"millers" poems
The neighborhood,
was quite good,
until the neighbors saw,
but I promise you it was just a humble fluke
that sadly my neighbors saw..
behind the hedges I had to puke,
and sadly the neighbors saw,
I hit their dog,
due to some fog,
and the neighbors saw,
and then our cat,
made a ****
and sadly the neighbors saw,
and then my son,
****** their daughters tongue,
and sadly the neighbors saw,
and then are snake
ended up in there lake,
and sadly the neighbors saw,
and the one time our dog,
ate Mrs. Millers clog,
and sadly the neighbors saw,
and sometimes at night,
my husband and I fight,
and sadly the neighbors saw,
and my kid screams why,
and begins to cry,
and sadly the neighbors saw,
and our neighbors husband was on patrol,
and he saw me stole,
and sadly the neighbors saw,
one time I borrowed a book,
but instead I took.
and sadly the neighbors saw.
I began to sing,
and scared Mr. King,
and sadly the neighbors saw,
and I know I'm bad,
and a little mad,
and sadly the neighbors never saw,
that I was watching
and kind of stalking,
and sadly I saw...
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 2:32 PM UTC
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.
Keywords/Tags: Orpheus, singer, poet, William Blake, whistle, Satanic, mills, manacles, law, leaden, ball, chain, prison, song, freedom
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 1:34 AM UTC
Miles of dusty polished marble
In half lit carpeted corridors
Of abigails and millers
Furnished lobbies that
Pipe down in soft tones
For absent auris
And present shells
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 11:15 AM UTC
Mr. Miller was our neighbor,
And what a mean, grumpy old man!
At least that's what we kids thought.
Whenever we saw him, we all ran.
He seemed to have an uncanny sense
Of knowing when we were in his yard.
Some of the feisty neighborhood kids
Tried to catch the grump off guard.
At Halloween the Miller house
Was one I always tried to avoid
Until one night my friend said, "Let's visit
The Millers." I wasn't overjoyed.
Mr. Miller opened the door
And--wow!--he wasn't wearing a frown.
He and his wife were warm and friendly
And they had the BEST candy in town!
It's odd how suddenly a person can change
To a kind neighbor from a mean old ****
But amazingly the transformation
Was not in him, it was in my heart.
Soon after that Halloween he died
From a heart attack; that left us in shock.
I'll never forget kind Mr. Miller--
The "Boo Radley" on our block.
How often we judge before we know!
How often we live in fears we create!
Once our eyes are opened, how glorious!
But when that happens, it's often too late.
- by Bob B
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 8:47 AM UTC
Winter has coaxed
its radiator enduced
ether
and the time has come
for colds, snot
and sinuses.
Blackness
gathers us
to our tangerine
oasis - and
living room
televisions.
I left,
to walk through the
winter city.
I saw
empty car parks and
Christmas lights,
and thought London
was dying.
A fox grappled
with a tesco's
plastic bag.
I walked through
a winter forest.
I saw creepers
on gravestones
and
Victorian gore
settled into the earth.
I put my ear to the ground
to hear the worms
eating dead bodies
and all the while
the stars turned
overhead
like a millers wheel.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 5:44 AM UTC
Oh Satan's
vexing, gypsy moth.
Icarus
of the lamp.
Torched, foul, smoldering ember.
Aye, the jokes on you.
Good riddance
netherworld gadfly,
dust covered
moon splashed wings,
who flitted too close the sun.
I shall miss the not.
What of thy
onlooking brother?
Is he not
the bright one,
bathing in incandescent
blissful ignorance?
Though he be
but Nature's Dastard,
he'll bask the morrow,
whilst thy apparition flies
to hell, whence ye came.
*While enjoying a beautiful Summer night, I was attacked by a squadron of moths and millers. The zealous, daring, but stupid one, flew too close to a lamp and got fried. The other, pious, yet too afraid worshiped from afar. By the way, one's just as stupid as the other one. The lamp is not the moon cretins. *
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 11:00 AM UTC
This time the French have gone too far! This will not stand, you hear!
