free verse

What If The Windmills Were Just As Mad?

I am the windmill
who in the wind’s full sail
is the giant on the way
but my heart contains
the rusted Spaniard too
in madness come to slay
and at last
I play the role of his trusty
man at arms
who is wont to save the day

…from myself


My River

I miss my river
grey though she
ebbs and flows
slowly lapping
with a kind
of resignation
as she dwells
upon her glories
past and famed
but still
I miss her sounds
her accent rare
and noises off
banks north and south
the songs she sang
and those not sung,
her lack of airs
despite her graces
which other
grander courses
of well renown
present, these
only make her
feel right
and me feel right
in turn