Pete Maguire

Wild screaming man in the hills

Pete Maguire

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The soft skinned hill takes me inside the endless cascade of whatever I want to be,

the snake of my spine strips out,

bloodied bones planted in the ground,

what is offered?

the night,

it drinks me as I it,

we become one,

a systematic swoop of life and forever,

I am the hills and the hills are me,

did you ever feel god, like it was you,

that there in the sweeping darkness you could take a fifty foot step,

could reduce the world to a pebble,

I am other people, thousands of them,

I live in all homes, slam doors, scream, sweat, fight and fuck,

the whole town below becomes my playground,

I pluck the candy streets, sucking greedily at the sugar and fat,

in running away I get closer,

the timetable of my soul is reading well,


indiscriminate piles of cow shit,

I never step in either,

I am elusive, ferreting below fox and badger,

I am rabbit, scared, yes perhaps, but somehow, not at all,

I hear bells,

I hear guns,


I smell onions being peeled,

their outer skins hitting the backs of bins,

tears forming, yes,

I feel that,

the tears wash down the streets taking away the pain that brought them,

I sail my boat in these rivers,

it is part of what I do,

it’s not only good times up these godly hills,

the sticky stuff is everywhere,

it is ballast,

otherwise I would be the balloon man, impressive but useless,

wild horses spook me,

they watch and record my every movement,

I bow to their wildness,

inhale their hormonal release,

I scream with them all the way back to my most mystical self,

to the place of greatest meaning,

where thoughts are as powerful as clubs,

do you remember is a sweeping hand that splashes over the lands below,

hearts perk up,

do you, yes you in number 43,

do you remember that look of love, choir eyes, rapture and delirium?  

number 11, do you remember the way she used to smile, do you remember?

she fucking twinkled, she did…

these hills are my playground,

they are my training ground,

they are where I practice before I have sit down and write that damned requiem. 

Pete Maguire

Pete Maguire grew up in Warrenpoint, Northern Ireland, but now lives in Lewes, England. He is an author, teacher, autistic care worker, short story writer and poet. His cult novel City of a Million Dots explores language and the human condition whilst racing through a dystopian Detroit landscape and the minds of its eclectic individuals.  He teaches Short Story courses in Brighton and believes there is a wild and untamed voice in every writer which he love to encourage to grow.