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.
