"millstone" poems
The past a millstone of regrets
permeating, like a rosary-beads
of penance, the present.
The future a misty dream
of fading ideals.
Sep 1, 2010
Sep 1, 2010 at 8:38 AM UTC
A Milestone
Should not be a millstone,
Weighting your Spirit.
Rather, a stepping stone
Buoyed in the water of life.
Used to keep you
Above water
As you bridge the gap.
Milestones should not
Be millstones.
Rather, paver stones
Used to mark your path.
Where you've been.
Where you're going.
Forming a pleasing pattern
In the Earth to gaze upon.
To excitedly anticipate.
Milestones should not
Be millstones.
To grind you down
While you continue to grow.
Rather, gem stones
That glitter with the light
Marking the Blessings
Along your path.
Milestones are not millstones.
Unless you see them that way.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 7:51 PM UTC
She'll sleep tight in a parallel universe tonight
my deeply serious rainbow girl astral projects
communes with Shiva and champions chakras
she has the recipe for what passes as illumined
her ignorance of current events is appalling
but that chosen ignorance is staid and unperturbed
I grumble and complain, I use the news like a ******
I put the pieces together, pattern the puzzle-
I see the BIG picture…I cut my life short
possessing a keen memory is like the proverbial millstone
the information is the lake
rainbow girl is contemptuous of my self inflicted plight
we realize its a matter of time before disparate likes divide
I am fire and she is water, I the destroyer, she the preserver
the passion can be complimentary for just so long
Like the lady bard said:
*You read those books where luxury
Comes as a guest to take a slave
Books where artists in noble poverty
Go like virgins to the grave (Joni)*
She'll tolerate my confabulated artistry a spell
I can see she's a caterwauling banshee of protestation in the waiting
Her mellifluous quietude, equanimity and perfect poise can only last so long
Before my brash stripped down vituperative diatribe is as acid in the eyes
Then be off to resume her prior harmonic convergence of heart stuff
as I with my artistic bent, abbreviate my life
*http://jonimitchell.com/music/song.cfm?id=38 The Boho Dance
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
Today
It's 12:51 am
I am 18 years old
I made it
Whatever "it" may be
I can't decide if I'm excited for this millstone
Or upset
That I can't stop its progression
I know I should be happy that I made it this far
But now
My 18 year old self
Sits in her room
Eating from a can of Pringles
Confused and wondering
How I got to be this old
How I never planned for any of this and
Dropping chip crumbs in my notebook
I assume I won't last
Though that's what I've been saying
Since I was 13
And I'm not sure
Where I am now
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 2:33 AM UTC
You will be argonaut
one more of the supernumerary
trodding upon the cindered ones
come before you
limbs wooden and somite
encircling a moon
tumescent and blue
in permafrost garrote
on constellations edge
tottering over synapse
mocking
like a mime on highwire
your guilt
lupine in its longing
sawtooth timberline in vivisect night
down promontory
to frozen wave
the broken spoke of your step
on sleetslick carapace
past the preterit
embalmed hide of the world
into the silent millstone
berserk
to return emptyhanded
and changed
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC
*"Though the mills
Of God grind slowly;
Yet they grind exceeding small;
Though with patience
He stands waiting,
With exactness grinds He all."
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow*.
The Mill
The grueling weight
of happenstance,
A millstone for to grind,
It deflates the ego
And shows us
Where we're blind,
It renders flesh a ruin
Obliterates the mind,
We leave our idols desolate
Leave the ties that bind.
Under painful hardship
We release the very things
Which put us in the circumstance
And caused the suffering
We leave behind our craving
For wealth and diamond rings
Everything exalted
All exalted above God...
That means EVERYTHING
Whatever you adore
On this temporal earth
Whatever gives you pleasure
In which you find worth
These very things will shackle you!
You'll find out they're not free.
They are just the Golden Calf
Of base idolatry.
But the millstone slowly purges
Turning hour by hour
Turning the wheat kernels
Into useful flour.
