Where is your windmill?
Trapped under the millers thumb?
Fat and rotund in your simple smock,
flour coated arms from kneading bread.
...
What can I say,
ever since I left the tree,
always looking back and up.
...
Come little children,
sit down by me,
i'll tell you a tale,
of how you'll be.
...
Today in my normal ignorance I save a fly.
Fell in my beer jug after I wafted my hand.
Thought what do I do?
...
All around the world,
There were dragons,
so we're told
Through art and verse.
...
Four deaths is a drama,
one thousand deaths a statistic.
look into the panorama,
see the logistics.
...
Rats run across the floor,
Khmer music resounds,
the smiles flow free,
with echoes that cannot be heard.
...
One king dies,
another substitutes,
lineage, family tree,
monkey nepotism,
...
The Farmers Wife
Where is your windmill?
Trapped under the millers thumb?
Fat and rotund in your simple smock,
flour coated arms from kneading bread.
Ample busom uddering in the morning light,
the sun rises over the lake,
already reflecting your thoughts.
Broegle - like your day begins.
The warming air echoes the growing stench,
resounding, reverberating,
bouncing off my timpani.
The village awakes, children cry, swine herds bellow,
In the golden light.
The frosted grass fades away,
cows snort in a steamy nasal way,
so begins another day.