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Grilled Cheese is a product of Village Compute

Version devBuilt at: 2026-10-16 08:00:47 EDT

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"New feet within my garden go" by Emily Dickinson — musical poem on V2Melody

Flamboyant fall foliage

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Promotional graphic for "Grace Race II" poem and song by Bill Kochman featuring author photo, quill icons and website link

The X Files: Bonnybridge, October ’95
Hugh McMillan

Lorrayne
before you hit me with that object
shaped like a toblerone
let me explain.
We only went for a half pint and a whisky
then set off home but somehow
lost two hours on a thirty minute journey.
My mind’s a blank
but Brian clearly saw
Aliens with black eyes and no lips
leading us onto a kind of craft.
I tried to lash out, explain that I was late,
but they used some kind of numbing ray on me:
it put me in this state.
Lorrayne, don’t you see what it explains?
All the times I crawled home with odd abrasions.
Put that down Lorrayne,
don’t you see I have to go again,
for the sake of future generations?

Summer's end leaves morbid husks
standing guard, heads bowed at dusk
wilting, weeping, row by row
#sunflowers bend in slumber's tow.
Their tears fall dry - the seeds they sow
will rise exhumed from graves of snow
to bask in warmth the sun does send
until again, comes summer's end.

~Beyond the Onions~ Ross McDermott ~

A mony-brainchin' candelabra fills
The lift and's lowin' wi' the stars;
The Octopus Creation is wallopin'
In coontless faddoms o' a nameless sea.
I am the candelabra, and burn
My endless candles to an Unkent God.
I am the mind and meanin' o' the octopus
That thraws its empty airms through a' th' Inane.

Then the knight announced himself with noise of his own:
“Who holds power in this place and is prepared to meet me?
Here is Gawain the Good! You’ve got him right here.
If anyone wants anything, let him answer quickly
and make his needs known. It is now or never!”
“So, wait!” someone said from somewhere above him,
“and you shall have in a hurry what I’m here to give you.”
Yet he got on with his grinding for a good while longer,
working on his whetting before he went down.
Then he came off the crag where a crevice opened,
and whirled round the wall. His weapon was deadly,
a Danish axe (never dull) to deal out the blow,
with a big blade that bent round the haft –
finished with a file, and more than four feet high.
It loomed even larger against the lace’s brilliance.
The Green Knight and his gear were as green as ever
from his head to his heels, plus his hair and beard.
But he came forth with both feet set firmly on earth,
striking steel to stone as he stalked forward.
When his way reached the water, he didn’t wade across,
but vaulted over on his axe and eagerly strode,
brutal and bloodthirsty, across a broad field covered
with snow.
Sir Gawain bowed in greeting,
but not particularly low.
The other said, “Our meeting
here proves what I wanted to know.”

"The Chimney-Sweeper" by William Blake — musical poem on V2Melody

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Poems to Write

Companionship welcome (though solitude neat),
indelible closeness, already warm sheets,
some slumbers unbroken, most ruptured ones shared,
chains breaking from pillows come decaf prepared.

Subdued background whisper, this cold winter sky
sporadically punctured (from harsh vixen cry).
Diaphanous clouds, but the stars pushing through;
I want you to know that I’m happy too,

at peace with this pastoral land near the sea,
unflustered, unaltered, consistently me.
If ever I gave you a different idea,
examine it closely, let doubts disappear.

By quarter to midnight, my supper at last,
I'm ‘finishing’ chocolate, then raising a glass
to passing obscurities ever so slight.
Now, if you don’t mind, I've got poems to write.

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