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Industrial park
over all the mills
a white haze
is this holy water
this form of plague
Digte om emnet: mill
Digte om emnet “mill” på Poets.by.
Morale-building exercise
In the morning mill,
who but the brawn and glass
captain clapping?
They serve the poor
a long, no-brother talk
about business and God.
Tide Flats, Commencement Bay
The mill on the bay
processes night.
An engineered
beast, it never inhales.
Workers have come and gone
on the bay’s sludged tide.
The mill processes them.
It manufactures my sleep.
Albert Schirding
Jonas Keene thought his lot a hard one
Because his children were all failures.
But I know of a fate more trying than that:
It is to be a failure while your children are successes.
For I raised a brood of eagles
Who flew away at last, leaving me
A crow on the abandoned bough.
Then, with the ambition to prefix
Honorable to my name,
And thus to win my children’s admiration,
I ran for County Superintendent of Schools,
Spending my accumulations to win—and lost.
That fall my daughter received first prize in Paris
For her picture, entitled, “The Old Mill”—
(It was of the water mill before Henry Wilkin put in steam.)
The feeling that I was not worthy of her finished me.
The Mill
I HID beneath the covers of the bed,
And dreamed my eyes were lovers,
On a hill that was my head.
They looked upon the loveliest country I have seen,
Great fields of red-brown earth hedged round with green.
In these enclosures I could see
The high perfection of fertility,
I knew there were sweet waters near to feed the land,
I heard the churning of a mill on my right hand,
I woke to breathlessness with a quick start,
And found my mill the beating of your heart.