I sat down to study the Netherlands tried to gather all the scoop
Entering every contest cause I'm new to Poetry Soup
I read all the poetry masters to grow I must surely invest
What I've discovered in almost no time is why Soup poets are the best
Zerbst wrote an anthem with some amazing poetic twist
Made me wish I was from Freisland this sprawling sealand really exist
Dr. Ram wrote a history thesis he even quotes the great Shakespeare
The Netherlands in an Italian sonnet another masterpiece was here
Cornish obviously did his homework in couplet form he holds command
Displays the heart and pride of the people when I read his words I want to stand
Andrea's the Soup contest master so you knew she'd draw her pen
With perfection her ode to Freisland, Ms. Dietrich has done it once again
I could go on with the works on Netherlands a shout out to John, Ralph, and Tim
A descriptive write by Huberta van Akkeren, these odes will make sweet Elly grin
So I learned all about the Netherlands another ode wasn't needed from me
To be proud of this majestic country... May she ever be beautiful and free!
Sponsor: Elly Wouterse
Contest Name: Your ode to 'my' Netherlands and/or 'my' Friesland
*Happy Birthday Elle!
Ode To A Former Wild Life
Drank too hard, rode my horses too fast
didn't give a damn if my body did not last
Midnight was a bell for me to pour it on
get wasted until my head felt like a stone
Pretty gals, O' how they spun my wheels
woo'ed them as I pleased, made no deals
Passionate nights spent dancing in the bed
plenty of time for sleep after I am dead
Life was just a big box to rip'er open
bigger thrills , prettier gals I was hoping
Once a spirited mustang, wild as all hell
wildest things I did I dare not to tell
Memories good or bad often can not decide
yet one thing is sure, had one helluva' ride
Memories good or bad , often know not which
yet having none at all would be a real bitch!
Robert J. Lindley , 04-18- 2015
Your buildings were burned,
Your walls they were torn,
And just like that Priam's Kingdom was no more.
Your damnation was brought on by the lusts of a young man
For a young woman named Helan who was declared the fairest.
This is what brought to your land the Achaeans other wise known as the
Their soldiers,slaves, and their king,
To destory the trojans is what they did seek.
For ten long years there was blood,sweat and so many tears.
With no relief or gains,
Just more deaths and battle pains.
Untill Achilles and his shield,
Killed your bravest son Hector on the field.
The gods themselves were divided,
Ones on each side fighting,
All this for one young couples desire's
And so your buildings they were burned,
Your walls they were torn,
And the life of Priam and his kingdom and sons were no more,
destroyed they were,
All for one girl.
This new born day I celebrate your souls release from guilt n’ captivity since that day you
felt a carnal touch of sin within as your hands played poetically upon the curves of your dead
lover’s silken skin…
I know now you made your way to the top of the rocks to plant a tree to guard this sacred
place where I fell from thee n’ you repeated the poetic chant of love’s abandoning to follow
me into our karmic destiny…
On that fateful day your soul bled away at the top of this crest by a solitary juvenile tree,
your body of words fell to the rocks at the base of this cliff, embroidered into the blood of
The one who would hold a feather to her face on this crest by the sea n’ remember finally
the days gone by of you n’ me, our deaths from love’s abandoning when you my love were
lost to this world n’ me for ten centuries…
I now await destiny as we will love forever more with immortal hearts…
She swept away the tired day
with purple broom that stained the sky
and the sun swept under the rug
was the sparkle in her eye
She walked on a bridge of cloud
with such glowing presence and luminescence
that it left crumbs of stars in the sky.
I woke up this morning with tears in my eyes,
your face was in the morning paper;
they shot you dead like a dog,
hunted you out all day and night.
They said you'd always been a bad seed
and youths were dying because of you;
they said you're a criminal on the run
with a dirty face and shaggy head.
But I know you better than they do,
you preached love to all the people;
you fought for them, young and old,
you lit up their nights with your heart.
And now as I see you lying dead,
it seems my dreams have vanished as well;
they can call you names, any names they want,
but I know there's only one like you,
there's only one like you,
there's only one Che Guevara.
You lit up their nights with your heart,
you lit up their nights with your heart,
you lit up their nights with your heart.
He's packin' magic Viagra
Muse infused grooves set the mood
grab ya' and stab ya'
still we speak the same language
teach and preach truth
every time I stop to see what he's droppin'
my dang pen commits sin, flips a lid
ink pours, runs down the paper like Jill Abramson did the NY TIMES
just in time verse transfers kinetic energy
activating a semantic force field
formulating symbiosis through synergy
swimming in puddles of puns
changing sans rays into rays of sun
you can hear bums humming metonym hymns from the Twin Cities to Tuscan
igniting a revolution of prostitutes and hooligans on hallucinogens to scoot
loose from futons
learn to earn and swim with loose Louis Vuitton boots on
whacked out kids from Pakistan with crack in hand hear his pen
and pack into Shaggin' Wagon vans to kick up sand and
do their dance and just hold hands
the whole globe huggin' like cousins
uncovering hovering heteronomy mysteries evading lexicographers throughout
centuries of history
he's teaching wide eyed chicks to utilize polysemy by demonstrating thermal
viscosity rates of his balls and prick
my mental lexicon is spinning
so I'm sinnin' then I'm grinnin' and grabbing inflatable girlfriends over for
dinner then dessert to be followed immediately by frenzied poetic circle jerks
I must admit the fabric of his hyperbole allegoristic-ally makes me
wanna on·o·mat·o·poe·ia in my pants and break into a hyper pole dance!
he's coordinating conjunctions
box munching at the junction
whole heartedly gets retarded with descriptive hard-ons
vast array of play-on words for you ladies to chew on
verse for verse
inch for inch
tit for tat
this and that
hot and heavy with romance
enough to make a man wear a hard hat
there inside the high rise
under construction in the pants
damn Mister (CENSORED), atta-boy!
and though I'mma boy with no vagina, boy
(you don't mind if I call you mister by design there boy?)
Man, the images your tongue twisters send
I must commend and admit
if you had a different rear end...
I might have to apprehend your ass with my ten inch night stick, oh hell, it's
just past a hard seven, but who's countin' man?
As you see poetry is a curse conjuring harmful words of demonic proportions
reading your scriptures' depictions interrogatively tells me these inscriptions
are precisely the prescription I need to erect the sword which could ultimately
lead to seismic abortions...dang...
Did I just type that?
When I looked at you last week trying on your new boots
Those almond eyes sparkling at something new, a gift
I saw my little pink girl, a princess, playing dress up again
Your long hair draped your high cheekbones
Life still a game, tinged with drama and theatre
As you look for fun in all your pursuits!
A player in life with a passion for cooking and music
You have become a kind, loyal, vivacious young woman
Self assured, grounded with a love of tradition
I looked at you and felt an overwhelming pride.
Sunday’s child is ' bonny, blithe, good and gay' they say
Befitting my Sabbath girl, a model child of few demands
Your bedroom a vast sea of Barbie and friends
A Passion for story-time and books
Your Dutch life with Irish sea-touched roots,
You are a real continental
A great scholar with degrees in Law and Psychoanalysis
You have found your true love with Luis, a Spaniard
As you both prepare to leave the Emerald Isle
I wonder at the achievement of you!
His message to Mankind was divine love, much louder than
the desert wind hissing through the tall palm trees;
they heard Him, but sadly contempt built up when
they defiled the Temple by selling and trading instead of praying on their knees...
so Jesus got the whip and the lame and the blind cried out the word, " Hosanna! "
Christ was the faithful servant who was scourged, derided and crucified,
now, is the friend of all who believe in Him, not in a sinful world....
the Redeemer who carried the heavy cross to Calvary and died;
His resurrection was a victory over death making Him the eternal Lord!
Who besides Him is more worthy of God His Father, are we?
