Best Millstones Poems
“Daisy Hill”
a garden to please
distant, yet ever near
in splendid hue.
Yet here now
the chill of winter’s
wrath, which initiates
spirited breath.
Tenderness
upon the bypass where,
memory does walk
through days gone by.
“Manor Garth”
place of sorcery
speculator, astute
evil and wry.
Industry
without face without
grace, a mechanical
tragedy here.
A shop floor
for humanity
searching, if only to
plead sanity.
Amber leaves
rattle the naked highway,
like windswept flocks from
mountains high.
Dry stone walls
history riddled shout,
along country roads
and velvet sky.
“Cuckoo Nest”
guardian of the moorside,
stone walls devoid
living blood wilt.
Millstones prise
out a condolence yet,
parched with canopy in
“Nab wood” Built.
Rock’n’Roll
ricochets upon
“Chelker” A mind in tune
harmony wise.
Bicycle
breaks the silence of night,
before rolling clouds
will the sunrise.
© Harry J Horsman 2022
(on the basis of Max Ehrmann’s Desiderata)
Be calm, because it's vanity of vanities,
reach harmony taking a truce.
Be generous, despite “in vino veritas”
all in the world forget the truth.
Remember that all have their rights –
an ignoramus here or there a fool.
And are you right with all your stereotypes?
So, take then theirs in blood cool.
For evil leave that everlasting fall,
obsequiousness and arrogance – a fuss;
As all affected will be ground at all
by millstones-years first or last.
And give yourself up to a labor of love,
depends itself on you your destiny.
In lieu of victor's wreath a head above
will be a crown of thorns eventually.
But if one day some utter fraud
floods flourishing in blossom land,
let it not devastate your soul
with all abstracted from your bank.
Remember, love is never bought,
you'd better flirt with haughty divas,
in style be good at getting old,
as all the beauty fades with years.
Enjoy the time not passing by,
this moment's not reversible.
Strengthen your spirit to be high,
your fears all alleged impossible.
At last a child you're of the universe,
as those trees, stars and our heaven.
You're given to explore your place,
though you take all for gospel ever.
Your God – it's peace within your soul,
you, cherish as the apple of your eye.
Let it be love here in a cottage small,
and be vivacious till you die.
*Image of Excitement Unlocked giphy by Escape Hunt.
Time
Life millstones pressures creation to sort
through essential time, balms the albatross
over seasonable means, paid in court.
A past fraught in qualm, trading ourselves short,
wills the clock face, hands smile--it sates the loss...
life millstones pressures creation to sort,
from the moment that stretches to distort,
spoke present to a fresh reference, toss
over seasonable means, paid in court.
Seconds, minutes, hours ticking by, assort
cleft role of abled spread twinklings as moss.
Life millstones pressures creation to sort
that infinite future's schedule, escort
zealous flashes duly, that run across
over seasonable means, paid in court.
Shapes an hourglass, together, we support
an eternal measured us, reach across.
Life millstones pressures creation to sort
over seasonable means, paid in court.
2020 June 30
*1st Place*
A Brian Strand you choose
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2021 August 12
*1st Place*
Time- 8 Word Challenge
~~Constance La France: Judged 2020 July 06
I have a passion to hold a lamp aloft,
to capture one acre of starshine
before the sun writes a new dawn.
Rusting Chevys bloom in the half-light.
Nightjars depart on shadow wings.
Shimmering’s walk toward my window
on silver slippers.
A native mildness calls me out
to the green hollows
where poppies cling to secrets.
I’ve a yen to lean like a greening barn
that’s honeycombed with sky.
The dew bathes, hills run with deer.
The woods hold aloft their nocturnal dreams
while the sky turns those to mist
I am invited to be kin,
to the verdigris of millstones,
to the mist and blood
of feuding legends,
to the weather-worn
secluded places
where dirt roads end
and life proclaims
its right to be free.
