Long Millers Poems
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Orpheus
by Michael R. Burch
after William Blake
I.
Many a sun
and many a moon
I walked the earth
and whistled a tune.
I did not whistle
as I worked:
the whistle was my work.
I shirked
nothing I saw
and made a rhyme
to children at play
and hard time.
II.
Among the prisoners
I saw
the leaden manacles
of Law,
the heavy ball and chain,
the quirt.
And yet I whistled
at my work.
III.
Among the children’s
daisy faces
and in the women’s
frowsy laces,
I saw redemption,
and I smiled.
Satanic millers,
unbeguiled,
were swayed by neither girl,
nor child,
nor any God of Love.
Yet mild
I whistled at my work,
and Song
broke out,
ere long.
Plant or mineral or child.? Or older; gunpowder plutonium ' heavy water
That can split boulders.' Time and
Opportunity day through night; many
Gifts are encompassed, if i am but
Half right? elecric, kinetic, frission
And mice.' All grist to some millers of
Averice and vice.. All have been made
Mechandise, bones renderd down, to
Glue for whatever.? Every country each
Town, A price on each atom of life as
Rationale, seems the hallmark of
Achivement to so many; somehow.? I
See it could be different.' I'll propose to
Offer this view.? Damn.!! The cost of such
Exposure; though. Means my initiatve will
Not make it out to you.'
Priscilla of Titillating Courage
With smidgens of cereal we may choose to grind traces from
Grains of life truth sadness vagaries and the circle of being
Separate the wheat from the chaff only to find out we are
Looking at rye and need to indulge a wry smile now and then
At times the gristmill is too small and the task overwhelming
Clumps of ingredients cluster and clot the grinder of purpose
Yet when life gives us corn it rots or we make fine dust of flour
A treasure trove of sediment once the millers are up to the task
A spark of suspicion when mould has crept into salubrious silos
A tad of fallow sorrow borrowed from burrows and furrows
To complete what is one and feeds us from shadows of doubt
While it may seem we are chiselling fragments bit by slow bit
Priscilla the enlightened woman of wondrous marvel holds wisdom
But knowledge without action is futile and Yin seeks a complement Yang
When she meets Theo her courageous tiller soulmate and lover in waiting
Ambiguous scintillae conjoin embrace and rejoice at lips fingers and hips
They now harvest together in the nude of serene honesty are clothed in
Veils of crushing uncertainty much less or at least their mill moves together
They plant their seeds together water indulge in sensual acquaintance till
Their field arouse titillation and bake and break bread in passionate nibbles
The narrow lane led to an awful place
With its own page in the annals of history,
Where once was committed a murder most foul
It’s perpetrator to date still a mystery
Thirteen, Millers Court in Spitalfields
Was the abode of one Mary Jane Kelly
Where one November morn, eighteen eighty eight
She was found, slit from throat to her belly.
A victim was she of a man they called ‘Jack’
A murderer of most savage renown
Who spread fear through the streets of Whitechapel,
And whose identity has never been found
Because ‘Jacks’ alter ego was never confirmed
Speculation and theories are rife
Was he a personage of royal blood?
Was he a surgeon, skilled with a knife?
Was ‘Jack’ an American actor?
Was he sane, was he mentally ill?
Were his only victims the ‘canonical’ five?
Just how many more did he kill?
Why did it all end and where did ‘Jack’ go
Is as mysterious as from whence he came,
But his legacy remains and for many a year
Life on London’s streets was never the same.
