes back thicker.
So we will continue weathering the storms, that I truly know,
And I will continue to love you, try to show it and convey the undying infatuation I have for you – my Rainbow.

Merry Fifth Christmas together!
Merry Second Christmas at home!
Merry First Christmas married,
And Merry First Christmas with a [Redacted] of your own!

That’s right! Inside this box you will find,
Several individual things, that have all been combined.
Into what? You may wonder,
But not for much longer!

The only thing between your present and you,
Is this poem, in this card, that you are reading through,
So I will try not to, much further, delay,
But I really did want to say…

That I love you more than a child loves Santa,
I love your love, your humour and our chaotic banter.
I treasure your hugs, your smile and your forhead being just perfect for kisses,
I adore you completely and am incredibly lucky to have such an amazing Mrs.

So delve into this box, safe in the knowledge that you are thought about,
And retrieve that which both has room to improve but will be more than sufficient without,
Something to sit quietly beside you while you work in the day and play on cold winter nights,
And yes, you will be glad to know, that it does have it’s own colourful lights!

When it comes to my favourite topic – you – I am forever a learner.
And I should explicitly say that I mean that without any negative connotations – before I go any further.
I love it; We have been together for so long and I’m still finding new things out about you!
I have learned so much, that I could write so many poems, oof, you know I reckon I’d say at least thirty-two.

Stick me on Mastermind and tell them ‘Aimee Bates’ is my specialist subject.
I can tell them all about how you’ll tactically show your left hand after painting your nails, because the right hand is always slightly less perfect.
I can tell them your favourite cluster of stars in the night sky,
Or that you aren’t huge on climbing hills, but when it comes to helping other people, there is no mountain too high.

I can tell the world about the daily internal battle between the fierce feminist who don’t need no man,
And the privileged princess who needs a back rub, a cup of tea and someone to help her apply her fake tan.
Or that if you passively stroke or scratch her back as she lies in bed, you better be ready to hear, ‘Oh go on then…’,
And that while eating a single Jaffa cake is a complex process designed to maximise the savouring of the treat, left alone with a packet of Oreos, she will eat at least ten.

Do not forget the entire bespoke language of sighs, huffs and frowns, that to a trained eye, have clear translations;
Where one might mean ‘more back strokes please’, another means ‘um, excuse me, where is my kiss? I am running out of patience!’
Let the records know that morning tea compared to other teas, must be more milky,
Yellow clothes are a no-no and gravy, good heavens, does NOT go in a yorkie!

But the best part about it all, is the new things that crop up from time to time,
And the things I relearn and remember about you; those amazing things I love that you just might not have done for a while.
They make me smile,
And laugh,
Or just remind me that I have the best wife in the world by a country mile.
So thank you for letting me continue to study you,
It is undoubtedly one of my favourite things to do.

I want to do something for you,
That’s as far as I can get,
My brain is drained,
And my body aches,
And yet…

I still feel that urge to do,
To do whatever I can muster,
Even if it would never be enough,
Even if my mind finds thinking tough,
Even if, top to toe, I feel rough.

Even now, trying to summon a third verse,
I search fervently around an empty mental warehouse,
Empty but for the bright lights,
Empty but for the voice echoing on the speakers,
“Do something, anything, for her, tonight.”

And so I find a single cardboard box,
Containing merely more than a trace of an idea,
Grasp it tightly, for while it is meagre, it is mighty,
And I set about to write, wrongly or rightly,
A poem that expresses the feeling of lacking expression.

And in doing so the main point becomes clear,
Out of the fog like a lighthouse on the coast,
The root feeling that I feel the most,
Which I will foster and protect for all my days,
“I will give all I can, and try my best to make you happy, forever and always.”

So I can now go to sleep,
Safe in the knowledge that my efforts await you,
That my self-frustration is temporarily abated,
And my desire to do, to show, to convey, is, too, once more, sated.

Welcome; a Wonderous Slumber,
Regardless of crystal clear skies or rumble-ous thunder,
Let rain lash down, and the northern lights flicker,
from your sleep, they can not pull you asunder,
For through sleep does come wonder,
But what else, through sleep shall come – I wonder?

May it be German Forests or Floridian sunshine,
May it be Northumberland Castles, or Western Wales Coastlines,
Wherever you travel tonight, I hope I’ll be with you,
Sharing the delight, enjoying the views.

Whether it’s theatrical rollercoasters or rollercoaster theatre,
Whether it’s libraries and galleries, or Walsall arboretum,
Whatever to do, dream you does decide,
I hope dream me is right there by your side.

That’s the where and the what, so then when and with who?
To the future or past, who will travel with me and you?
And how many travels can we make in one night?
And which ones will you remember, come morning light?

