Peter Lilly: Poems

Confinement, A melting pot reaching boiling point. Neighbour's needs clash,  Irritations become sparks. Tiny kingdoms close in on their kings, Yet tiny kindnesses shatter walls. Cold weather confines further And our neighbours rattle inside their shells As our boy bounces off the walls Of our little world, Where the music is constant And his breathing always  Sets the tempo of our hearts And the rhythm of our sleep. This little poem was written the 24th and 25th of March, 8 and 9 nine days into the lock-down here in France.  We're doing well, trying to keep creative as keeping our little boy entertained takes up most of our time. Things can get a little tense between neighbours in all this. We've had to encourage our nocturnal neighbours into a healthier rhythm as they kept waking Gabriel. Please be considerate and patient with each other, especially if you live in a flat.  And while your locked in, get to know the poetry of Micheal

Πνεῦμα  (Pneuma) I hear you in the near silent sleep of Gabriel The great proclaimer of good news, Resting in infancy. You whisper through his tiny nostrils Nourishing the matrix of his budding cells With so much more than bread. I hear you in autumn’s rustling mural Fluttering flaming flakes before the blue With a cogency unseen. You whistle past our window cills Piercing through our self-made hells For which the incarnate bled. I hear you sing beneath the sensorial   The tone beneath the chord, within the myth the true, A resounding symphony That echoes between hearts and hills, That melodies in the deepest living well; The source from which all souls are fed. This poem is inspired by the reflections of Owen Barfield, often called the ‘First and Last Inkling,’ who, in his book ‘Poetic Diction’, reflects on the evolution of language. The Greek work ‘pneuma’ can accurately be translated as ‘breath', 'wind' or &

Photo by Silje Lilly At Sea We are all at sea. The horizon is fluid, It’s mountains are   Ever changing. Squalls bring tomorrow   into now. We intertwine our limbs Into the rigging And hope the waves   Don’t tear us at the seams, As the celestial force of time Crashes over our bows And threatens our creaky hull With a premature eternity   We are all at sea. Planning our routes by Liquid landmarks. A drift in a stillness That stretches today   Into starvation. We sink our teeth   Into the decks And hope for waves To vibrate in our gums, Our souls thirst for wind To catch our sails and move us   From an eternal moment Into change. James 4:13-16 This poem about uncertainty, about unexpected change that can disturb our plans, and about a muting of hoped for change, seems to be appropriate during the current crisis. In our modern times, especially in developed countries, our routines and plans can seem so firm