Posted by: tsopr | January 29, 2011

Micah Jonathan Lilley, American Poet

Micah Jonathan Lilley is an 18 year old male, and has been writing poetry consistently for two years. He has found that it is the best way for him to express himself and those complicated thoughts and feelings that we all find impossible to explain in regular prose or speech. He is currently unemployed, laid off due to downsizing at the elderly home in which he was employed. He decided to take the winter college term off to refocus his efforts and do some soul searching as far as what he wants the rest of his life to look like. He has recently found himself stuck in between what people tell him he “should” do, and what he believes he really should do. He hopes that establishes context as far as where his poems come from. His dream in life is to be a screenwriter—a dream that his family and friends laugh at. To which he says, don’t laugh at people’s dreams; those without dreams don’t have much. He finds himself living on the faint promise of dreams…it’s what really keeps him going. To learn more of Micah, click his image. 

                          Featured Poetry of Micah Jonathan Lilley

Paint

I watched 

From the comfort of my porch,
Whose chipped paint
Curled upwards 

Separating in frayed ends

Like small arms reaching 

For the sky.

To reach for a sky
Where days such as these
Pull the paint entirely

Apart.

Reveals tiny bows of wood, 

Splinters.

It is days such as these, 

Where no needless war
Goes unfought, 

And good deeds are smothered, 

Buried beneath anxiety.
It is days such as these,

That paint reaches for the sky

To be pulled apart entirely, 

To reveal splintered wood.

Simplicity

Snow angels,
Flying upon the snow,
Our arms wave together.
Pushed to the side,
Snow
So bright,
Like vivid memories
Cast from our bodies.
Perfect,
Because wrong doesn’t exist
In a world of snow.
An angel
Is an angel.
The sun sets,
Casting a shadowed outline
Amidst a soft pink glow,
The color of our cheeks.
Simplicity.
Easy as going inside,
For a cup of cocoa.

The Day After November

Still too early.
Too early to tell.
But always dips down,
On the back of a whisper.
The whisper
Of the last thirty days.
And lingers
Like Winter and Spring fog,
Puddles of water in the Fall,
Warm concrete in the summer.

Stays and speaks,
In tongues of what was,
What is,
What will be.

Such a whisper,
Whispered to me,
By the falling of leaves,
From the branch of a tree.

Skipping Stones

I was skipping
Stones across the water.
Rippled,
Staccato,
Waves spread perfectly,
Like the days of life.

Impact.
A gasping beginning of life,
Given to the water,
At the simple clap
Of smooth stone.

Clap.
Clap.
Clap.

Spread each as wide
As my life.
Joined in a chain,
Of myself,
And those from and after me.

I was skipping stones,
Across the water.
I closed my eyes
And saw my life,
In every impact
Ripple
Space in between.

I opened my eyes,
And saw God,
Skipping stones across the water.

Run

Stop.
Think.
Stop thinking.

What,
Where is it?
Have you lost,
Something?
Is it even yours?

Like hot coals.
I cannot
Cannot
Close my hand.

Open
Let it go.
Nothing
Nothing.

There is nothing for me here.

Entertaining Angels

In the lone shadow
Of my living room,
I sit next to you.
Light from the glass TV. screen
Casts blotted shapes
On the floor.

Will you remember me?
Will the memory of this night die?
It does not matter.
It matters not to you,
But to me.
It matters to me,
In the company
Of the divinely blessed,
I am entertaining angels.

Looking Down on Humanity

You have speckled my eyes,
Black and gold.
A billion freckles of light
Reflect the night sky
Upon the gloss of my eyes.

There is a weight,
A luring hook,
Birthed in our hearts,
So long ago.

Look up,
Look.
Undeniable
Inescapable
Open, Open, Open.
Open,
And if you are looking,
You will feel it.
Trust in the feeling.

So I say to you:
The moon and the stars,
They show me who you are,
A light in the dark,
A broken heart,
Scattered tears across the sky,
Tells of heaven and earth.

And to you:
Open, open,
Open.

A Whisper

Its here,
I can feel it,
I can’t touch
See
Grab it.
A gentle whisper
A whisper.

It is in the sidewalks,
The stained concrete flooding
And overflowing with it.
It had to be uttered in disbelief.
Be careful,
Be wary,
It is a gentle whisper
A whisper.

It shies away from the sun
Hiding in the shadows of the moon.
It is thrown in the air
With reverence.
It grabbed a hold of your arm,
And gently whispered
A whisper.

It is in every heart
Pumping quietly like blood.
Come closer
Closer.
Lose mind and all soul in its constant tug.
Pulls.
What is it?
Jehovah,
Gently whispered
A whisper
To mankind.

Copyright © 2011 Micah Jonathan Lilley

Advertisements

Responses

  1. […] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Another Poet, Ernesto P. Santiago. Ernesto P. Santiago said: Micah Jonathan Lilley, American Poet: http://wp.me/p8Oge-kO […]


Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Categories

%d bloggers like this: