Poetry, Soliloquy / / By

Tilting at the Windmills of My Mind

Another day that I must fight the enemy within
It’s not real I’m told – no need to unsheathe my sword
Yet there he is again, stealing memories of old

This enemy arrived stealthily, I did not see him come
I often don’t know he’s there – or if he’s gone away
At times I fight quite valiantly, at times I just don’t care

His tactics are commendable, another victory he might earn
I am a helpless defender – on my mind’s battlefield du jour
Should I try to counter-attack or just quietly surrender

I’m told I’m tilting at windmills, like Don Quixote of old
These enemies of my mind – imagination or forgetfulness
I often cannot recall a thing, as if my memory went blind

My once keen wit a former shield to this ignoble foe
Now tattered and frayed – its sharpness vanquished
Lucidity escapes me with my brain a dull worn blade

Please bring me my morning coffee, be sure to add some cream
I’m ready for another day – so glad to see you here
Why do you keep asking if I’m sure, when I tell you I’m okay

——

Author’s note:  Fortunately, this is entirely fictional for me.  However, it is very real for many, and I dread it might also become my reality one day.  We often prepare for a loved one’s loss of life, but we seldom prepare for their loss of mind, and if it happens, it can be truly heartbreaking.

——

Image: Windmill of Consuegra, Spain, by Ron Rowland, taken October 16, 2021

——

Linked to dVerse ~ Poets Pub Poetics: In The Light of Other Days, where Laura is hosting and has us thinking about memories.

24 thoughts on “Tilting at the Windmills of My Mind”

  1. Laura Bloomsbury

    You capture the loss of memory so well (fortunately in fiction) – the Don Quixote vessel for the poem is very clever. I especially liked the final verse but the whole poem is a great response to the prompt

    Reply
    1. Ron Rowland

      Thanks Laura. I began thinking about this a day or two ago. Not sure what muse triggered it, but your prompt brought it to completion.

      Reply
  3. Glenn Buttkus

    “Senior moments” gather like lichen on the underbelly of my consciousness. Poetry, imagination, and research keep the cortex energized, but it is the internet that is my ally these days. A name, a title, a word, Sir Goggle can muster it for me in an instant.

    Reply
  4. fireblossom32

    I’m glad for the footnote explaining that this is not your current reality, but yes, it’s scary and uncertain, just seemingly a roll of the dice and a turning of the calendar pages to determine who keeps playing and who goes bust.

    Reply
    1. Ron Rowland

      Yes, I remember my mom calling me and crying when her mom didn’t recognize her. Fortunately, all was well two days later when the doctor realized he had messed up grandma’s meds.

      Reply
  6. rob kistner

    This was gripping Ron, and well written. I am tilting a bit, trying to hold on the the notion that it’s just “old age” — hoping the hell I’m right.

    Reply
    1. Ron Rowland

      Thanks Rob — I’m of the belief that one’s awareness of their condition (or possibility thereof) is in itself a mental salve.

      Reply
  9. Ingrid

    This is chilling, Ron:

    ‘This enemy arrived stealthily, I did not see him come
    I often don’t know he’s there – or if he’s gone away’

    it must be so terrifying and disorienting to experience this. A great analogy with Don Quixote’s windmills (and a great photo!)

    Reply
    1. Ron Rowland

      Thanks Ingrid. I’m not sure if Don Quixote had Alzheimer’s, was just plain crazy, or had a very vivid imagination, but I thought it would work well the subject matter.

      Reply
  11. SelmaMartin

    And how well it all fell into this poem for this prompt: You never knew it when you took that picture. And lookie here, it is perfecto! I adore the picture and the poem. Lovely.
    Incidentally, I wrote one last week, ((not published yet)) with the theme of memories as well. Words like Quixote and windmills are in there. (how cool is that) Well, I find it cool. Yours is spectacular, and the picture… aww. Thanks for sharing it Ron.

    Reply
    1. Ron Rowland

      Thanks Selma. Yes, there is a certain level of satisfaction and gratification when all the pieces fall into place. Looking forward to reading yours.

      Reply
  12. Beverly Crawford

    What a wonderful poem, wonderfully titled. I think of my mother as her Alzheimer’s progressed, tilting at the windmills of her mind. You couch it brilliantly, Ron.

    Reply

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