Anytime Jesus prayed, He finished that prayer with this holy word, " Hosanna! "
Nothing has changed...it was an unjust and mean world, and so it will be;
they lived for lust, power and money getting greedier than Judas who chose death;
find that good soul that resembles Jesus...is it that poor man who seeks mercy?
We can gather much gold, make him a crown and place it on his bruised head!
And while he sits there waiting for compassion, his feeble voice proclaims," Hosanna! "
All nations strive for supremacy, making useless and massive weapons so destructive,
they have no love for their neighbors...they hate peace and every beautiful place;
we have made it to this century...will others see a tomorrow not dark and delusive?
Pray like Jesus did and put your fate in the hands of the Almighty who's grace!
No joy or possession is greater than faith...get up, look up and shout, " Hosanna! "
Alms Inn, there is the place again, and here
I, far away, muse in the house I grew
O this village of my love, has grown too
The golden hills with lilacs filled, the sweet
Soft of morning dew, and my dusty feet
Leaving his brighter sun for school and care
Whilst he with poetic dreams filled the air
And orange blossoms buzz with fragrance fair
And O, orange blossoms buzz when
In my mind I hear his voice again.
Father, fragile though festive fold of hills
Where drought walks dissonant on dribbled dreams
Your memory abides here still, and bright streams
Of laughter where you paced or sat unveiling
History and poetry and farmed feeling
Of the world. Like a nightingale's voice spills
Through the village gate, sublime as sacred thrills
The organ dissipates, and crannies fills
With thy deep eloquence and pride
And thy wide eyed child by your side.
Regal of an African line, birth low
Amidst the Maroon bramble, up you came
Out of the German mire of blood, a flame
Carrying bushman and midwife through night
The falcon feathered for the frolic of flight
Over foreign spires, in the bright rainbow
Father, still your footsteps that path does show
Mud deep, bright towards the future we go
Athlete, scholar, tempest and mist
Man above men will foes insist
And I today churn in praise my new lines
Waking like a womb of fresh beginnings
A virgin voyage of my form, deep gleanings
Of the mind's creativity. I bring
It, tribute to you, blush before my king
For whose awesome form my love matchless pines
Seeking your worth in joys of new designs
To carve your honor on our human minds
First of our black place to unfold
Upon white space petals of gold.
This proud veterinarian, this wave
That pulse across the Caribbean's shores
This first in rank in all the shackled chores
This noble patron of the arts, this child
Of business, that upward through nights here toiled
To say I am free, stir now gloomy grave
You shall not hold him forever a slave
When jubilee comes, and our God shall save
For of all the joys that is known
He loved his God, and grace was shown
Time and us are leashed memories
With time I tell love's true stories
And so its oft, when love in fancy strays
I to Alms Inn, where my boyhood still plays
In St. Elizabeth, behind the brimmed drays
Here in white pattern of dust I reclaim
The glory of my father, all my name
For we are nothing who have no past, sir
No identity the shard soul to stir
Shorn from the traditions of father's ways.
There is a field where Sherman marched
Across the bloody South
Just beside a freeway, that connects it to the North
No one builds and no one plants on hallowed bloody ground
And late at night tis said there’s ghosts that hover all around
In the spring there’s beauty on this poor forgotten place
No one live remembers the men who died with grace
No cell phones or gadgets to escape the fear and dread
Letters lost or just delayed were part of war twas said
Brothers fighting brothers in a bloody senseless brawl
Shattering a country while a death rate took its toll.
Marching cross the U.S. burning towns just shortly built--
Lynching and destroying without a modicum of guilt.
Streamlined education doesn’t bother with “ancient” facts
Parents want a fast track deal –full deductions in their tax
Highlight education is the modern style—on line.
No room for the how’s and why’s –there simply isn’t time.
So, if you seek reflection in a conversation pit
Find an avid reader for a talk with any wit.
