Peter Lilly: Poems

  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.

Spacial awareness   let us down again, and shattered  another urn, spilling that morbid sand. In the irritation  of  vacuuming respectfully    we give a moment of meaning  back to sooty remains.  Referendums pass the time.  They draw out experts who,  with shouts and keystrokes,  fling the spittle of their opinion.  Elections pass the buck.  With their signs and slogans  they draw out the masses  to choose between arsenic and anthrax.  The French call their ballot box an urn.  It is where we cast  the ashes of our expired ideals,  to be scattered amongst  the winning or loosing percentage,  as the fate of the nation  teeters on the whims   of  fickle voters and loyal tabloid readers.  All the projected outcomes  are varied shades of ash,  and a different decor  of the receptacl...

He says he chased her away so now he falls asleep on trains. He says he chased her out when he started drowning her voice with whisky he can no longer afford. So he drinks cheep cider and falls asleep on trains. He says he chased her out with his money making schemes, and his time inside was too long for her to wait. So he clouds his memory with heavy liquid and falls asleep on trains. He says he chased her out with all the responsibilities he pushed to her side of the bed, and when he was released she didn't try to hide her impatient infidelity. He ignored it with liquor, yet no bottles were smashed until the last time she slammed that door. Now he wants to stay nauseous and he falls asleep on trains. He says he chased her out and she left. That empty crib and shelves full of gifts and photos were too much not to burn. He hates the drink but he loves the way it's killing him, even so, part of him still does not w...