I am a monster
A tormented work of God’s hand
I will roll over you
Like a storm
Because that I am
My energy will attract you like a swarm of bees in spring
Into your lover’s bed
Where I will remove tranquility
From you mind
Before you reject me
I am a Tesla
Coiled
My fingers set to spark
They will suck the life out of your longing
You will desire to burn again in my hell
But you will remove me
And keep me at bay
For I am too strong in field
To leave close to your heart
Yet I will possess you
Not because I own you
Only will I own your desire
To wrap around my tongue again
And from inside your womb
You will grow a hand longing to pull me into your core
Yet I will unwillingly shake your bed
While you try to sleep
Because I cannot stop
Even when I rest
A storm I am
Cursed am I
With a double vortex of pain
That rips at my muscles
And makes them twitch
When I want them to relax
There is lightening inside of me
That longs to be kissed into a deeper slumber
Just once, so that I can rest in bliss at your side
Will you do that for me, just once?
Or throw me away before the first dawn, as is my fate
My tormented soul
Wants the electrocutioner’s pulse
To leave me alone
And let my limbs recline
For just one night
But instead I must sleep awake
So I do not unleash
Another crushing wave
Against your brain
As my twitching arms attack you despite my love
For while a storm may intrigue you to watch
You will not ride long in the funnel of this tornado
I will become your toy
And discarded after a few shocks of my constant sparking
Have burned your precious fingertips into charcoal
My place will become as your sworn servant
When you require another grinding
And remember the reason your millstones have worn thin
Desiring another load
To render into stardust
And while I just wish to rest my weary head
Upon your swollen breasts of honey
While you sleep against me in pleasure’s afterglow
The storm that never sleeps will jar you awake
And your pointed finger will show me out the dog’s door
Creep that I am
Requires his mask to be kissed away, but it will not yield
No one can endure
A lasting embrace
Because I will bump your arms away in the night
You should be warned
As upon notice be you now informed
My tic ticking heart
Will demand its daily toll
Sending me to sleep alone
Cars One
A coffin for your children
A hearse for your fat missus
A burden on the mother earth
We will not be forgiven
A curse to city dwellers
A blessing for shopping mauls
Noisy,ugly,overvalued
Ridiculously LARGE
More power than 500 horses
Faster than a train
Sophisticated self maintaining
Millstones with a brain.
I want with destiny be friends.
So it will never leave me.
Like when millstones start to grind,
And life turns dark and wild.
.
As loyal friend will save me,
When luck is running out.
And give me helping hand,
When all is burning down.
.
My fate as friend - what can be better.
But as beloved? Why?
Love goes away, so, it is better -
Forever friends in crime.
I can't surrender you; you are mine
But I've depleted the comfort denial gave
Your relief, I must redefine
There is no life left in prolonged death
My love can not restore your breath
To your doorway, now, angels brave
The stars are yours, with Venus you shine
Transcend from flesh-bound brevity
Millstones ephemeral, all cease
Too light for gravity
So rise, in resplendent revere
I was wrong to keep you here
With tears, and a kiss, I release
You to eternity.
8/18/18
A Wisdom Download
One Sunday morning
When walls in pale hues of sage
Coaxed me into a womb of praise
Hard pews reminded me to listen
Rather than slip back into sleepy malaise
As wisdom tapped me on the shoulder
Then tied a hallowed string around my finger
Reminder!
Remember!
Throw off que sera sera into ditches of blind fate!
Embrace
This sparkling celestial a-ha
Where wisdom drips like honeyed dewdrops
From tangled spider webs
In the holy chalice of choice
Sacred silence births wisdom
From a question now poised and posing
To change the direction of my pilgrim tides –
A river flowing in not out –
Cross waters for my soul
Choose the burden of my insatiable ego
Or
Amazing grace that soars casting off millstones
WAM or WAY
What About Me?
Or
What About You?
Inferno of never burning divine fire
To purify my mindless, untamed intentions
Into grace of gold for my quester spirit
Me - first
Or
You - first
What about this divine way!
To walk in sunrise or choose midnight?
What about….
4-11-23
Contest: Wisdom Download
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
My grandmother sure liked a good story,
so did her mother, and her mother Flori;
who settled in New France,
coming to take a chance.
These ancestors who built a wood gristmill,
down a rambling country road, still;
where a great turning wheel makes water spill.
Once, I went to see,
had lunch under a tree,
birds chirped as I drank tea.
It is now a historic site,
but oh- it took a fight;
happy, it was restored to my delight,
and now it stands proud in old charm glory.
