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He who remains in the mill grinds, not he who goes to and fro.
The world rolls round forever like a mill; it grinds out death and life and good and ill; it has no purpose, heart or mind or will.
quote by James Thomson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grind Me In The Gears
Im holding my last breath
Its burning in my lungs
Clenching up my eyes
Bloody up my tongue
For the words that might escape
Are ringing in my ears
Grinds me to a pulp
Grind me in the gears
My frozen spirit aches
I slip another day
Start to lose my grip
Find another way
For the life that might escape
Has been echoing for years
Grinds me to a pulp
Grind me in the gears
Ive seen all the faces
They mirror me
And Ive felt the tearing tearing of the teeth
Ive given up my ghosts
Barely breathe your name
Offer up myself
Pray youll do the same
For the love that might escape
Well thats the biggest fear
Grinds me to a pulp
Grinds me in the gears
song performed by by Edwin McCain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Role Of Faith
Fate plays its role
For each soul
And then quietly tie
Without telling why
so whatevercomes out
Accept it without doubt
And know in life's trade
We cannot ask for shade
So sit near fate's gate
And wait to see your plate
And know that God's mill grinds
Slow, but sure and kind.
poem by Seema Chowdhury
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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He Arrives
He arrives,
To apply a different tactic.
And at His will.
You may not notice this at first,
By the way it was achieved.
With a quiet precisioned skill!
You have been accustomed,
To seeing life from one dimension.
From a point of view,
With an indoctrination pursued.
And His intention although not mentioned,
Is to shatter all limitations too!
He arrives,
In your heart, soul and mind.
And once your eyes have been opened wide,
You will realized the depth of those lies told to you.
Why and the reason...
They were fed to control everything done you do!
He arrives,
To gift you with the truth.
With an absoluteness you can not refuse.
Since He is the One that comes who can do this.
The only One to get a detoxing done.
The One who introduces the kind of truth that stuns.
He arrives,
And those conditioned,
To hiding behind their lies...
Find themselves without protection,
Into shelters after a run.
Or tongues to twist,
A truth for all to see that exists!
He arrives,
No need to prepare with prayer.
He arrives and when He comes...
You wont see Him,
But you will know He is there.
His eyes are upon you...everywhere!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Toil
I TOIL, I toil, as toils a jaded horse
Around the ever-changing changeless track
From sunrise on to sunset, till the mill,
That grinds in flour my heart and soul, is still,
And the ropes are loosed, and I may leave my course
And silent, alone with the night, go back
To misery and the cruel sleep whose breasts,
Bitter to suck, give poisoned milk. And this
Is my life! And everything attests
Hell's fleshless hand that holds me pitiless!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: You Are With Us
You are with us in our hearts and our minds;
You will live thus, no matter what happens;
Hope is not lost for God’s mill surely grinds;
Truth will triumph as new doors God opens.
The summer’s sun can’t scorch our heads for long,
And soon will come the day, when rain will pour;
And when it does, let’s sing a joyous song,
And thank the Lord for mercy all the more.
In sun or rain, we have to live our life;
Life’s vagaries should not destabilize;
We have to find solutions to our strife,
And in the process God, we realize.
Though seasons change and man too does the same,
Decides God when to bring one fame or shame!
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Twa Sisters O' Binnorie
There were twa sisters sat in a bow'r;
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
A knight cam' there, a noble wooer,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
He courted the eldest wi' glove and ring,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
But he lo'ed the youngest aboon a' thing,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
The eldest she was vexed sair,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
And sair envìed her sister fair,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
Upon a morning fair and clear,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie !)
She cried upon her sister dear,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
`O sister, sister, tak' my hand,'
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
`And let's go down to the river-strand,'
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
She's ta'en her by the lily hand,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
And down they went to the river-strand
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
The youngest stood upon a stane,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
The eldest cam' and pushed her in,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
'O sister, sister, reach your hand!'
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
'And ye sall be heir o' half my land'--
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
'O sister, reach me but your glove!'
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
'And sweet William sall be your love'--
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
Sometimes she sank, sometimes she swam,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
Till she cam' to the mouth o' yon mill-dam,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie
Out then cam' the miller's son
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
And saw the fair maid swimmin' in,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
'O father, father, draw your dam!'