All that is left; is the Wonderous why?
Why go to sleep, why close your eyes?
Well, who wouldn’t? Who could resist the lure of a journey through wonder?
Why not jump into it? What will you get up to, I wonder?
Let your blinks become numbered, cosy into the duvet you’re under,
And, welcome; a Wonderous Slumber.

Were you to walk the corridors of my mind,
You would see a labyrinth of hallways;
walls adorned with moving pictures of you and us,
Floors and floors of memories,
with more storeys of new stories being added all the time.

Were you to step inside the brain inside my head,
You could stroll for years down technicolor pavements,
You would pass trees of all shapes and sizes,
Each a testament to the unprecedented warmth and sunlight,
That, just by knowing you, you bring in to my life.

My wife.
How many feelings just those two words can inspire;
From pride, to love, to privilege, and desire;
Like just hearing them orchestrates a magnificent choir,
A choir of just you, being all that is needed to fly me higher.

There’s no conclusion to this, why would there be?
When it is meant to reflect my feelings for you and me,
Which have no conclusion, no end and no limit,
An endless sea of love with you smack bang in the middle of it.
I know nothing can ever come close or eclipse this,
Which is why, to steal from a greater poet, this one ends with an elipsis…

I hope you see deer on the hill,
You look every time we drive by,
Though you’ve seen them before,
You still look, and it makes me smile.

It makes me hope they’ll be there,
Just like the rainbows I look for whenever it rains;
Little things that brighten your day,
Like Wetherspoons’ Halloumi fries, or widing on twains.

I’m happy when I’m one of them;
The things that make you laugh and chuckle away,
Because hearing you do so,
Is one of the few things that always,
makes me feel like the world is okay.

I have so many hopes for you, I do,
But, really, they all amount to the same thing;
Happiness and contentment for now and forever;
Peace of mind, if not peace in what life may bring.

And while, these are just wishes yet to materialise,
I won’t be going anywhere, I’m here,
And when, these are just hopes, yet to be realized,
I won’t be going anywhere, I’m right here.

Six full years of us together,
And boy, have they been full!
From nervy dates to doting nuptials,
Only a pandemic could separate us,
But Even then, not for long,
Still though, it was too long.

Three One Two, weeks of us,
From sleeping with our pinkies interlocked,
To pinky promises in Newton Hall,
We’ve been across the Atlantic ocean,
And past the cliffs of Dover,
Yet our travels are not over,

We have built ourselves a home,
A family with room to spare,
We raised the very bestest dog,
Shared friends and family between us,
failed some celosias, despite plenty sun,
But we shall never be done.

What a privilege this has been,
To spend these years with you,
My best friend, and beautiful wife,
The only love of my life,
You’ve so much left to be,
That’s all hopefully shared with me.

Thank you and I love you,
I am contented yet can’t wait,
What awaits in our joint future?
We’ll find out, you and me.
Whatever it is, wherever we go,
It will be incredible fo’ sho’.

So, six verses of six lines,
Each line with exactly six words,
This is what I give you,
To celebrate years gone but loved,
And to welcome years to come;
Years loving you, not yet done.

Should I sit down, ponder you, and write a biography?
Could it ever surpass your’s and their’s and my years of recording and photography?
Would it ever even cast a shadow of a dot on the tip of a such a magnificent iceberg?
I doubt it.

With one so complex as to chase rainbows while being pulled to cemeteries,
So diverse in personality as to play both a distressed damsel and the most rebellious of revolutionaries,
And with self-conscious feet, one planted firmly in the realms of the metaphysical and the other in the worlds of science,
You would confound it.

Where to even start, retelling a life so packed and much of which I have only experienced indirectly from afar,
With you having suffered family that weren’t family through to finding friends that are,
And being a friend to so many yourself, all with their own stories of you to tell.
I could never compile it.

No encyclopedia would ever be big enough, no novel long enough,
There could be books and books written about the good stuff, and many books more on when your going has gotten tough,
It would be like printing out the entirety of Wikipedia, except infinitely more interesting and colourful,
I could never finish it.

How to convey the sheer, unabashed love, joy and sorrow enough for twenty lifetimes?
When there’s so much left undone, unseen and unlived; yet unwritten storylines,
Of a person who endeavours, always, to write their story themselves.
I daren’t attempt it.

Anything I would write would form no more than a footnote in your history,
And, the words would need to be accompanied by images to express a person so bright, bold and glittery,
Scratch that, in fact, no less than a grand, full-production, broadway-ready musical would even come close.
I could never compose it.

