GARY BILLS was born at Wordsley, near Stourbridge, UK. He gained his MA in Creative Writing at Birmingham City University, with a distinction. He has been nominated three times for a Pushcart Prize, and he has three full collections to his name. His work has been translated into German, Romanian and Italian. 

Black Sea

Those dead ships in abysmal sleep

where time and shipworm cannot bite

and even snows of flesh and slime

which elsewhere ghost it down from light 

can never reach this other deep

where oil-less lamps on Punic prows

are waiting for the taper’s touch,

though all the crews are sift by now

or swimming in the eyeless mind.

But when Man’s dreams are kindled bright

the fish is startled in its flight,

to glimpse the ports he left behind.

Moments at an English Church

Time preserves its monuments of quiet –

the marble baby, wailing from her crib

in perfect silence – rumpling up her face

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And pudgy cherubs flutter round a name

with virgin crants for James, who died a teen,

white ribbons for his purity and grace.  

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A bishop waves his devils’ book and frowns –

(his bald head’s like a marble on a ruff…)

but after all, this was his solemn place.

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Outside the seeds are spinning from the limes –

past saints who float in frames of staining glass,

presenting shells and swords and martyrs’ crowns.

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The church clock with its oil of resurrection

turns the cogs to keep the dead alert,

slowly, slowly building to the chimes.