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
'There's either a mermaid or a swan,'
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
The miller quickly drew the dam,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
And there he found a drown'd womàn,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
Round about her middle sma'
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
There went a gouden girdle bra'
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
All amang her yellow hair
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
A string o' pearls was twisted rare,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
On her fingers lily-white,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
The jewel-rings were shining bright,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
And by there cam' a harper fine,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
Harpèd to nobles when they dine,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
And when he looked that lady on,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
He sigh'd and made a heavy moan,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
He's ta'en three locks o' her yellow hair,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
And wi' them strung his harp sae rare,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
He went into her father's hall,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
And played his harp before them all,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
And sune the harp sang loud and clear,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
`Fareweel, my father and mither dear!'
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
And neist when the harp began to sing,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
'Twas 'Fareweel, sweetheart!' said the string,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
And then as plain as plain could be,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
'There sits my sister wha drownèd me!
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.'
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I have been taking my daily walk round the island, and visited the sugar mill and the threshing mill again.
quote by Fanny Kemble
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just as radical heirs apparent are said to lay aside all inconvenient revolutionary opinions when they come to the throne, it was believed that Mr. Mill in Parliament would be an entirely different person from Mr. Mill in his study.
quote by Millicent Fawcett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Letters
I was thinking of letters,
We all have a lot in our life
A few good - a few sad
But mostly run of the mill-
I suppose that's my fault
For writing to run of the mill people.
I've never had a letter
I really wanted
It might come one day
But then, it will be just too late,
And that's when I don't want it.
poem by Spike Milligan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Melancholy
The blue soul has mutely closed,
In the open window the brown forest sinks,
The stillness of dark animals; in the valley
The mill grinds, by the footbridge clouds rest outpoured,
The golden strangers. A procession of steeds
Gallops red in the village. The garden brown and cold.
The aster freezes, so delicately painted on the fence
The sunflower's gold almost flown away.
The stumpets' voices; dew is poured out
On the hard grass and stars white and cold.
See death painted in the dear shadow,
Every countenance full of tears and closed.
poem by Georg Trakl
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The King's Daughter
WE WERE ten maidens in the green corn,
Small red leaves in the mill-water:
Fairer maidens never were born,
Apples of gold for the king’s daughter.
We were ten maidens by a well-head,
Small white birds in the mill-water:
Sweeter maidens never were wed,
Rings of red for the king’s daughter.
The first to spin, the second to sing,
Seeds of wheat in the mill-water;
The third may was a goodly thing,
White bread and brown for the king’s daughter.
The fourth to sew and the fifth to play,
Fair green weed in the mill-water;
The sixth may was a goodly may,
White wine and red for the king’s daughter.
The seventh to woo, the eighth to wed,
Fair thin reeds in the mill-water;
The ninth had gold work on her head,
Honey in the comb for the king’s daughter.
The ninth had gold work round her hair,
Fallen flowers in the mill-water;
The tenth may was goodly and fair,
Golden gloves for the king’s daughter.
We were ten maidens in a field green,
Fallen fruit in the mill-water;
Fairer maidens never have been,
Golden sleeves for the king’s daughter.
By there comes the king’s young son,
A little wind in the mill-water;
“Out of ten maidens ye’ll grant me one,”
A crown of red for the king’s daughter.
“Out of ten mays ye’ll give me the best,”
A little rain in the mill-water;
A bed of yellow straw for all the rest,
A bed of gold for the king’s daughter.
He’s ta’en out the goodliest,
Rain that rains in the mill-water;
A comb of yellow shell for all the rest,
A comb of gold for the king’s daughter.
He’s made her bed to the goodliest,
Wind and hail in the mill-water;
A grass girdle for all the rest,
A girdle of arms for the king’s daughter.
He’s set his heart to the goodliest,
Snow that snows in the mill-water;
Nine little kisses for all the rest,
An hundredfold for the king’s daughter.
He’s ta’en his leave at the goodliest,
Broken boats in the mill-water;
Golden gifts for all the rest,
Sorrow of heart for the king’s daughter.
“Ye’ll make a grave for my fair body,”
Running rain in the mill-water;
“And ye’ll streek my brother at the side of me,”
The pains of hell for the king’s daughter.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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