James Mills Poems

Some remnant living in muscle memory
is pressed, dressed and polished each time
he marches, slowly now and with tired bones,
to the Legion for his Friday bingo.
...

I spent last night in my valley.
Green and peaceful, it is.
Slow wagons of unburdened past
creak slow down berry-bright lanes.
...

There's a blue harmony to Summer rain,
Its subtle rhythm suits the mood I'm in,
A pulsing tempo, a liquid refrain
...

A slope of rising road
gains on the pair of us -
forcing silence.
Dusty birds and drunken bees
...

Along about now
old Day pulls the covers up
and whispers night-night.
...

We take slow trains to London moving clack-
clack past back door and yards sculpted in junk
with treasure troves of things they thought they loved;
sheds and beds and secret hiding places,
...

A zillion miles of night
caress the little star.
One amongst countless
it shines, knowing only itself,
...

Visiting you, weeks into your illness,
I almost passed your bed
so unlike yourself you had become.
You saw me, but propriety
...

Bar-room murmurs a dripping beat,
loud with sounding brass
and heavy metal thunder.
...

Out of what has gone before
We hang by threads of destiny;
Too late to change or to restore?
...