Grand Junction Canal At Southall Mill (Poetry)

A Landscape by J.M.W. Turner

The mill looms large
and dominates the view,
its solid bulk forever fixed,
set square
against a sky extravagantly gold
where frail vanes stretch,
throw wide
thin parodies of arms
that reach towards the light,
woodenly attempt to catch, enfold
bright filaments that fuse
cool edge to melting edge,
yellow-plate a baser coloured air.

Around the lock’s dark rim
a soldered band glows pale —
metallic, collaring
dim, sluggish gates
where water flows, discreetly brown,
swallowed down
a partly-opened throat.

And patient horses graze,
tethered to an umber land
by strands of dying light;
while human figures toil, heads bent,
ignore the sunset’s show —
its alchemy ablaze —
day’s coinage scattered, generously spent,
now fingered by the sneak-thief hand
                                                of night.