The makers of “Méthode Champenoise” are suing Miller beer.
For years their spies have regularly infiltrated in the States,
suing all who dare mislabel bubbly made from grapes.
(We cannot call the sparkling wines produced on our own shores
“champagne” according to long, well established, laws.)
Fines and penalties are paid for breaking those mandates
Although to me it seems to be a case of sour grapes.
Today their spy was shopping for a piece of camembert
When he spied a Miller ad for “the champagne of bottled beers”
“Sacre Bleu” the Frenchman cried! “what sacrilege is here?.”
How dare these “Millers” to compare our drink with bottled beer.
They seized the product off the shelf to (ahem) do some testing.
I hear it knocked Jacques on his *** but he claims he’s just resting.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 8:29 AM UTC
every time i drive by that gray house by the lake
i remember how we stopped for lemonade in the front lawn
and you paid for me even though
it was just fifty cents
when i stop by the water near the fishing spot by the dam
i remember us alone in my car
trying so hard to not touch each other
i remember sitting there and laughing because
it was killing us
when i drive down that hill surrounded by trees
i remember yelling at the top of our lungs
with the windows down
like we were on a roller coaster
i remember you saying that was a reason you liked me
because i knew to how to be alive
when im hanging out with my other friends
and we stop to play at the park
i remember how we would swing on the swings
and just listen to the squeaking noise and the sounds
of the night around us
when i go by millers grove
i remember driving to the back of the woods to park my car
and how the entire time you just listened to me sing
i remember you stared at me with a grin on your face
when i listen to the song we always played
i remember you saying how you thought
you almost loved me
no matter where i go i am reminded of you
every road
every building
every late night drive
makes me think of you or a memory of you
and i can't stop because i drive
down the same roads and
pass the same buildings
almost every day
and even though i wish i could
i just can't leave
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 12:48 AM UTC
At the hall of the Mill valley I will slumber in peace ..
Beside a confident , cascading stream , underneath the White Pine , blush -indigo advance .. Agin able , guardian River Birch in supplication , among the honed boulders , to claim corporeal vision with Nirvanas depositor of endless dream .. I will be released ..
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 7:27 PM UTC
Little nooks have passed tonight
And new beginnings bore us on
But I fear nothing now
Crouch again I shan't
Loathe all above you
Curse the lightning struck so far away
But sleep with me, soft tails of hope
I am your burrow tonight
What minds are temples to these eyes?
What thoughts are wrought of dragon sleep?
What power lies awake at night
Fearing, fearing clouds?
What water stirs the millers opinion?
What algae slinks from murky adoption?
I'm you, I'm you,
The cuckoo sobs
And all else wears its feelings.
For lions may dance
Lions may sing
And lions fear no raindrop's glory
I chill, I scream, but not for your sake
For my own terrifying passage
And what is to come
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 8:04 AM UTC
When it thinks that I'm sleeping
My shadow..
Is actually keeping
Me
Wide awake.
I take my shadow by my hand and we dance to the music of Glenn Millers band and I think that it's grand when my shadow starts singing.
I feel like bringing a camera and flash..but sadly my shadow says that brings him out in a rash and he starts fading away.
It's a daydream they say and that shadows aren't real.
How do you feel about that?
My shadow bows with his hat in my hand..everything he does is so marvellously grand.
Of course he is real do you think I'm a fool dancing with nothing would be incredibly uncool.
My shadow and I will get by..we'll get older together and a girl we might meet..now wouldn't that be neat.
Then as my girl and I and two shadows walk by
Look me in the eye
And tell me again it's not real
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 2:29 PM UTC
*The sound of millwrights at work shall remain forever
The turn of the wheel will mingle with white shoal harmonies ,
topwater perch eruptions and birds of every color and euphonic song
Crystal waters displaying painted stones shall remain secured twixt creekside shrubbery , centurion oaks , sweet gum , juniper and tall evergreens ... Native grasses and vivid wildflowers will grace the Cotton Indian shoreline evermore*
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 8:55 PM UTC