The year is1762 and a tale of murder or mystery they boast
A teenage girl, a drunken parish clerk and even a ghost
About hordes of aristocrats and wealthy men assembling
Crowds rivalling Covent Garden Theatres were now descending
To a house near St Paul’s on a road named Cock Lane
Although three stories high one room on each floor it had for its fame
Owned by Richard Parsons a clerk with a passion for drink
Forever in debt borrowing money, but to repay it he never did think.
He evicted poor Fanny and her partner William Kent
Even though he borrowed money from them and they could pay rent
A short time later smallpox took poor Fanny Lynns from this world
But her 'said to be' husband engraved no name, and then this story unfurled
He explained in truth that they were not wed
He didn’t want her family knowing poor Fanny was dead
She left all her goods to her partner William Kent
He didn’t want to share them not a penny not a cent
Two years later a report on Fanny hit the news
It seems Parson was Kent’s character now going to abuse
Through Parsons daughter it was said that Fanny had spoken
The ghost of Fanny Lynes with a scratching sound had awoken
From the lips of the poor deceased Fanny Lynes
The tales of murder and scratching begins
She says she died not of smallpox, but of murder most foul
And she wants her revenge and is now on the prowl
Kent denied murder he loved his Fanny so
But of the scratching of Fanny now most people did know
To the house in Cock lane the crowds rallied round
Entrepreneurs learnt how to make a quick buck, a quick pound
Selling food and drink and seats by the door
As Fanny was said to tell of her murder and more
But it seems there may have been trickery and lies from Parsons not Kent
As it was to his daughter Elizabeth that Fanny’s messages were sent.
Parsons was found guilty of lies, a fine he was ordered to pay
As he did not pay to jail he went and spent there many a day
The case against Kent dropped and Fanny’s ghost did now sleep
But years later maybe her revenge she finally did reap
As the years passed more investigations were made
Her coffin was dug up and her body displayed
On poor scratching fanny of Cock lane it was observed
No smallpox was found but her face was preserved
Was it then arsenic that killed poor Fanny after all?
Whatever the truth in the house of three stories tall
No one knows now as the grave held no engraved name
But still there exists the tale of Scratching Fanny in Cock Lane.
© GG 30/1/2014
The were the three Magi with mantels and beards, traveling
on strong camels as far as Bethlehem and having
seen a wondrous star, they began their long journey
by bringing precious gifts, but they warned Joseph and Mary
of Herod's malicious intent...so they fled to Egypt
on a donkey that never complain of a sore hip!
They believed in the Savior as Herod himself full of pride,
and being very wise, they never returned
to tell him what kind of child they had found!
They brought their gifts and knelt at a child
whose fate as foretold was to die for us all,
and he gladly accepted them hearing His Father's call!
Not having heard from the Wise Men who had lied to Him,
Herod sent his soldiers to kill all children under three: screams terrorized Bethlehem;
no, they weren't moved by their mother's painful cry
and shedding their innocent blood they revenged that lie!
O mothers of Bethlehem, Jesus knew that they were slaughtered because of Him!
O mothers of Bethlehem, you wept and moaned as they bled as a sacrificial lamb!
They believed in the Savior from what they had read,
and wanted to see for themselves the glorious event that Daniel spoken of:
the brightest star shining over Bethlehem as angels sang,
announcing Christ's birth in a small town groping on a hill of citrus and clove!
Written on December 16, 2012
An Ode To LIFE
As I lay my head down and start to fall asleep I see myself being carried off to a place and time the place of our Lords birth in Bethlehem of Judea
As in the Bible tells the story of His life and how he lived and died in that human seance and rose on the day He told of
I do not remember being here but I remember the story I was taught so many years ago
As I walk through the streets of Bethlehem I see each scene and hear every word as I am learning the story they telling is true
The writer writes of a jealous King and his way of dealing with his people and of Mary and Joseph who came to Bethlehem to have a child
The story tells of the three wise men who saw a star in the north and heard of a child who was born to be the King of the Jews and come to see and bring Him gifts
An angel from the Heavens above came to Mary and Joseph in a dream and told them they had to leave Bethlehem or King Herod would have their son killed
So they left Bethlehem and went to Egypt and there they lived until King Herod no longer ruled
As I follow along in my dream I see each scene and hear every word as I am puzzled by the fact I understand each
I don’t understand why I’m going through this time but I know I must continue on this journey
As I am pulling through a time where I reach the place of Jesus’ in Nazareth of Galilee
As I watched Him grow and work in His father's shop I could see the thing in Him that were with me
As I walk along the streets and look around I hear the people talk of a child that speaks of wondrous love that’s all forgiving and of a Father in Heaven that’s loving and true.
