Mill Poems - Poems about Mill

O pure hearts, never forget my words, When you listen to this pretentious, you give him grain to be milled, When you look at this fool, you give him Grist for the mill. Thus is the world made, of morality of air and water, What you think is like the warm wind, What you say must be written very dear, So that the...

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Eating donuts until we are full. We take our time, picking our haul. Apple pie, jam, and cider. We hear a cute barn cat purr. We see farm animals too. Goats climbing, like they do. On this sunny, fall day. On this bench, I wish to stay. But we must go before the rain. Holding my bag, the trip was not in vain. At home,...

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In town of Holy Face, now Halez Fax Are rows of back-to-backs in terraces Between the mills that spill their thick black smoke. Industry now dominates hill and dale. Manufacture is master with muscle. Sulphuric fumes poison the once green hills Turning the trees to charcoal skeletons. The peaceful sound of silence...

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English philosopher John Stuart Mill His social and political theories are practiced still. Utilitarianism thinking today - Is it always the most moral way?...

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The Mill Wheel is half-buried. Did time submerge it or did the weight of the wheel, defy the burden of time? A young child skips-by, jumps over the stone wheel. Tall grass parts for her heels, waving in the breezy air. The hub of heaven is there, turning a gridding rock into a light dance once more....

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The streets are filled with crying men, filling the gutters up with tears. As we walk from our final shift, that’s fed us for a hundred years. Eleven hundred jobs vanished, like a leaf caught upon the wind. And Canton North Carolina, will never be the same again. What’s in store for us tomorrow, no one can ever really know. When your faith is...

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They’re free to swallow it like bitter pill, All take it as an interposing hill, Already, the four do, as they stand still, At their mum glaring; they could her just kill! “You sell nothing, until I change my mind, Though I doubt if I have change in my mind. Anxious riches the sober casts behind; A grave bond should noble children...

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JUSTICE They stare out at us unsmiling from tintypes of the first photographs, from the tea-colored pictures of thin, ragged immigrants, huddled in cold bare rooms in tenements, children clinging, dazed and frightened, their paltry belongings tied in scarves. They look out from pictures of dreary pioneers, in front of sod houses without windows, from grim photos of old, weary children working...

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I always knew the cider mill was across the road, Down a little ways from Grandma's house. This day, it must have been October; The afternoon sun was shining hot; The side of the road was dusty. A steady sound was chug-chugging through the air On top of the sweet dusky smell of over-ripe apples. I went to have a look. The...

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Larks are ascending funnels of sky, songs smoke from enteral chimneys. In an industrial park a fine Autumn light burns bright. Shoes fill with walkers, we are out and praising the clanking machinery, for we are all leaves in the same furnace. What we suppose to be sleep and decline is a wooded factory, a whittle and grind gearing-up for an over-spilling, a bundling color-filled season, one that...

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Grandfather's house, knocked to the ground - to dust: The windows wept when the bulldozer came Timeworn and dirty and wheezing black smoke, Just like the drab mills where grandfather moiled. Children play in the intriguing debris Where, once, children played on the garden path, Where grandfather told stories of past things And the children listened wide eyed, in awe. The door remains...

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The beating of the Mill, we hear it down the hill. It is the town's heartbeat. No children on the street already in the shop to labor till they drop. Sold to the upper class; the mother needs the brass. The father on the beer; not working since last year. The bosses own their soul, their houses, so they toll; boy, sister, young as four stay bailiff from...

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Supposed there is a hint on how to live well supposed I asked a question " What is the north? " or " What does it mean to be a philosopher? " or " What do you mean by a tea or lipton? " supposed someone said he/she wants to dig deep and understand when and how these things settled here and if possible can he/she form a group...

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For Angie The hallways rotated over and around me, maybe it was that aged smell of antiseptic affecting my equilibrium... Trying to keep my feet, bracing the wall of the room she was assigned with my hand to gain my balance, I was overcome with hot vibrations of past voices, shrieking, pleading, crying out for lost loved...

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Water rises in damp clouds above the falls Red from the old grist mill reflecting through The backlighting sunshine causing ethereal Rainbow-like patterns in the mistiness, while I watch the gigantic wheel fling cold water Downstream where it plunges into the murk, Creating a deep hole not suitable for diving And too dangerous for children to swim in, so, I slip my bare...

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