Peter Lilly: Poems

The silent congregation of decimated graves surround an ancient building that remains unweathered though emptied of purpose, like a drained chalice; interesting to look at, yet merely a container without contents. But it is ok, don't weep for the building, there's people outside this church yard. Written 13th July 2012. 

Tell me. What thoughts are these? Endless circles like your footprints through this town. A philosophy of dots has strung you out and convinced you of your own profundity, because one or other of them touch on truth that is irrefutable. Your intonation speaks confident riddles but your sentences are missing words, so no one tries to argue against your incomplete scraps of thought claiming to be certainty too soon. Yet in your rambles you speak more sense than money lovers and materialists and the Christmas shoppers who only ask real questions when the stress of pointless gain has almost killed them, you speak more sense than the normal in your mumbled chatter from alcohol breath and tired homeless mind. Though like the normal you have your indulgences, you have your compromise and you cannot live up to your own principles and you know it, and, above all, you need the gospel. Written in December 2011 after long philosophical...

'...We have done wrong, been treacherous, despite Your promises that endure beyond human memory and the memory of our books we have turned and turned: repelled by truth and pursuing degradation, we have shed our identity like unwanted skin and left our sinews exposed to be pierced by the sharp edges of our own broken choices. But You are, and have been, and will always be faithful to your promises... this exile, this physical dislocation, is a demonstration of your truth and your love and your staunch commitment for we put ourselves here, and nothing happens that you have not ordained but we chose the curses and we chose exile and we still have not faced you in the honesty of our filthy garments, To be transparent, and stripped of all we are better off without...' On Sunday 8th July I preached on Daniel 9:1-19. I wrote this as I was preparing. The poem focusses on the confession of Daniels prayer verses 5-14.

Agony doesn't talk, it shivers. It tries to blink away expression in wallpaper cliches. It is the bloodshot eyes beneath. Agony maligns teeth in tension. It thinks in spirals of acute intentions in the deliberate delirium of endless cause and effect. Written on the  9th of  June 2012. Written in response to a specific circumstance but my reading of the poem has expanded since, so I deleted the explanation.

http://soundcloud.com/peterlillypoetry/live-out-this-dream Drifting off to sleep  The templates of my dreams Are etched onto the insides of my eyelids, All silhouettes and whispers It wants to be more. Open my eyes to  Watch smoke rise and dissipate Diluted in air, and disappear Under the clouds of day, They're so far from here. If the best day  Is described as a dream Why do we spend so long awake In the limbo between the tangible reality of rest? Monotonous. I said that sleep is there To fuel the living, You said the day is there To inspire the dreams; When you feel most alive. Detached from your superfluous body. A perspective of daybreak Keeps me from slumber For to fear the light  Is not to choose a different reality But it is to choose unreality And unimportance. The ripples of the impact of animated sloth Stop at the edges of the bed And no one closes their eyes to think ‘right, its time...

I've asked for the joy so many times, But it's only gone when the spirit is unwilling and I exit salvation to my own shame, and pain. What is this indulgence in degradation? Why must I not delight in the fruits of cleanliness, honest study of truth and its symbiotic counterpart; love, from which it will not be prised? So for the sake of the joy of walking in salvific truth and with the endless reserves of the love with which I was bought and freed, grant in me a willing and generous spirit that my steps may bring you joy. A poetic reflection on Psalm 51:12 written 30/05/12. Please listen to my spoken word and musical interpretation:  (also please excuse the poor timing on the guitars at points)

What morbid confusion! The sorrow of life's ambition: executed. The hopelessness of purpose: crucified... with even the resolve of a grave: taken away. Nothing to do now, but kick stones on dusty paths and wander... How can you not know the tragedy of innocent death, how are you not grieving for this diseased world has killed truth, and we are but dismembered limbs. ... No! You are staring at hope through hopeless eyes, WHEN WILL YOU SEE? He HAD to choose to endure and not be spared the bitterness of every dying breath, he HAD to choose the un-walkable route paving it with his blood, illuminating it with his enduring life. He alone provides a hope that is more final than death. ... And with this fire within us evaporating the vast waters of bitter loss There is nothing to do but tell others, rejoice with our brothers and follow the path that he laid, for all else is meaningless, and a chasing after the wind. What candescent joy! In th...