By Rev. Samuel Mack, OMS
Inspired by God
A BIT OF UK HISTORY
(An Ode To The UK Royal
Just consider Henry Tudor,
No man born was ever ruder,
He changed his wife, like
changing his socks
But he got his comeuppance,
he died of the pox.
If a wife didn’t please him,
when he was in bed,
She was in very grave danger
of losing her head.
Queen Mary had people burned
on a pyre,
She was very religious, but
addicted to fire.
Next came Lizzie, the Virgin
Well, before Robert Dudley,
she might just have been.
One day she kicked him out
of her bed,
Next thing he knew, it was
off with his head.
Charles the Second had
Then hell, he retired, so he
had a few more!
He made them all lords and
gave them estates
That’s why nobility are such
Oliver Cromwell had done for
He wasn’t much better, but he
wasn’t all bad.
King James was a Scot, and a
right old nancy,
He liked little boys who just
took his fancy.
It was usually known that he
didn’t like water,
Never took a bath, when he
really should oughter.
There were also the Georges,
one, two, three and four,
Now they were all German –
right through to the core.
The first brought two
mistresses when he came in,
One short and fat, and one
tall and thin.
I promise you – this is all true,
The history books make it so
Now George the Third was as
mad as a hatter
But he begat him an heir, so it
didn’t much matter.
Sexy Coberg Gotha, Queen
‘Cos she married Prince Albert,
and that was his name.
They had lots of children, I
believe it was ten,
So he must have had, plenty
of ink in his pen!
Edward the Eight, he gave
up the throne,
Didn’t want to sit on it all on
Hark the herald angels sing:
Mrs Simpson pinched our
She was a most unlikely
All skin and bone wrapped
up in a bag.
George, Duke of Kent, was
of doubtful gender,
Was quite well known – as
a bit of a bender.
Ivor Novellor was much to
Quite good-looking, now
that was a waste.
He had to marry Princess
Arranged before he’d even
That was such a sad little
He’d have liked her much
better, if she’d been a male!
Phil the Greek, landed here
minus a penny,
So he married a royal, now
his fortunes are many.
Turned out to be an arrogant
Thinks he’s one step down
Charles is now the Prince of
Bet his lackeys could tell a
Camilla was his bit on the
Wonder how many others
Poor Princess Di, now she
nearly blew it,
She had a son who looks
like James Hewitt!
She was a lady – an upper
But she broke all their rules,
they had her bumped off.
They toil not, neither do
But still the money keeps
Their riches now, are quite
It’s about time they were
Keep this to yourself, old
Or the buggers will have
me locked up in the Tower.
Well, I mean, it stands to
They could have me done
for inciting treason!
the land was valued at $240, where they built "the little church on the hill"
established by a group of abolitionists and free blacks for they knew that was God's will
they named it Berean Baptist and its congregation was integrated
but after only a short time the membership separated
the church continued to prosper for the members were godly inspired
they would not let anything keep them down not even those two fires
the congregation would continue to rebuild for their faith could not be pricked
they got smart and moved two blocks over and erect a church made out of bricks
it was a little chapel yet membership would continue on the up swing
the church needed more room, so they then added on two wings
from Dr. Brown to Drs. Matthews, Eldridge and the Rev. Dr. James
anointed men of God who helped Berean establish a good name
from Rev. Roman and now Dr. Griffith with their powerful evangelistic ministries
and after 157 years Berean is a great church with a lasting and living legacy
and with the Lord's continued blessings, His mercy and His grace
The Historic Berean Baptist Church will always be the place
where anyone and everyone can come to get godly inspiration
for Berean is the church that will set on the path to salvation
" Hail to courageous Patrick! "
The Christian Irish loudly sang,
taking their chant to all Ireland...
and that made Milchu very sick!