April showers coax angelonias
Bromeliads and red begonias
Corn flowers of purple and blue
Dusty millers with yellow hues
Elderflowers in a living bouquet
Fairy wigs thrown in the array
Geraniums, a bloody red and
Horned violets, lead down, to the shed
Indigo Agapanthus aromas fill the air
Jacob's ladders adorn the stairs
Kelanchoe of red and pink
Labrador violets are quite distinct
Mulberry trees blooming white, with
Narcissus early spring's delight
Orchids add to a colorful sight
Pansies,pionies, periwinkle and
Quince quickly grow from a sprinkle
Rockrose in lavender's clutch
Snapdragons provide a yellowish touch
Texas bluebells just for fun
Umbrella Magnolia's provide shade from the sun
Verbenas blossom, parading red like strumpets
Wood sorrels looking like purple trumpets
Xeranthemums long slender tubes
Yarrow kissed hummingbirds spread the news, to
Zephyr flower loving honey bees, spring is in full bloom
an original poem by Daniel Turner
ANNA MILLER’S TAKANAWA-SHOP
Merriam-Webster defines chili as a thick sauce of meat and chilies.
His coworker hungers
for American food - pizza, burgers;
no sushi, please.
Home away from home in the belly
of Tokyo, my husband orders —
“I’ll have the chili.”
Two I.B.M. techs relax and unwind
from their workday. Soon their specialty
is served. (Anna Miller’s known for their pies.)
They both nearly drown in hot soup
as they snorkel the deep
peering beneath the shallows
looking for signs
of thickness and beans. Asks
“This is chili? Where are the beans?”
The waitress bends
over and counts,
“One chili bean,
two chili bean,
three chili bean,”
her wrinkled lips serious.
as the rumble of the coworker’s cheeks,
the shaking of his American suit ripple
under his chin.
My husband asks, “But where’s the sauce?”
The waitress takes her hand,
moving it just above the bowl
in circular magic,
“and chili sauce!”
the eruption of Mount Asama
as she moves tiny feet
to another customer.
6/29/2019
JACK DANIELS met JIM BEAM at the CANADIAN CLUB
to discuss their upcoming trip on the CUTTY SARK.
They were planning a vacation to a Caribbean cove
to get some SOUTHERN COMFORT.
JOHNNY WALKER, who had a disagreement with
them over their SLOE GIN game, wanted to
give them a SAKI. "VODKA ya think you're doing?"
chimed in GIBSON, who was a BEEFEATER sitting nearby.
"It's not like EARLY TIMES...so just wipe that
SMIRNOFF your face." A brawl would have started,
but a beautiful woman came in. "Look at them
COURVOISIERs," said the MARTIN MILLERs.
They noticed her ring with the BLUE SAPHIRE from
BOMBAY.
JACK DANIELS immediately lost interest in the argument,
and asked if he could sit with her. She agreed and he sat
down. He noticed that she had a B & B monogram on her blouse.
"I've not seen you here before...what's your name and where
are you from?" he asked.
In a charming southern accent she replied, "Ma name is
MARGARITA, Ahm new in town, and Ahm from HENNESSY."
When the waiter came over, they ordered two MINT JULEPS.
It was the start of a relationship that the DEWARS of them
enjoyed, especially when they bowled SCOTCH doubles together.
Tuning William Blake's Whistle
by Michael R. Burch
a musical prophecy, after William Blake
I.
Many a sun
and many a moon
I walked the earth
and whistled a tune.
I did not whistle
as I worked:
the whistle was my work.
I shirked
nothing I saw
and made a rhyme
to children at play
and hard time.
II.
Among the prisoners
I saw
the leaden manacles
of Law,
the heavy ball and chain,
the quirt.
And yet I whistled
at my work.
III.
Among the children's
daisy faces
and in the women's
frowsy laces,
I saw redemption,
and I smiled.
Satanic millers,
unbeguiled,
were swayed by neither girl,
nor child,
nor any God of Love.
Yet mild
I whistled at my work,
and Song
broke out,
ere long.
Keywords/Tags: William Blake, prophecy, Orpheus, singer, singing, minstrel, ministry, hymn, troubadour, whistle, Satanic, mills, manacles, law, leaden, ball, chain, prison, labor, slavery, freedom, music, muse, song, poets, miracle