And so I am refined
As I surely must
Put to naught my flesh
Make powder all my lusts
For I am as ashes
for I am as dust.
SS (C) 8/23/2017
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 1:43 AM UTC
**"Alas , alas , the great city,
where all who had ships at sea.
grew rich by her wealth !
For in one hour she has been laid waste.
Rejoice over her, O heaven,
you saints and apostles and prophets !
For God has given judgment for you against her ."
"With such violence Babylon the great city
will be thrown down ,
and will be found no more;
and the sound of harpists
and minstrels and of flutists and trumpeters
will be heard in you no more ;
and the sound of the millstone
will be heard in you no more;
and the light of a lamp
will shine in you no more;
and the voice of bridegroom and bride
will be heard in you no more ;
for your merchants were the magnates of the earth,
and all nations were deceived by your sorcery.
And in you was found the blood of prophets and of saints.
and of all who have been slaughtered on earth"**
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 2:44 PM UTC
surrendering carbon to carbon
shedding this shell
dna to grass
dust to dust
carbon extentions keep on growing
the world keeps spinning
today it feels so slow
if life is dust, mist, nothing
then
let me cross that river
don't build me a bridge
give me a millstone and rope
i'll die that death, then
carry me to the table
bring me to the place
where I can gaze on nothing else
Your Crown. Your Eyes. Your Scars. Your Face. Your Love. Your Eternity.
nothing less
dying that death feels like life
feels like truth
feels like home
feels like breathing for the first time
-in and out, in and out-
every breath is a second chance
to say I love You
to say I need You
to say I want You
to say I'm Yours
to say nothing at all
-in and -"thank You"
finally evergreen
now, pass the milk and honey
Nov 20, 2010
Nov 20, 2010 at 12:37 PM UTC
He is said to have been the last Red man
In Acton. And the Miller is said to have laughed—
If you like to call such a sound a laugh.
But he gave no one else a laugher’s license.
For he turned suddenly grave as if to say,
“Whose business,—if I take it on myself,
Whose business—but why talk round the barn?—
When it’s just that I hold with getting a thing done with.”
You can’t get back and see it as he saw it.
It’s too long a story to go into now.
You’d have to have been there and lived it.
They you wouldn’t have looked on it as just a matter
Of who began it between the two races.
Some guttural exclamation of surprise
The Red man gave in poking about the mill
Over the great big thumping shuffling millstone
Disgusted the Miller physically as coming
From one who had no right to be heard from.
“Come, John,” he said, “you want to see the wheel-pint?”
He took him down below a cramping rafter,
And showed him, through a manhole in the floor,
The water in desperate straits like frantic fish,
Salmon and sturgeon, lashing with their tails.
The he shut down the trap door with a ring in it
That jangled even above the general noise,
And came upstairs alone—and gave that laugh,
And said something to a man with a meal-sack
That the man with the meal-sack didn’t catch—then.
Oh, yes, he showed John the wheel-pit all right.
1.5k
Where are you now
Seemed like you were on my back
Holding me back
With that warm embrace
Your warm memories sigh
Seem so benign
Don't step out of line
As well you know your place
The solace you sought
Was to give a millstone
Beguiled and betray your tone
I'd have you back again
Held me so close a cloistered prince
Thrive on your hypoxic high
On your placental supply
Ectopic asphyxiation
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 5:41 PM UTC
*though the mills of God grind slowly
yet they grind exceeding small
though with patience
he stands waiting
with exactness grinds he all.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow*
for the wicked there's comeuppance
yes, for plagiarist and troll
it may not be in present tense
but evil has its toll
for the greedy human tyrant
for the fat politico
the rich are as a vagrant
trudging through the snow
****** Pol *** Stalin
Napoleon's Waterloo
in disgrace and fallen
into hell's external stew
the world is a millstone
it grinds fine, or so it's said
born here crying and alone
finally we're dead
don't envy the deceiver
or those who perpetrate
they'll be the receiver
meet poetic Fate
God has a sense of humor
those who blot society
may end up with a tumor
in the end will not be free
those who think they're "first"?
