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Through the Mill
Through the Mill poetry pamphlets are individually designed on quality paper. The extracts chosen give a flavour of each collection. Use the Paypal buttons at the foot of this page to order any of these publications. If you would like to order all the publications at a discount of over 14% see the special offer at the foot of the page
Jackie Fellague: Escape Velocity ( what happens when we cross the borderline) £2
By the Shimmy Chamois
Mountains lies the Motel La Mirage,
renowned sanctuary of secrets of a sultry,
shappy stripe.
And you’re miles away from Yonkers and the bellboy
wants a tip.
(Western Motel )
Anne Hendy: Snapshots (‘family life from unexpected angles, tender yet disturbing’ – Chris Woods) £3
My hunter Dad brought home his catch.
Mum skinned it and removed entrails.
Sweet flesh slipped smoothly down our throats.
At tea we talked of this and that
amongst the curing pelts.
(Country Child)
Beginnings (feelings surrounding starting points) £2
Emerging through the pines
they stood, dazed to see the gleaming rails each way.
Clear peace exploded round their heads. Fine spun
their view lit up. And danger had begun.
(“It was beautiful,” he said )
Bernard Lord: In A Cerulean Sky (‘Glacial in their minute observation’ - Dr. Phoebe Lambert) £2
peel off your mask, whispers Harlequin
above my head, ankle deep
in soliloquy he looks me in the eye:
I look down at my toes
in circles.
(Spinning )
Ratios of Approximation (quirky, amusing, philosophical) £2
The shelter survived the war as did my parents;
their helmets, masks, neatly ensconced behind
a wardrobe – the same nook occupied each year
by a pillowcase in late December.
(Behind the Lines)
Barbara Nichols: Scraps from the Hearth (domesticity unravels) £2
the cast-iron kettle boils dry
on the stove,
and runes sprawl languidly
across the quilt.
yet, at least
there are no spider droppings
in the jam.
(Small Mercies )
Gordon Simms: The Sounds of Islay (‘endless possibilities beyond the horizon of our lives’ - Julia Casterton) £2
Here at the spill of ocean,
with feet on the damp strand,
or scuffing the roughcast concrete,
we feel the roll of whitecaps,
listen to the tipping horizon,
and tilt, tilt with the wind.
(On the Oa)
Searching for Signs (ceremonial echoes between past and present rituals) £3
The cell’s cold flows from me, my khaki
is replenished by the sun, my blood
surges under bullet-proof skin.
Behind me the palace holds its breath:
guards chafe in their new uniforms.
(Sara’s Day)
Jocelyn Simms: Topaz Island (departures, physical, emotional and imagined) £3
we close until our shadows
bow, one to the other,
entangle on a makeshift raft:
the pearls I wear dissolve like rain
(Pond Life)
Quarantine (hanging onto sanity) £2
Scrumple soft fruits, strain your palm with ink.
Listen to the leaves stirring in their green cradle.
Should we flatten, consign, vamoose such calumnies?
Let them tell you what you already know.
(Because Gardens have Memories)