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.'
Sandy surprised her mother with a pretty office make-over.
It was marvelous, there was a new bed for her Corgi, Rover.
In the corner was a monarch butterfly garden full of caterpillars.
This is what you needed said her snoopy neighbors, the Millers.
Dot did like most of the office, though it was not her taste.
When she let her daughter change it, this was done in haste.
She was getting used to it, but despised the butterfly chair.
Is it too pretty? Someone asked her. No, it is hard on my derriere.
That's the trouble with her Miller:
Lots of fancy for fine killer,
Yeah not Real Life - The safe thriller
But it's no Decent Time filler,
Millers remembrance of thriller
The time wise neighbour turns tiller
And one they 've got in James Bila,
In the past fond of Godzilla,
Now in their church a strong pillar...
"Oh! Why had I accepted Miller
For thriller and wine from cellar?"
Anna had forgotten his villa
Marrying an owner a Willer.
Heroes, every one.
They came in a trickle and then a flood,
To enlist in the forces to do some good.
They were turned from ordinary men,
Into frightening fighting machines.
Farmers, millers, tailors of clothes
Butchers, bakers, they came in droves,
They rallied at depots throughout the land,
Now ready and able waiting for the command.
To theatres of war, battalions deployed,
Generations of men, leaving villages void.
Leaving women and old men to watch their back,
Defending the realm from an enemy attack.
Battles raged across the world, the land was red,
Before it all ended there were millions of dead.
War graves across the ravaged lands cry out,
Here lies a hero that no one may doubt.
They died knowing freedom was worth the fight,
Shoulder to shoulder they stood and they died,
Regardless of race, colour or creed, they knew,
This war against tyranny they had to win through.
No matter what this modern age try to do to erase
the memory of these heroes, they will surely fail.
For if war comes again to threaten the world,
They will rise again to repel and prevail.
Lest we forget, which will be NEVER.
© Dave Timperley 04/07/2021
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
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.
Forty years of bad road,
a path of broken glass
Potholed memories line my thoughts,
devil waiting fast
Daring me…
“Retrace your steps,
your quickest way back home
“Forty years of shattered dreams
—ahead the millers stone”
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
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
Peasant bread to feed the masses,
millers stone between the classes
Grovel here and grovel there,
crumbs for beggars—no meat to share
Caught inside the rising dough,
leavened voices cry out low
Baking deep within the flames,
bribes that lie—and Lords to blame
With each slice cut, Hell calls a name,
its coals to brand, ignoble fame
Bread for the masses, meat off the bone,
revenge on fire—the Devil’s throne
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018)
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
Abrasive pillars. A millers grin. 1700 loaves of bread. In a straight line though please. Now thankyou that will do nicely. It is often incredible to think that from sacks in cellars arrive many an edible creation. How clever. And how rather talented. Frantic flour whirring whilst whistling at 4 a m in a morning crust. In a sharp cool air of dark winter. The glows of great wide mouthed ovens provide much warmth and comfort. Pleasant and simple. No plastic shroud. Elegant and natural. Formations of this time. Whilst apples are shot for pleasure from delicate heads in an orchard. And seventeen maidens dance in spectacular colours at the lodges of the villagers seasonal cues. Heaping. Hearts. Hearths. Heard. Herds. Have. Havens. Xxxx 1 v q *** existential difference xx
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.
My hands are tied
My legs are wobbling
My eyes blood red because of what you’ve said
My heart beats rapidly
My emotions are muddled
You with your red tape and bureaucracy
Had stifled my dreams…
You punch me in the heart yet
You sit with your co-workers and laugh
‘Yes, we have put her in her place,’ you said.
I gathered my thoughts
How could I have been such a fool to think that you were cool with my frank personality and rejection of bureaucracy…
The fighter emerges and I had to hold back the urge to put you in YOUR place.
‘Dish cloth turn table cover, a victim of the system…’
I tried to hold back the tears but they flowed like the Jordan River
To think that all I wanted was to be given the SAME opportunity
As the Millers, the Minotts and to be finally considered among
The Haves and not the Have-nots.
what is there about a fire-
like a summons calling hither
draws us ever onward-
in a lather or a dither?
what can it be-
that leads us forthright
such as millers to a porchlight?
tell me what it is-
that tantalizes,mesmerizes
what's so cool about a fire?
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.
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