In his veins ran pure blood of Roman nobility;
at that brutal era, Druidism was Ireland's religion,
and he, the follower of Christ, felt much contention...
but armed with determination Patrick fought it fiercely!
" Hail to courageous Patrick!"
As a saint he never accepted defeat;
he was bread and water for the weak...
endless fear for the High Priest!
" Pagans, you shall not worship neither the Sun
nor idols, Christ is your true Lord! "
He preached in all villages ignoring any frown
from that warrior waving his sword!
Would he had never been captured
and sold into slavery, all Ireland wouldn't have known liberty;
his task was to tend sheep as David,
but choose to give his entire soul to God to wipe out idolatry!
" Hail to courageous Patrick! "
Every man, woman and child shouted without being afraid;
they knew that God had sent this holy and kind man to them
to teach prayers of fervent faith!
I wished to improve on my character so,
I looked for a model to go by.
I studied the habits of men great and tall,
For one who seemed perfect in my eyes.
Men of fine profile and manly physique,
Were the first ones to cross my inspection,
First also dismissed for their physical charms,
Seemed all they had worth admiration;
And those who had money and power were wont,
To flaunt their importance and style,
An hour or two in this comp'ny could last,
A person a long, long while;
And so I explored yet another route,
The highway to high education,
Perhaps here I would find the virtuous man,
One worthy of my adulation.
I read through the tomes of scholars and scribes,
Philosophers, poets and statesmen,
And I never found a doctrine more sound,
Than the one left behind by Ben Franklin.
1706 - 1790
A statesman and scientist he was also quite a philosopher.
He was considered to be one of the most important figures of his day having been given
the dubious honor of being asked to sign the Declaration of Independence along with many other great men of that era; making him one of our Founding Fathers.
In doing so he showed great courage because all who signed had a price placed on their
heads by the Crown of England for treason.
He spent his life in search of knowledge continuously trying to improve himself.
He had the ability to see and recognize his own faults and tried to do something about them. That is something not many people can do. It's also the reason he had few if any real enemies.
A person could do a whole lot worse than to try to imitate his style.
When eyes delight upon a work of Michelangelo—gut wrenching art--
Creation by a mere man, from his enchanted hands
explode results of David –perhaps a heavenly message to impart
To the earthbound, scattered world flung far in lands
mountain wrapped, plain dirt plains or seabound rocky shores.
Vagabonds, they come to marvel by foot or cart. In awe they stand
before the stone made man. Walking through the door,
drawn to David’s splendid daunting beauty—his far gaze
imparts to the viewer-- in that instant, in this life there is nothing more
of beauty needed to be seen. Years pass, nights will follow days
yet thoughts of this wondrous creature never waiver, never fade
but haunt delightedly. What manner is there to praise
the artist for a gift so long lasting? Repeated thoughts played
reflecting David's beauty --and played again—durable throughout the years,
Clarified and Magnified in time, not diminished--when mind is disarrayed
suddenly a glimpse will flash—through grief’s unbidden tears
David will stand in mind’s eye, unchanged , ever manly strong--
beauty possible by stone conscience unblemished by dreadful acts or craven fears.
Thus it is --creation of a man who does no wrong.
Perhaps it is the reason Heavens blessed the world with Art
which reaches all-- both rich and poor--announces to the throngs--
Look to men of stone to find the rare and pure of heart.
Victoria Anderson-Throop ©
Yet once more again
that same old refrain:
good guy coming fast
then finishing last.
