The Windmill

The WINDMILL - Photo and poem by Hugh Fenlon

The setting sunlight falls upon this place
where years ago I fought to prove my worth
to God and all by coming face to face
with evil beasts and demons on the earth...

Rocky earth, gritty earth.

I was but a farmer at that time
my body young and strong from pushing plows
but farming brought no glory in my mind
and claiming fame and honor was my vow...
Sweaty brow, dirty brow.

So I struck out and left my kin and land
with just a note to say why I had left
upon my cocky steed with sword in hand
to battle bad for good and be the best...
On a quest, a noble quest.

For days I crossed the land without a fight
with nothing more than bugs and time to kill
until one day some storm clouds dimmed the sky
I fled into a pub to drink my fill...
Time to kill, a void to fill.

The crowded place was rank with malt and wine
I drank dark ale and ate some moldy bread
and listened to a minstrel tell in rhyme
of Don Quixote's tale and things he said...
To my head, through my head.

While hearing of this noble knight's campaign
a crazed and frantic thing became my brain
deranged from too much ale and fetid grain
demonic windmills came to be my bane...
Grounding grain, round my brain.

Recalling just that very afternoon
I saw on nearby hills some looming mills
I knew these beasts should die and be impuned
My body staggered out to seek the kill...
Tasting still the bitter swill.

So on that stormy night in drunken state
I mount my leery Chance and coax him back
through pelting rain and lightning to the place
where these behemoths wait for my attack.

I fix my gaze on one and charge ahead
Its arms all flailing 'round to smite me quick
Which startles Chance to rear in fear and dread
So I dismount on ground that's wet and slick.

I draw my sword as lightning cracks the sky
And strike an arm and feel the steel hit bone
As rain begins to cloud and blur my eyes
I somehow see the beast is cloaked in stone.

Undaunted by this challenge facing me
I lunge upon my foe with all my might
And in amongst his armor plates I see
An unprotected place for sword to strike.

It's underbelly hacked reveals a hole
Through which I pass into the giant's gut
And climb the ribs in darkness black as coal
While ducking dangling sinews which I cut.

The smell of musky rye stench pricks my nose
But still I climb up in the giant's head
And find the brain and strike the fatal blow
To still it's grinding heartbeat; Now it's dead!

I pause to think the fame that I'll receive
By killing this deceitful, beastly thing
But lightning through the open mouth I see
A zephyr in the storm cloud closing in.

Emboldened by my killing of the beast
I lean outside the dead thing's mouth and curse
This zephyr like a dragon from the sea
And raise my sword to strike it down or worse!

But victory was not to be my claim
My sword it seems became a lightning rod
The zephyr struck me down with hellish pain
And falling felt like I had failed my god.

Cracking sounds, crashing down,
Everything a burning pain
Fractured glimpses spinning round
Whirling pictures in the brain
Leg bones broken, vomit choking
Millstones grinding, crushing grain,
Plow heads digging, horses kicking,
Steel sword burning in my hand
Distant thunder, easing rain
Moving feelings slowing down
Splintered shingles cast around
Crumpled figure on the ground.

I woke at dawn, my broken body numb
I could not feel my fractured legs at all
And lying helpless in the gritty mud
I knew my spine was broken from the fall.

But something else was shattered in the fight
My errant quest for victory was gone
And from that realization I could sigh
A peaceful feeling graced my mind that dawn.

I opened up my muddy eyes and saw
The windmill I had fought and from which fell
No longer seemed a demon nor as tall
The lightning strike had somehow smote the spell.

So now in crippled state I come to find
This battle ground that looks so different now
For I have done some work since that past time
And none achieved with angry sword nor plow
But heart and mind have been my driving force
To write and tell these stories proved enough
For souls adrift or truly off the course
Of beneficial goodness and of love.

The windmill battered, pillaged, left for naught
Remains a testament about my past
And offers sheltered refuge for the night
A place to dream of glory in some easy sleep...
Ease to sleep, a peaceful sleep.

END