Poem By James Mills

This grass.
This grass will pass,
to new generations.
My graceful space will fill
shining bodies with my genes.

Between love and death and future
some garbled link, some bones,
will survive the tons of time.
They'll test my claws,
my laws of instinct.
My time will be falsely remembered.

Beauty survives.

My skin.
My skin will inundate.
They'll peer at that bright surface
and poeticise.
Beauty survives,
scanned in my horizon.

My hair tells my disguise,
not my intention.

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Other poems of MILLS

War Torn

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.

Terminal Leave. France 1917

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

Little Star

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


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

A Few Degrees Of Heat

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

The Wish

Tethered to a stump of memory
a Wish lies bleaching in white isolation.
Dream winds worry its fading outline,
cracked lights shine on it - sometimes.