pity the poor fools
they're actually cursed
to be the devil's tools
there's no skating through this life
they will all be doomed
the scepter is a poison knife
the coffer is a TOMB.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 11/23/2015
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
In fallow field
Where corn once grew
I chanced upon
An old mule shoe
I pondered on
The many miles
The shoe had plod
In mulish style
In river bed
Now dry as bone
I came upon
A worn millstone
Wondered aloud
The wagons full
Of new milled corn
The mule had pulled
In old grey barn
Within a stall
I found these words
Carved on the wall
*George Washington
Once slept here
Best **** mule
From far and near*
;)
r ~ 20Mar14
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
On the seventh day we paid the rent
and what was meant for food
gave us one more week to brood on inequality and the inferiority of our position.
One condition we stipulate,is not to tempt the hand of fate or providence
and not paying rent would surely dent the image that we try to make
and though it breaks my heart to part with nine and six a week
and even if I know the landlord's got a bleedin' cheek to charge this much
I touch my forelock and say,
'good morning Sir'.
An air of doom and gloom descends it all depends on what next I say,
will I pay this ghastly fee to keep a roof over Marjorie (the wife) the kids and I
or will I look the landlord in the eye and let him know that he's a thieving crook and intimate that he should go and **** himself and take the rent book too
what do I do but lay the nine and six upon the table with the pale blue rent book and do not say, 'go **** anyone'
me and the missus and kids will stay on for another week while seeking out some other place where barefaced robbery is a crime.
In another time the landlord would be shot his houses all forfeit
but today that rotten toff has got it all, it's like a noose tied round my neck,a millstone that drags me by the ***** and puts me down
I ought to push that bad lot in the 'cut' and let the baftard drown,
and I said nothing, not a sound escaped my lips
the class system trips me up and weighs me in and while I drink a bottle of sour milk he drinks Geneva gin.
Poor people and peasants never win
the odds are bent in favour of more rent and that rotten sod will nod and shake his head
I'd wish him dead but that's another sin
and like I said,
poor people and peasants never win.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 5:41 PM UTC
"Though the mills
Of God grind slowly;
Yet they grind exceeding small;
Though with patience
He stands waiting,
With exactness grinds He all."
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
The Mill
The grueling weight
of happenstance,
A millstone for to grind,
It deflates the ego
And shows us
Where we're blind,
It renders flesh a ruin
Obliterates the mind,
We leave our idols desolate
Leave the ties that bind.
Under painful hardship
We release the very things
Which put us in the circumstance
And caused the suffering
We leave behind our craving
For wealth and diamond rings
Everything exalted
All exalted above God...
That means EVERYTHING
Whatever you adore
On this temporal earth
Whatever gives you pleasure
In which you find worth
These very things will shackle you!
You'll find out they're not free.
They are just the Golden Calf
Of base idolatry.
But the millstone slowly purges
Turning hour by hour
Turning the wheat kernels
Into useful flour.
And so I am refined
As I surely must
Put to naught my flesh
Make powder all my lusts
For I am as ashes
for I am as dust.
Write of Passage aka
SoulSurvivor
8/23/2017
Mar 23, 2022
Mar 23, 2022 at 6:43 AM UTC
So what about it all my friend ?
Has life smiled upon your face?
Do you feel the warming emanate
From within the planet’s grace?
Has chance played a fruitful hand to you
In lady luck’s cruel whim ?
Has mercy touched your Devil’s side
When you’ve clashed horns with him?
Did something hold you back that night
When anger splashed its bile,
Across your pale and youthful brow
Across your jaws profile ?
What contained reaction so?
How did you stay composed,
When all around was turmoil
And reason lay deposed ?
What brought a small smile to your face,
A sparkle to your eye ?
How could you see the innocence
In this blackness called a lie ?