So I shan’t, though I am compelled to,
By the most wonderfully rich muse that is you,
Because I’d never write enough to do justice to your tale,
And in trying to capture a life so lustrous, I’d surely fail.
So I shan’t, though I am compelled to,
And I’ll surrender the pen so eager to write something new,
Having at least tried to translate that in my head into this to be read.
I shouldn’t, couldn’t, and wouldn’t write your biography, but I’ll write you this, instead.

Baby, you are…

The colour in my life.

Crazy enough to match my crazy.

The Ginny to my Potter.

The nerdy to my nerd.

Family to my family.

A friend to my friends.

A momma to my boy.

My partner in laughs.

My partner in love.

And just the cutest there could be.

…You are this and so much more. 
One I can’t help but to adore.

You complete me and my soul,
Make my heart and life feel whole,

And deserve more romance than for which I could be a giver,
But I hope this gives you something, just a little romantic sliver,

To show you are my conquest, my sunrise and my rainbows,
The stars that brighten my night, and the light that drowns the shadows.

I love you.

This poem takes place at the tail end of the alphabet;
A point at which so much has already been said and, yet, 
There’s still more to go, no less important than those letters that preceded this set. 

And it’s written because I,
Like, reluctantly, me,
Reluctantly resolving an algebraic formula in year 8 maths, 
Yes, Me, like I,
Have found the reason for ‘y’.

I could show my working out, and you’d think the math was a little askew,
But I know that the value of this ‘y’ is ‘u’.
And it is because ‘u’, like we,
Fill my life with so much meaning, value and a undeniable tendency,
Towards happiness, worth and love, tremendously,
Expectantly, effectively, exponentially,
Such that we, like ‘u’, 
Has become a living, breathing part of ‘I’, or me, 
Whether that’s exploring foreign places or sitting watching ‘TV’. 

Your smile is a ‘QR’ code leading straight to warm feelings, whenever I scan it, 
As if it leads directly to WWW.your-fairytale-ending.co.uk, which only has one page;
A picture of your face, 
Or a tree mimicking picture from some random place, 
Or a candid shot of you wearing a long ivory dress adorned with fancy ivory lace, 
It changes day to day, place to place, 
But the point stays the same, it always remains:

U R my Y.

The first thing I think of when I think about plants is Celosias,
That might be a daft admission to start one of these,
But it’s that, not how communication signals are sent through the roots of trees,
Or how dandelion seeds can travel 500 miles on the breeze,
I think about Celosias, because they make me think of us. 

And it’s not just plants; when I think of marine animals I think of whalesharks, 
And how, to you, they’re the coolest thing under the water, 
Or how you light up swimming around in Endless Ocean or Subnautica, 
And maybe, yes, a lot of the time I think about the orcas, 
But, that’s only because you made the memory of telling that story. 

When I hear music and singing; I listen out for the harmonies, 
I make a point of mentally recognising what is a ‘run’, 
When, before you, that was just something olympians do after the starting gun,
And thinking about whether this song is one I could add to the covers for you I do and have done,
And I am always surrounded by music, meaning I’m always surrounded by you.

I could go on, but the point I’m making is hopefully now enough clear,
Whatever I think of, if it’s not first you, then you are relatedly near,
If I am Adam plus an Aimee, then so too are all of my thoughts,
Everything I see, think and do is Aimee-adjacent; and filtered through sunglass-tinted rose quartz.

Who doesn’t love a good list?
I know that I certainly love our ones.
I love them as they are now,
And more with each addition.

We’ve got lists of things we’ve done,
Places we’ve been, things we have seen,
And they’re growing all the time;
With each day, comes a new expedition.

It’s become somewhat addictive almost,
I find myself wanting to make our lists longer,
But not for the sake of a longer list,
Rather because each bullet point ties us together more tightly.

And sharing anything, everything, with you,
I have found to be akin to amplification;
That being the betterment of a meal shared,
A view cherished together, or accents copied wrongly or rightly.

Some of our lists may be documented,
Others only exist somewhere in our minds,
Though of which the latter I do not envy;
Finding space for new memories, gets harder each day.

Yet, that’s a fine problem to have, and one I wish not to solve,
As I find myself grateful for the length of our lists already,
And you find that the list of poems devoted to you, 
Has grown by one more today.

Little mouse, my little mouse,
You occupy my house,
You occupy my heart,
My life, joy, sorrow and strife.

You brighten my day,
Most when you are squeaking away,
I’ve love for all manner of noises,
Your song, laugh, jokes short and rants long.

You nuzzle and you cuddle,
You sometimes struggle with tea air bubbles,
I’m always glad when you’re you,
I’m grateful, lucky, and in awe of an angel.

If not a mouse then a beauty,
A soulmate, a best friend, a cutie,
You are the rest of my life,
My focus, with love, Your Diplodocus.