Peter Lilly: Poems

Escalation It twists against itself— the spring-loaded serpent pushing the bullet from the cartridge into the chamber. Wound in metal— a charged agenda unites just enough to divide, consolidates power by tightening on targets, for all can be molded into success when you shape the narrative. But there is also a natural spiral of escalating resistance— when you extinguish a poet some protesters might carry the alleged 9mm, when you terminate a nurse the fuse has almost burnt out, and ice will meet the people’s fire, having doused the streets with the accelerant of death.

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.

  For the first day of Advent, I'm posting this reading of my poem Christmas Hit, from my first collection "An Array of Vapour".  If you're in the UK and want to let your local charity know about someone rough sleeping, you can make a report through streetlink. If you want to know to support people struggling with their housing a Shelter is a good place to start. New Hope is the wonderful charity I worked for in Watford UK. If you're not in the UK, it shouldn't be too difficult to find the charities and associations who support vulnerable people in your area.  "An Array of Vapour" is available to purchase here.

Celebrate Blake Friday by exercising the Divine Arts of the Imagination:  Here's a reading of my poem "Personality" from my second collection "A Handful of prayers".

  I'm really pleased to announce to announce that one of my poems ' Edge ' Has been featured on episode 1 of the brand new Podcast, Dead Letter Radio .  Update: I’m happy to announce that another of my poems  ‘At Sea ’   has been featured on  episode 7 of Dead Letter Radio. This podcast is a passion project by someone who loves poetry and creative writing and has a desire to discover writing by new writers and help make their work available to a wider audience. It's a wonderful project as the host really understands the feelings of vulnerability in submitting work, and therefore wants to keep the podcast open to anonymous submission. When we were talking about the first episode they said to me 'For me, writing has always felt so personal, to have someone read it is as if I'm being stripped bare... The idea of this podcast came around originally for those like me... who maybe not quite ready to put their name out there... The idea began to grow. To me, it looks l...

Your hair is blonde it reflects In green flecks, the grass As the water does the sky. At the end of the damp sand And the water of dusty clouds You talk to the ripples and the bubbles Dropping shells in the lapping. You talk the same language of expression For this is the calm constancy of l'étang Not the constant change of crashing waves. Beneath a sunset that marks us With a strong desire to remain I see it reflected in the turquoise of you eyes, a minute flame. In the water, the sun's bridal dress  Drapes an enormous fiery train And proudly L'étang de l'Or  Bares its burnished name. L'étang de l'Or, probably best translated as 'The Golden Marsh', is a large marshy lake between Mauguio and the Mediterranean Sea. This week I walked there with my son and we played at the waters edge before watching the sunset.

The Spirit of The Lord was upon him To bring the good news to the poor, Humbly he took on the servants burden To lift our broken flesh from the floor. God and flesh without a contradiction Holy Spirit heal this divide, Let us live out the incarnation To be the body where Christ does reside. Transform our hearts, Transform our hands, To transform. The Spirit of The Lord was upon him To set all the captives free, He followed a life of love to its conclusion When hatred nailed him firmly to a tree. God and suffering without a contradiction Holy Spirit comfort while we hide, Help us to take on the crucifixion To be the body where Christ does reside. Transform our hearts, Transform our hands, To transform. The Spirit of the sovereign was upon him To declare the favour of The Lord, He shattered every paradigm we made for him When with utter life he over came the sword. Deathless life without a contradiction Holy Spirit rouse these dry bones, Help us to live lives of resurrection To be be the...

  In perfect poems, He honours the forgotten And shines his light on Whispered honour. His broken fingers pick out a pretty world And the pain is beauty, Within and inseparable. How painful, and how beautiful are these day. My very soul is sweetly undone Before the dispersed family  Of his songs. I wrote this poem on September 3rd 2020 While listening to the album 'Pretty World' by Sam Baker. The lines 'broken fingers', 'pretty world' and 'sweetly undone' found in the poem are all track titles, and the line 'how beautiful are these days' is written on the inside cover of the album. My brother (and guitarist of The Sewer Cats ) bought me this album for Christmas ten or eleven years ago. Since then I've listened to it, and Sam Bakers other albums, innumerable times. Sam Baker is a unique and breathtaking artist for so many reasons. His songs demonstrate a rare depth of understanding for the human condition and uncover a beauty in places or peop...

I’m really pleased to announce that 3 of my poems have been published in the brilliant and very popular online journal ‘Across the Margin.’ ‘Across the Margin’ publish art, poetry, fiction, essays, political pieces, and they also have a great podcast. It’s an important journal not shying away from contentious issues but adding to discussions with well thought out pieces, good humour and, above all, a love of great writing. Check out the diverse journal here. I'm very humbled to have my poetry included alongside some outstanding and very important writers. For example, only a week before I was there featured poet, they published three heartfelt poems by Philip Shabazz whose work incredibly moving and challenging. Check them out here. My three poems although written in different contexts are linked by how they engage with the motion of time, and invite you to intimately apprehend its uneven passage. ‘Legacy’ which was inspired by the books on my parent’s bookshelves and the stories...

I am very proud to announce that my poem 'Home' has been published In the June 2020 Issue of Beyond Words Literary Magazine .  Beyond Words is an international online journal of contemporary creative writing, photography and art. The edition is jammed full of beautiful art and photography, and deeply inspiring creative writing.  Click here to purchase access to a digital copy. To order print copies click here and scroll to the bottom of the home page. My poem 'Home' is inspired by both my experiences working with the homeless and recently moving homes. I try to explore the nuances of the meanings of the word home, which is more than a physical place (a house, flat, tent etc.) but, at the same time, is very importantly such a physical place. We can romantically say to our partner 'you're my home!' with a certain poetic truth, but it is an insufficient concept of home. We need a place in which we are home. I can't be my wife's home if we ...

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 ro...

The following poem is a response to the experience of listening to this episode of the New Yorker Poetry Podcast, while Silje was 8 months pregnant. The episode features Tracy K. Smith reading a beautiful and raw poem by Kevin Young called 'Crowning', then a wonderfully enveloping poem of hers called 'Alternative Take: Levon Helm'. I love both of these poets, and both of these poems have become particularly special to me.  Levon Helm, 1976. Smith's poem is inspired by the voice and rhythms of Levon Helm, someone who has been a big inspiration to me since, as a young teenager  in my best mates conservatory,  I first watched The Last Waltz. However, it was Kevin Young's poem of a loving father and husband's experience of childbirth, that brought me to tears the morning of the 22nd of November 2018, as I walked to work.   It was one month before Gabriel's due date. Throughout the pregnancy we had already experienced so many trials, growing ...

Her fingers press the keys With skilful muscle memory Of adolescent compositions. But now, her fingers are clothed In the jewels of promise And the band of union. Her fingers press the keys With skilful memory. A would be forgotten melody Is slowly remembered, Quickly played. But her fingers have changed. They have reassembled the shards of me, They have studied my skin, They are now clothed With the jewels of our promises, And the engraved band Of our union. I wrote this poem in 2014 for my wife Silje soon after we were married as she played something she’d written years before. I was watching her, and struck by the simple image of her playing a piece she’d written with fingers that are now clothed with our wedding and engagement rings.  When it snowed in Montpellier in February 2018 she was playing Prelude in C Major by J.S Bach. I thought the image of her playing with the snow outside would go well with this poem, so I recor...