My Writings: My Poetry About Richey

February 1, 2002 (Seven Years On)

What an odd thing -
it's been seven years now
since you went away.
It seems as though
you were just here with us
enriching our little lives.

What a sad thing -
it's been seven years now
since you went away.
How many more
of these anniversaries
will we have to endure?

(Written - February 2002)

[This is about all the attention I got for this site in early 2002.]

The Predator

There's my name,
in that magazine!
That's my work,
on that website page!
It's my site,
the BBC linked to!

I love the fame, the glory
I'm all over the place -
This is my 15 minutes!

But I feel so alive
because others
are so in pain.

(Written - January 2002)

Yes, I Saw Him

Yes, I saw him on the cover
of the magazine I was reading.
He had just come out of hospital
after that breakdown he had.
I thought that was very sad.

Yes, I saw him early one morning
in the lobby of the hotel.
He had checked out of his room
but I couldn't see any bags.
I thought that was rather odd.

Yes, I saw him on the news
on television a few weeks later.
The reporter said he had just
vanished into thin air.
I don't know what to think now.

(Written - February 2001)

Five Years On

My calendar tells me it's been
five years since you left.
It doesn't begin to feel like
that can be possible.

Sometimes I wish that time had not
moved on and that it was still '95.
I'm afraid people will think I'm mad
for hanging on to your memory this long.

I spend hours of my life trying
to figure where you might be.
Every piece of info I can get
is read and analysed for clues.

I console myself with the songs
your friends wrote about you.
And hope that next year my calendar
won't tell me it's six years on.

(Written - January 2000)

[This is about the season I call the "Richey Days", which starts on 14 January and ends on 17 February. (Note - this poem is NOT intended to be taken entirely seriously! I wrote it as a mockery of the "cult of Richey", which I do not consider myself to ever have been a part of.)]

Richey Days

This is the time of year
I call the Richey Days.
From mid-January
to mid-February.
The time to remember him
and wonder where he's gone.
And if he's coming back.

This is the time of year
to copy Richey's ways.
From heavy eyeliner
to potatoes and grapes.
The time to cut yourself up
and burn your arm with fags.
And drink too much vodka.

I wonder if anyone will
be staying in room 516
of the London Embassy -
like he did before he left us.

I wonder if anyone will
be keeping watch outside his flat
at Anson Court in Cardiff -
as if he might be going home.

This is the time of year
I call the Richey Days.
From mid-January
to mid-February.
The time to think why he went
and wonder where he is.
And pray that he's okay.

(Written - January 2000)

[Please forgive me for sounding so much like a "cult of Richey" member in the following poem. I wasn't doing very well back then. I've been much better since 1996.]

Richey's Birthday

today should be your birthday
twenty-eight years of life on earth
unless it all ended months ago.

was the last thing you saw
a cold river
the last thing you did -
to jump in?

you were supposed to be the person
who would cut and bleed himself
to relieve my misery.

you left me behind
to do it for myself
you left us all behind
to remember you today.

(Written - December 1995)

[This is about my trips to Blackwood. Not specifically about Richey, but close enough.]

A Manic Street Preacher Fan Visits Blackwood, Wales

You can get there on the number twenty-six
bus from Cardiff.
You pass Caerphilli and it's castle
along the route.
You can see the Welsh mountains
from the motorway.
You finally stop at the little station
above the town.

I went to that rather unknown
spot on the earth.
I once ate a burger with Welsh cheese
at the Dorothy Cafe.
I looked in the High Street shops
and bought the Argus.
I haven't the nerve enough to find
the Edwards' salon.

There's not much in that tiny village
for a visitor.
There's not even a lot for the people
who live there.
There's not much reason for anyone
to know of it.
There's only the fact that this is where
the band is from.

(Written - April 1999)


Copyright © 1995, 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002 Vivian Campbell. All rights reserved.

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