We live — but not on level ground,
We are sunlight clinging to the edge of a crumbling wall.
I remembered Grandmother’s voice,
She warned me once: “Boy, beware the fall.”
We leap —
and soon enough
this house of days
will crash upon us all.
We were mountains once —
and still we held,
Like millstones
bearing every crushing call.
In a blink, the starling flew —
and from the highlands, they all withdraw.
I suffer the market’s ache today,
Where souls are sold and bent to law.
She asked me,
“What are you doing here?”
“Growing fat in a pasture
meant for slaughter.”
Knives are sharpened, lambs grow sleek —
In the end,
the knife writes every fate.
Traps and snares on every path —
from the tavern’s door to the lover’s gate.
And when the final cup is drained,
They march us up
the gallows straight.
But look —
again, our morning reign begins!
The sun breaks through the long black night.
Grief has closed its weary eyes —
I’ve carried so much pain
to reach this light.
And now, today, the “King” is smiling,
Joyful in his lover’s gaze —
They meet beneath the sky
in a world remade
by morning’s blaze.
Love’s Sonnet
Tattered womb, shred by sharp blades of regret,
Weighed down by rough millstones, dark as shame,
Pale dawn stumbles from midnight to forget -
Stinging acids scar through showers of blame.
A whisper of consolation murmurs,
Infused with the incense of compassion,
A harbinger of enchanted grace demurs
Spellbound, purified enigmas refashioned
Love, like a lyric – a lady in waiting –
Steps out of ebony’s clinging shadows
Releasing hard night with nightmares abating
The pall of shrouds rent by empathy’s glow.
The chivalry of love – a silk caress –
Eternal perfection, fulfills love’s quest.
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.
Spontaneity 2-28-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Spontaneity
Arthritic inertia,
Absent of the Prime Mover,
Bursts into astral fireflies of serendipity
Coloring outside deliberate
Past ebony links in tangerine comets
In outbursts of the unplanned ad-lib
Flicks of incandescent glory
And slivers of glee,
Like dolphins leaping or whales breaching
Into the spontaneous’ ephemeral sparkle,
Ignite gusts of rumbling grace
Rushing past anxious spirals,
Sneaking past solemn's gates,
In explosions of uncontained whimsy -
As springs of roiling combustions
Split life draining millstones,
And rock musty routines that shuffle
Bathing the unsmiling dower dirge
With thunder dancing across sullen waters
To christen spontaneity’s godchild
With new robes of unrehearsed mirth
And a dedicated named -
Laughter!
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
Imagine
Imagine…
A mansion among many promised mansions
On the banks of a river from blessing,
Sparkling in the eternal sun,
A shoreline lined with trees
In the harmonic hush of glory
Their leaves of healing
Float like sacred balm in everlasting wholeness
Imagine…
A house made of joy
Where reality genuflects to eternity
Giving up crippled deafness
And every mute shame
Where joy adorns the doorstep
And laughter’s pure intentions
Decorates with blazing brilliance every wall
Imagine…
A home with a foundation
Of perfect reconciliation
Where perpetual sweetness flows
Like honey from the honey comb
And awaits unfathomed eternal dawn
To rest upon the broad shoulders
Of the eternal agape and clement mercy.
Imagine…
A kingdom where
Frigid winds feel the breath of exile
And sullen cold retreats
Midnight finally rests
Cradled in the sighs of the perfect Pi
Where sorrow’s burden and grief’s millstones
Lay shattered at a crumbling gravestone
Imagine…
Home
3-2-23
Contest: Writing Challenge I Words
Sponsor: Constance La France
“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
Forever Young
David J Walker
No
I should have said
I knew you when we
Were both brand new
And we knew
nothing of life
And not a single thing
of each other
Except the unquestioned attraction
And the sad redaction
of the entanglement we thought of
as love
And what I know is
the resolution stands
fast in the past
and cannot be
undone
locked in the lockets hung
round our necks
like cherished millstones
made into clocks
I know you from another
Place and time
When I was yours
And you were mine
Another century
another millennium
Where
We will both be
Forever young
*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.
Birthday's
By
Tom Wright
When we are young,
With life seemingly before us,
Birthday’s come to slow.
They are counted milestones,
Both feet are on the gas.
We're in a hurry!
When in mid life,
With life seemingly half spent,
Birthdays are picking up speed.
If forgotten, it is o.k.
We are in neutral.
Just idling along!
But when we're older,
With our lives mostly gone,
Birthday’s come too fast.
They are now millstones.
Both feet are on the brake,
We’re yelling whoa,
Ah said whoa!
The moral of this nonsense,
Make each day count for something.
Read Psalms 118 - 24
3/4/98
No acknowledgement could be
commensurate nar e'er
equivalent to countless years (scores of orbitz
of unexplored wonder) – left...
(with millstones around neck)
to atrophy on severe truncated
limb mitts, now cause
for silent lachrymose as this
brother doth brook a wake
his pained self actualization
(particularly predicated on
decade number six
unavoidably approaching) uptake
analogous to 2001 A Space Odyssey,
when closing scene
of the film - image of embryonic
"Starchild" left a slake
king unshakable reverberation
Also Sprach Zarathustra
echoing in me noggin since
opening soundtrack did quake
of a much younger self, when seeing
the movie did overtake
puzzlement until I read the book
"aha" awareness did make
that minor mystery resolved, and
now childhood's end keepsake
recalled as the time thy vulnerable
psychological state did intake
pelting asteroid storm cratering a boy
who shied away, to forsake
growing up, and now haunted (akin
to ghost of Marley) not "FAKE"
shackled to an un freed spirit, that
got squelched as if a sudden brake
got jammed propelling this then puny
body electric...now doth ache.
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
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
Beastly burdens of life
Millstones round my neck
Not that I malign my wife
For in my eyes beastly burdens of life emulate a sneaking snake
Writhing on the hard road
Through life I travel
On my head perching an abnormal load
Of which I never cease to marvel
Although pressure my neck oppresses
Enjoying a free ride
As twinges of pain pressure stresses
With unabashed pride
Driven to extremes
That hurt, hurt and hurt
So sharply they satirize dames
To whom sweet nothings I blurt
Not that to me it matters or flatters
Whether dames don long or short
In gild letters that decry fetters
As they snort
Raising my ire
With candour
Warmed on a cold night by the fire
Fanned by the parallax of pain odour
A neurotransmitter smells
Telling me I’m lying
When burden spells and scales
Confirm I’m sighing and flying
Despite averse appearances
That on the grapevine seem to glorify and aggrandize gossip
Inferences on my circumstances
Which in a vacuum peep, weep and fall asleep.
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