“The sound of the mill”
Nothing more until…
“The sound of the mill”
How sorry to kill
the time that was meant
to be better spent

Than in mindly wanderings
upon mere earthly things
instead of on that
which would benefit;
instead of thinking
on eternity.

After a decision I have made recently, I thought I’d try and ease my way slowly back into this poetry lark with a random musing from my walk home tonight:

See a person
smile them gladly
and all your days
will not be empty.

Ps: While doing some random research for this post, I came across such a diverting link that I just have to share… (Yes, I know there are far too many words underlined, but what he says is interesting enough to make up for it.)

She is in agony, in agony.
She is my own flesh and blood, for my life.
Now she sits, her face contorted from pain
Stranger to me, as she were a statue.
She would go to bed, before the night becomes
too long. I help her to stand up and
proceed down the corridor together;
not, I sigh, without some difficulty.
Helping her undress, she is patient
- as always – and meeker the worse she felt.
How I longed to do… anything for her!
Then, before she went to quietly sleep
I kiss the tender cheek, mutt’ring “Night, Mum.”
and slip back into the child I had been.

It is a bus: ye olde busse,
- for a penny a ride -
with conductor hat and all
at the entrance standing tall.

As the bus stops by the bus stop,
climbing on through open doors
I can hear the metal tinkling
and the buzzer saying “ring”.

Also the bus – this time more modern -
takes me along past all the world:
Sitting waiting, screech of brakes,
on again, past shops and lakes.

Stop the bus! I rise to leave;
press the bell and say “Thankyou.”
The doors slide open with a hiss
and out I step onto the grass.

A bus starts up and carries on.
No longer do I see;
as I step off alone
the bus carries on.

A hurt that cannot find words
it is so long remembered. Yet it must;
for even now it speaks within me:

Not resentment, for the wound is healing
though I will not help it; so more effectively.
(Wounds heal best just naturally,
not by unintended infecting
of them. Is that not so?)

So, therefore, I must
find… or rather “have”
such words to express myself.

Now it cannot be forgotten
so I am no longer obliged
to remember – just for myself!

Not resentment; for there is no one to resent.
I will not fall into that old vice: of claiming
- even if only to myself – that any are aiming
at infallibility. I must not expect at present
- or ever – too much. Else be disappointed.

Not to be disappointed in those I care for,
those I love and respect;
not to think too highly, too often, except
in commendation: to praise more.
As I ought to, should do, must do more.

One final word and that will suffice.
Less negative emotion, please! Optimism
and self-confidence. Yes, I have succeeded.

That boy over there is my brother.
He can sometimes be quite a bother.
Yet I love him really
for all his tomfoolery,
tho’ I’m glad I don’t have another.

Teach me how to cry
- I’ve forgotton.
Only the pain I feel:

Like a gravestone
pulling me down
’til I sink.

I long to cry
and be rid of this longing;
fall over the brink

of sadness. To weep
my worry away.

Forgetting this
accumulation. Sealed.

A choice few there were who were dissenters.
After a pause; from T.N. his letter.
From G.M. too “with reasons if required.”
Simply a “simple dissent recorded”
- against M.S. (Uncle Maarten that is).
And J.C. had a relevant question
or non-relevant as you may view it.
Good representation if you ask me.
Expectation. A ripple-smile passed round
- from M.S. to me and over to G.M. -
as wee Esther took the chance to vanish.
Showing by its momentary easing
the presence of tension. Yet finally
our victory. We have conformity.