I love the sound of water cascading,
with thoughts of civilization fading.
Once this mill was busy,
with hard work not easy.
Gosh, those huge millstones were really well made,
because all through the long years they have stayed.
Sad in time- the gristmill began to fade,
used as a chicken coop;
an art studio cute,
then, was forgotten and mute.
For years it was just falling down,
the wood going to muddy brown;
now, people visit the mill and the town,
all year long this glade of peace - invading.
________________________
May 23, 2018
Poetry/Rhyme/Stories of the Gristmill
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1025-448-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
As I come, for molarity
without molars.
No grinding was left
in the millstones.
The family
accumulates. My distorted shape
will not accept
the broken ankle.
Paraplegic, you run
faster than meteriorite.
The boom was heard
beyond cacophony.
It had come from
the blue. The burning anchor
of desire, without
the damp eyes.
Satish Verma
Between each limping breath
the sky pulsates blanched green searing,
each day inspired by gray blight, each day
the firmament harbors dense, blazing energy,
a circus troupe of skyward lungs hacking up
the essential thoughts of Winter.
Heads of hail gloriously divebomb now,
heads the very size
of goners.
This Age shall never sleep
till Sleep pulls us away.
No more dimples—no more passion.
This Age slipped in
an omnipresent thief
borne on each fiery eve,
born from the millstones that grieve.
Come view the dutiful, effervescent Fall—
in every other hall lies rubble that dissolves.
I wander wind-swept beyond the strewn city of my youth,
seeking out Reap to strangle the inevitable
with hands still quoting the past.
I should rather not live in a world
fragmented so;
I should rather not live
as a forgotten man; cold.
I am not the last man, yet
I am the last who has known real men and women.
I live out harmony's sinister sighs and channel Winter
through perma-shocked icicle hair.
I see the last black swan looking back
just before the vanishing point:
wings rent,
bill bent,
gashes dried beneath the eyes
in the shape of what only you
may realize.
Water is a wish
for irony to pass.
Clarity's ghost gong freshens my grave.
I know that you are dead, dear A.,
the swarm had graced your life.
And here in verse, my love's insane,
immortal until Night.
Though the past for me is nearly lost,
one scene shall ne'er so blindly frost:
when locusts entered into all eyes:
scorpion puppets,
wind-up toys in the sky.
Heaven's doorway
By any other name
Is Jesus Christ, my Lord
Straight is the way
Narrow is His gate
And definitely, there are no back doors
Angels can't lift you up
When overloaded
Millstones hardened sin
But, just give up
Your will, as His life he did
And when aligned you will be, invited in
Coagulation Starter – 3-28-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Coagulation
Finally, my blood began to coagulate,
Flowing like insomnia
Between the wounds of dawn and dusk
When wounded memories drip pools of enigmas,
Fleeting gossamers of absolutes,
Drying into sticky puzzles.
Bloodied dreams wander labyrinths,
With no exits,
Leaving spatters of millstones
For ruminating relics to follow,
Thin images of wispy encounters
Fade
In lost chords of words,
Ghosts gel from gashes.
Impostors of reality
Spit rebellious clots into ruminating plateaus,
And phantoms,
To leave a crimson stain
On unwelcomed daylight and martyred Mondays
Stirring penance from clotting confessions.
Tourniquets unbound,
Veins transfused congeal in coalescence
As platelets and corpuscles gather yesterday
Into the flow, a cadence, blood pressure restored,
The pulse of reminiscence throbs
Memoirs course through venous vessels,
Then seek a place
To dream.
The gristmill of war leaves its dead frozen
to lay on the blood soaked crusted floor of time
lifeless bent shapes, the ones chosen
in wars, caused by twisted mind's of mankind
only mothers wash blood from time's threshing floor
and only hate fed millstones grind children to death
left for the shifters who seperate no more
the hand of man, the sickle that sweeps away breath
the dead are aligned like rows of bundled sheaves
beneath etched names in stone fields of green
the marrow of life is vanquished, soil recieves
monuments of stone vanish, as time intercedes
for time swiftly passes, and man will be gone
so will the madness of death man tasted
when he rose from the muck, in the paradise of dawn
with a passion for killing, and the souls he wasted
5/24/18 contest The Gristmill Poetry contest