What is it in your make up
Which promulgates your best
When others will capitulate
To fail the crucial test ?
Why is it that you stand so tall
Among the mottled crowd ?
Do you realize your influence
In making we, around you, proud ?
Is the weight of our dependence
A millstone round your neck ?
Or do you take it all within your stride
And grin and…What the heck ?
Do you recognize your leadership,
How you wear this mantle well ?
Dare you hold the flame aloft for us
To strive under your spell ?
Will you wear this robe of Kingship ?
Will you steer our ship of state ?
…For should you guide us to tomorrow
We can tomorrow’s burdens break.
Marshalg
@theCoalface
Victoria Park Tunnel
10 April 2010
Apr 9, 2010
Apr 9, 2010 at 1:31 PM UTC
Apathy is a killer of children;
Oh great poisonous snake
Don’t you have any compassion?
Apathy is a killer of children;
Anna, Steve, Sebastian,
Will you make it to the kingdom?
Selfish preservation persists
From the inside of each one of your lips
But was it the times that did this?
Or was it the trauma of your siblings both getting arrested
And when your dad started calling your mom a *****
Or was it the fact that your dad runs the strip club off Kirk
And you spend your days there watching women strip?
Or was it the fact that your older brother dealt drugs
And it was easy enough to get him to give you some,
And now it’s common practice to smoke **** at your house,
And when you feel numb you let yourself bleed out?
Or was that your parents never parented you
And they let you do whatever you wanted to do,
So at eight R-rated movies were nothing that new
And you watched ****** and ****** like daily cartoons.
And where were your parents when this happened to your hearts?
Oh right, they were screaming and yelling till you fell apart
And then doing the same things that they bruised you for
And then eventually not caring if you did them some more!
Was it your parents?
Was it their parents?
Was it this cycle?
Who can bear it?
Who can we blame?
Who will make the claim?
Who can you place all our burdens on and then walk away?
I can’t bear the weight
I can’t bear the weight
I can’t bear the weight
I can’t bear the weight
We can’t bear the weight
We can’t bear the weight
We can’t bear the weight
We can’t bear the weight!
And who’s going to stop and care about Sophie,
Not unstable enough to try to **** herself
But she’s feeling confused and she’s feeling lowly
And she hopes she can have better mental health,
But the hospital will only make sure she’s calmed down
And her mom and her grandma won’t help her figure it out
And she’s been hurt from therapy and is afraid to go back
To a stranger who’s just there for a paycheck and that’s that!
Who’s hands will stay and hold all her blood
When it trickles down her arms from all her poorly hidden cuts!
Who has her blood on her hands, who is to blame
When her mom kicks down the door and screams her name:
“Sophie I’m sorry!”
Name the killer of children,
Can you name the killer of children?
Is there anyone specific
Who taught them to do this?
Name the killer of children.
Can you name the killer of children?
Was it their parents?
Was it this cycle?
Was it this world?
Was it their idols?
Name the killer of children.
Can you name the killer of children?
If anyone causes these little ones to stumble
Let them be tied to a millstone, drowning deep in open waters!
Can you name the killer of children?
Or do you have at least a spot to bury them in?
Dec 6, 2024
Dec 6, 2024 at 7:33 PM UTC
Eyes of ember and coals of funeral pyres
I gaze there in your fearsome countenance
Your mouth the ****** maw of destruction
****** teeth rip and tear
...the flesh of those I love
You are the cancer of hell
that eats the precious life of the soul
With a wicked smile
you hum the song of the gallows
..as you sharpen your sickle
ready for the harvest of bone crushing beheadings
On the edge of the mourning madness
weight of grief size of the millstone
then have I walked through dark graveyards
final resting place of rotting
skulls and bones
Epitaph
Eulogy
fade like the flowers at the grave and blow away
dust into wind
Dust to dust , ashes to ashes...
