James Lilley, 34, father of three. By day an engineer by night a bare knuckle fighter and poet. Currently studying Creative Writing have had work featured in Versification, Black Bough Poetry, The Daily Drunk, Fevers of the Mind Poetry, Spill Words and Splintered Disorder press.  

Body

When they moved the body

for the fourth time

the ground was frozen

shovels couldn’t break the soil

the stench got worse each time

and worms had found a home.

Not burying deep enough was a mistake

getting lost in the woods

with no flashlights

should have been avoided

a dog walker found them an hour later

but had found the body first greeted by flashing blues

Contender

Tonight’s not your night kid

Resonated in my head

as I made the walk

through crowd

faceless merciless horde

they wanted a show

promoter wanted a sure thing

hitting sky blue canvas

blood staining

corner urging

stay down

This ain’t your night

Didn’t even try

took the money

crying into my coach’s arms

I could have been a contender

Stash House

A pattering outside

Sounds like heavy rain on the windows

Maybe its fireworks

but its March 3rd

Cloud of blue smoke

Chevrolet speeds off

They were meant to hit a stash house,

Stench of gunpowder

singes nostril hair,

Family of four got caught instead

house full of holes

When they pulled the bodies out

People collapsed in the street

Screaming to the Gods

They’d opened up with a mac 10

Caught a guy

he proclaimed sorry

into news camera

Not sure what to make of it all.