White Whale Review: An Online Literary Magazine Untitled Document
Greg Billingham is a recent graduate of the University of New Hampshire with a bachelor’s degree in English literature. He is currently living, working, and writing in New Hampshire. Previous or forthcoming publishing credits include Aegis, Tonopah Review, Emprise Review, and Flutter Poetry Journal.
From the Current Issue
Subscribe to RSS     Share

Greg Billingham



She arrives unannounced

with darkness

leaking out of her

becoming homeless, now,



Silver where the sky

is cut in two

below the stars

in that place where the forest

meets the front side

of evening.


To remember is

to hold sand

sifting through my fingers.


In the dark we learn what is

not our own.

Greg Billingham



Your colors do not wonder

the way space

destroys itself with a confusion of birds

trailing their painted white wings

on the roads that connect

a loose atlas of the stars.


             the lines of her face towards the sun

are crazed and begging,

stunned with sleep,

exploding with space

...and falling down


like the sky into the sky

in the disentangling spring- there is

    something I have longed to know

having slept

beneath the rain




Copyright © Greg Billingham. White Whale Review, issue 1.2

Previous Author Prev Next Author