Worse yet the graves unmarked
Blood spills out drop by drop
one stroke and the next of the pendulum
second by second you are erased, fading to black
Sand pours our grain by grain on the hourglass
resting on the monolithic slab of your putrid grey black altar behind you
also resting there the glass syringe with infinitely sharp needle
filled with a green somewhere between gangrene and neon radioactive waste
one pinprick, the drug of desperation and suicide
course through the veins of the walking dead
Surely you mock us
and dance near the empty grave that awaits us all
bringing venomous spittle to your mouth
so you can spit in our face to further humiliate us
Decay, corruption and rot
Your perfume with which your anoint yourself at every dawn
Waiting for the candle of life to flicker
so you can be the breath to blow it out
Forging nails that pierce both saint and sinner
through heart, hands and feet
Your bony hand opens the veil to eternity
Vile and poisonous shadow asp
some day I will feel your bite
as you cut the silvery cord that joins soul to body
There are no words to describe your merciless cruelty
You are incapable of leaving behind anything behind
besides empty gaping loneliness
I HATE YOU, YOU ******* - I think of your sadistic ****** every time I walk down the center of town
And see the funeral home
Where there was the wake of my dear mom
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 12:24 AM UTC
Washed up on the shores of life
His sorrows just begun
He lost his life and family
While wallowing in the ****
Too late now the dog you beat
He’s tasted blood before
Lust stabs deep the hungry beast
Rots his very core…
No rest for the wicked
And the millstone ceased to grind
Tear the poor sap open
And there’s no telling what you’ll find…
Blinded now Oh Jezebel
She wonders why you weep
Taking aim to avenge
The heartaches that she seeks…
Denial won’t hide the feelings inside
For the victims that you’ve slain
Therefore he’s become the whipping boy
And she’s become deranged…
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 4:45 PM UTC
A creeper on the glass mirror would love to try and find
A haven for his stench to sink and be welcomed
Wind’s rhythm and gold’s beats are changing
Your red and black arch is tears of happiness for
The taken joker with the mocking-night smile
It’s a warning for the earth worms below to curl in mush
And stretch out to envelop the broken down rock grit
All while they sleep.
Sigh and grace the side of my cheek with the back
Of your hand. Will you slap my one day? No, never—
What could a little stink bug do to harm me?
One cannot separate their treasures easily—
Or perhaps rubies did not fit with the cool black night stone,
But then I remembered that the black widow eats her mate
And I stumbled on foot for a long time before I knew you.
Enough said.
It was warm that day—very fresh and brightly lit
My wrists swung docilely, facing outward—and your fingers
Laced with my hand—silent clamps and scalpels and ropes
To turn—at just the right moment. Pushing aside my answer.
And forcing me downward as if a swarm, making me a millstone
Sinker to the restless night from which I have not woken entirely.
Half developed larvae.
It’s funny walking by a window—in the fall, or perhaps the summer
My, my there are a lot of you in haggard clumps
Creating speckled shadows that dot my inner room.
Silly, the way you’ve bit my ear, and now all I hear is tainted.
I’ll steadily walk in grey and violet. No longer a ruby.
Child, you’ve got a long way to fly—a long time to mate.
Avoid those boxelders.
.
Sep 5, 2011
Sep 5, 2011 at 11:51 AM UTC
Woe betide the unwary
engulfed in worldly pleasures
Accustomed to seeking the material well-being
For if we had been blind
we would have had no sin.
Woe betide the complacent
basking in evanescent earthly delights
Thereby adorning ourselves with a millstone
instead of raiment white as snow
reflecting the effulgence of God's glory
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 10:14 AM UTC
I'd rather stand valiantly, vigilantly, vehemently opposed
And leave myself exposed and abhorred by men as some sort of abomination
Among the nations of the wicked, the violent, the oppressing,
Those obsessing, resting rather than confessing,
Sitting on thrones of plush and velvet, comforts among one another,
Transgressing and pressing, stepping further into a heading of course,
A course plotted, addressing to the south,
Lower than any city, any suggestion, below pity and question,
Lord, forgive me, for I am stacked with bricks of hate, not wont to overcome evil with good,
And free from admission, sin's apparition, the unfortunate linger of lust, lies, respect to persons, and superstition,
Where my heart should be freedom from all sin, and my mind should be blades,
Cutting vain vines growing from the millstone seeds of silence cast.
