Author: Richard J Tilley

  • Untitled: “battle of fish”

    I heard a voice say “a battle of fish” “It is worth writing about.” “Why don’t you see it?” And it does bring to mind a certain image a battle...

    By Poetry

  • Gravé Future’s Light

    The primitive future is not that without innovation it is that with continued worship of currency like dog-fishing murals and poetic dispersals of cake-laced fares, stern in the orgy of...

    By Poetry

  • Neither Shadows nor Teaching

    Goats on the Dikti dawn fabricating the horizon for the resemblance of shadows Katharo lawyers, stealing a glimpse of mutual dissatisfaction, for hurricane elbows and the delightful play of evening...

    By Poetry

  • To Future Generations

    Hello. It is very nice that you study my poetry. I hope you are enjoying university. It must be nice to be debt-free. It must be nice to have never...

    By Poetry

  • Mastic Resin on Closed Nights

    Perennial discussions, sold all along the atrabilious hymns of brother’s burnt pipes and closed solanaceous temper The botany of rapid reprisals found only in the solicitude of labors, foraged and...

    By Poetry

  • Humming Birdsongs in the Blight of Afterlife

    In tempo – tempers flared, flagrant and masked Statuary halls like bells of evening laughter The children are empty, no songs, no presents The parents are dull whips, wispy after-fire...

    By Poetry

  • The theft of broken windows

    There are moments that dare not cross the river like the theft of broken windows, heated to a boil the smoke detector betrays your covert confidence like a smile made...

    By Poetry

  • Soul in Orbital Decay

    War loans and stock in carabineer Stethoscopes, like blue Mondays in the settling fall afternoon, too much in totality to pardon the whisper too much in gravitational distress to spare...

    By Poetry

  • Smoking Drafting Yard

    I. A matter of frank time for noble clefs and pitches to fall under the leader A song of the matchless sober endorsements for parental appraisal the goats between sheets...

    By Poetry

  • Forgotten Labors

    Communal dispersal and winds like ashtrays gas in the air, in our veins forcing us to spread apart so that they might break through our lines There was a moment...

    By Poetry