small windmill teeters
on edge of tired garden,
steel frame shows rust
thru dull aluminum paint,
concrete pad tips slightly,
buried under snowdrift.
faded red tail fin hangs limp
unresponsive to bitter wind
as head, spun clean away,
lies on frozen ground, useless,
one broken blade
now missing.
Linking to dVerse Poets where Victoria explains “imagist” poetry: Imagists sought to represent “things” in clear, precise language—in the words of Ezra Pound, “luminous details.”
a poem in my pocket 
Feb 01, 2016 @ 12:01:22
Your fine description of the derelict windmill conjurs thoughts of a once well-tended garden that is now a victim of time and neglect.
Feb 01, 2016 @ 11:46:25
Love that missing blade, especially.
Jan 30, 2016 @ 13:27:58
Very easy to visualize. I see how this could work as a metaphor for aging. Great imagistic poetry, Lynn.
Jan 30, 2016 @ 11:51:53
P.S..
Poe
Try
Hob
by
that
never
ends..
free..
easy
peacey
breezey
wiNds..
forty
iS juSt
anotHeR
one oF
mY favorite
numBers to
eNd anD beGiN aGaiN..:)
Jan 30, 2016 @ 11:47:21
WeLL.. my friEnd
almost at the
end Lynn..
i wrote
37 poems
to get here
and it was
worth it
just to see
the shape of
your snow
drift
words..
now on to
39 as the sNow
of me
drifts
oN..;)
Jan 30, 2016 @ 11:17:54
Your broken down windmill was so concisely and clearly described and was made to seem even more neglected by the addition of the cold and snow. I especially loved your second verse.
Jan 30, 2016 @ 09:49:22
There is sense of abandonment…as if the image is frozen, forgotten in time.
Jan 30, 2016 @ 01:03:34
Very clear and sad.. The garden seems dominated by the presence of the past…