I'd rather stand and have my face plagued and beaten,
Sandstone after sandstone from the deserts of accusation and trial,
Than sit and participate in the forced trepanation
Where some cadaver formerly called the mind sits, and God was removed.
I'd rather stand.
On the salvation of God, love, and unity,
I'd rather stand.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 4:55 PM UTC
The sun, moon, and stars
Have all just collapsed
They crumbled
crumbled
crumbled
Settled as a *****
pile of rubble
Covered,
Smothered,
Tethered to a millstone;
Plunged beneath the sea
Watch it sink beneath the breach
DOWN
Down
down
Beyond the fish and eels
And monsters of the deep
Down beyond Poseidon's lair
And with the weight,
I have set a piece of me
But, still, I can see
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 10:48 AM UTC
A millstone of terrific intensity and abject tonnage , hoisted o'er
the muscled backs of goodmen , stone of great magnitude and wealth
bestowed his beloved , kindred recipients ....
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 3:23 PM UTC
I barricaded the door,
Screaming, lurching,
Gripped by myself,
Fear searing through every fibre,
Desperation tearing apart my soul,
My eyes and heart on fire.
I screamed loud,
You heard me but couldn't reach me,
Because I didn't want to be reached.
Or did I?
I smashed the glass,
Drew the shards across my wrists,
Slipped under, as warm blood poured down my arms,
Searching for sweet release.
In the haze I heard you knocking,
Then banging, then screaming.
Sirens in the distance,
Then closer.
Noise; a saw maybe.
Loud bangs,
Bright lights.
Beeps.
Beep, beep, beep.
I saw myself on the table,
Surrounded by doctors,
My body a ****** mess,
The green line becoming weaker,
Then flat.
As a child they said that you go to hell,
If you ********** or hurt other people,
Or if you hurt yourself.
It's the only thing that kept me alive so long.
When I returned from the dead they told me to get help;
The church, doctors, charities,
Be mindful, watch the world,
Relax, meditate,
Get better.
But there's no getting away from yourself,
And when you're this broken you can never be fixed.
Not by anybody else, not by yourself;
Not even by those who love you.
And so I sit here, again.
The door locked, more secure this time.
The glass sits on the shelf next to me,
Ready to be broken.
I know to be silent, not to scream,
Not this time,
But to silently slip under without saying goodbye.
It's selfish, I know, to find peace for myself,
And to leave others screaming,
My friends, my family, my children,
But they don't know this pain,
Only I do,
And I know it has to end.
Maybe then, they can stop worrying,
Move on with their lives,
Forget about this 300lb weight they were carrying,
Which was causing them to sink,
A millstone, not a man.
A failure who was supposed to provide,
Make things better,
But who instead destroyed everything.
I feel calm, not terror;
My hand doesn't even shake as I write this note;
Yet I don't even know why I write.
A pause? Clarity?
A goodbye?
Perhaps all three, but defintely not a cry for help.
I've cried all my tears.
Unrepentent, yet sorry for everything,
This is, without question, the end.
Adiue.
Perhaps all three, but defintely not a cry for help.
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 12:20 AM UTC
Your hands are dipped in crimson blood
you say there is no stain.
You're covered in the sores of death
you say there is no pain.
You're fitted with a millstone
you say there is no strain.
Your house is filled with mirrors
you say you are not vain.
You look like you're from Auschwitz
you say you only gain.
Your bed is made with razor wire
you say you have not lain.
The wood is full of splinters
you say there is no grain.
You're living in the depths of hell
you say you're
HOME AGAIN.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/30/2015
All rights protected
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 11:03 AM UTC