A tale of one man's quest for fame - inspired by Don Quixote & the author's photograph. |
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 |