James Mills


James Mills Poems

41. Fingerprints 5/15/2005
42. Above Rostrevor 5/14/2005
43. Solitary Man 9/16/2006
44. The Weight 5/13/2005
45. Mr Yeats On The Radio 5/14/2005
46. No More Cat 5/8/2005
47. Leavetaking 5/7/2005
48. Rare Earth 5/5/2005
49. Generations 5/8/2005
50. Tuesdays Were Pigs 5/18/2005
51. Shibboleth 5/8/2005
52. The Wish 5/6/2005
53. Crossroads 5/6/2005
54. Cassidy 5/13/2005
55. Story And History 5/13/2005
56. Directions 5/5/2005
57. Arriving 5/7/2005
58. Buzzing 5/18/2005
59. Quiddity 5/3/2005
60. Blue Notes 5/14/2005
61. Therapy 5/8/2005
62. Little Star 5/12/2005
63. For The Children 5/7/2005
64. Boneyards 5/16/2005
65. A Few Degrees Of Heat 5/6/2005
66. After The Deluge 5/3/2005
67. Terminal Leave. France 1917 5/2/2005
68. War Torn 5/2/2005

Comments about James Mills

  • Andy Konisberg (5/7/2005 9:08:00 PM)

    some real promise here...I've left comments on a few. I like the fact that you switch in between styles and structure... I don't think you handle dialogue in quite as effective way as you could because often it completely divides the poems...I would suggest integrating descriptive elements with dialogue, to retain cohesion....there are some great elements here; some really wonderful stand-out lines and I think 'Quiddity', 'For the children', 'Terminal leave', and I think another I commented on, are the most impressive pieces in terms of maintaining rhythm and structure...even though you are mainly writing free-verse poetry. There is some excellent turns of phrase at times, and I look forward to reading your future postings, James.

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  • Michael Shepherd (5/7/2005 4:36:00 AM)

    James, I see you've drawn the spite rating from the 'oners' for your poems. Sorry if my posting was to blame...

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  • Frances Macaulay Forde Frances Macaulay Forde (5/2/2005 11:36:00 AM)

    Fabulous skill with words. The 'More Info' lists many different James Mills. You are obviously a serious poet and I would like to read more of your work. So?
    Who are you?

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Best Poem of James 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.
His numbers, in all the years, haven't shown
as ex-corporal caller turns the wheel
and the same bally jokes revolve and drop,
snipered, on the half-deaf, half-dead, half-full
hall of pensioners with fat pens
and luckless grins whose week's entertainment
spins and tumbles. Someone checks. They groan.
He removes his specs sauntering barwards
for his first pint, shouts an old joke, ...

Read the full of War Torn

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.


It wastes. Brittle as unformed ideas,
it breaks. Unvisited, it withers,
almost dissolving, till just subtle stains
remain, ghostly as amputees' pain.

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