Peter Lilly: Poems

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart  I had the pleasure of featuring on the beautiful Christmas Special of the wonderful poetry podcast Eat the Storms , Christmas special.  In this special episode I read three poems about Christmas of decreasing silliness: "The Shepherd's #Christmas", "A Christmas Carol" and "Christmas Day". The second two appear in my 2nd collection " A Handful of Prayers ", and the 3rd was originally published on Ekstasis. You can listen to me, and the other wonderful readers here: This was the third time I had the pleasure of appearing on the podcast. All poetry fans are indebted to  Damien B. Donnelly  for his hard work, passion and faithfulness in producing it.

You took on flesh, True flesh and grew With the same astonishing  Life-long quickness  Of my one-year-old son. You had a first birthday,  Finding your feet, The Word, imitating language With sighs and groans, The Word of Life, so deep within, So clear and true, In unadulterated expression Of a conviction beyond Language. On the 28th of December my son, Gabriel, will have his first birthday. The year has been indescribable. Yet throughout all the challenges, just revelling in the privilege of being with our little boy as he grows has brought such sheer joy. At this time of year I'm obviously thinking about the incarnation. But rather than Jesus' birth, I'm thinking of him at the same stage of life as our little boy, as a one-year-old. Gabriel has been walking for a couple of months now, and often makes long convicted speeches in sounds that no one else understands, waving his hands like he's teaching some essential truth to a captiv...

peterlillypoetry · Displaced redemption There was a world, displaced from its axis by repeated tragedies of its own making, as the inhabitants attempt to grasp the credit for it's own creating. An entire macrocosm misaligned by embezzling clutches and throning lusts. Who's history is marked by a needless taking, and just in case, a pious faking to appease a possible divinity as either a patsy or a machine. There was a world, decomposing in it's own folly. Spinning itself dizzy flailing after impervious redemption. And inside that world there was a people displaced from its milk and honey by a ruling superpower. As the globalising tar of Rome spread to paint the Empire one culture, this people had been waiting. Listening in silence for the reason of their plight, Waiting for the sword of a rallying leader to severe their shackles, and the throats of the chain-bearers, alike. Waiting with the same attitude ...

Man. Vulnerable, dependant. Suckling, giggling, crying . Universal significance profoundly juvenile. God. God.  Immovable, sustainer. giggling, crying, accommodating . immeasurably deepening love's definition. Man. A poem made up of two quintain structures reflecting on God's self-accomodation in the incarnation. Written 20/12/12.

There's a clamour in your veins hoping for some warmth. Crisp futures thaw slowly and collage the pavement with decaying autumn. There's a clamour in your veins and your blood is sedated. The frost-bite doesn't bother you when you're nodding through festive freeze, unaware of your own shivering. There's a clamour in your veins and it soothes you from conscious fears. Childhood promises are all cooked up from poppies and when you're permeated with gear it feels like Christmas. There's a clamour in your veins; track-marks leading from pinpricks to amputation. The pain of withdrawal would bring the beauty of future but you're perforated by these fairy lights that suck significance from nature. So you choose this clamour in your veins; your own consumption, and you'll defrost from this winter still bitter, but without the means to taste it. Written December 2012.