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Saturday, 25 April 2009

As the Human Village Prepares for Its Fate

.




While everything external
dies away in the far off
echo of the soul
still there’s a mill wheel turning

it is like a good
kind of tiredness in
the moment before sleep
by some distant stream

a note of peace
in a life which
will never be peaceful
as the daylight fades

the dream disintegrates
but the shadow holds
no power
over what’s about to happen




Flatford Mill: John Constable, 1817 (Tate Gallery)

"The sound of water escaping from mill dams, willows, old rotten planks, slimy posts and brickwork, I love such things."
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2 comments:

Sue Ann Simar said...

I love the feel of this poem, that first step off the diving board only quieter more self-contained...the poem has a personal feel, but the title pulls the whole Human Village into the poem...the word village brings an intimacy, a quaintness...
Sue Ann Simar

TC said...

Sue Ann,

Thank you for "getting" this one... you may be the first to do so (I guess the poet himself doesn't count).