John Jack Kennedy
was as brilliant as could be
A studied Harvard graduate
A navy hero of the sea
He was from Massachusetts
A lover of the dunes
and used to walk beside them
on summer afternoons
He was a much loved President
His spoken word was magic
I never did understand why
his ending was so tragic
I can remember him so clear
but time flies quickly by
I remember Jackie's pill box hat
John-John and Caroline
It is a shame that violence
brought his colorful life to end
the Kennedys' profiles in courage
were an absolute Godsend
There is so much happiness
around JFK's short term
His fun sense of humor
A smart, well read bookworm
We all will never forget him
Those of us who loved him so
The articulate, animated speeches
The radiant look he'd always showr
"Noli Me Tangere"--Ode to Anne Boleyn
Beguiling and strong willed,
Thick hair and black eyes--
Average beauty at best--
Maneuvered Court, so skilled
(Though taunted by their lies)
The King you put to test.
Oh, dear Anne Boleyn!
You chose not your fate.
'Twas your father's sins:
Greed would not abate
His ambitious yens.
So, Queen you were--
Amid the hate--
The peoples' cur;
King's sonless mate
Queen to be
Within the stand where armies hide
with little but sticks and stones
come forces too large to abide
who’ve traveled far from home.
Armed to the teeth with planes and tanks
they’re here to garner wealth
for when the rebels meet their end
they’ll be little need for thanks
and certainly none for stealth
and little left but corpses to attend.
Civil war bring the vultures out in men
the mercenaries who fight for gold
the corporate war mongers rush to attend
The starving do as they’re told
for why not fight for mother land
and die for those left behind
a bullets death is easier than wasting
and is what man’s honor demands
If only, if only, man was less unkind
less prone too warring and debasing.
Waves of anticipated distance- cheerfulness and goodwill
reasons to part quite enormous
reflected in displayed emotions
long hugs, passionate waves, incomplete smiles and contact exchanges.
Queues and checkpoints, controls and duty free sales
all activities winding up in a goodbye
From the departure lounge, mothers with their kids walk
fathers with uptight faces already anticipating the next business moves
children in mental freedom roam and play
singles, so direct in focus to the flight entry’s aisle
unfortunately it’ll be an irreversible one
and an exit with a permanent stamp.
A calamity not even the tenders of coincidence anticipated
a disaster totally human in occurrence
forcing the Germanwings to get broken
by a hand unwilling to perish alone.
Exposure wasn’t enough to nurture a sense of humanity
education was weak to pump water on a soil of love
a hundred and fifty lives given to hades
without cause or reason, just on a platter of Gold
a well calculated crime beats the justification of a psychiatric malfunction
resulting to an all-lose situation
broken wings, lost lives and broken hearts
as once again, history stands still in black robes
for us all to say
goodbye our friends and adieu to our beloved children
No raised pinnacle marked the place
No pure white limestone shining
Where Ramesses slept looked commonplace
to foil the robbers scrying.
Yet he had moved the earth and sky
this pharaoh disdained all rivals.
His bounty buried beneath the sand
portrayed a life beneath blue skies
his star encrusted tomb ethereal
his Ka rising from Death’s hand.
The hills of Thebes his place of rest
and beneath him his father lay
amongst the great he’d be the highest
his battle standards on display.
He ruled with iron hand on staff
as a Godhead he was portrayed.
Most mighty and acclaimed, no man
was he, who felled the Hittite chaff;
beneath his chariots wheels flayed
the denizens of Egypt’s land.
Worshiped was he in temples true
his semblance graces Abu Simbel
with eyes wide o’er lake so blue
his gaze belays the infidels.
Beside him she, Nefertari
laid claim to a sacred place
held above all others his wife
most renowned for her beauty
a love to last through time and space
may all true hearts pay such tariff.
Whee am i, eh?
A'm Cumbrian thats whee, like eh.
Red, Green, Yellow
Once a year ower the Cumberland show,
Livestock, ter an' fro, ter an' fro.
Yan, Tan, Tether
Gypsies, jockeys, towns’ folk alike,
Appleby 'orse-fair awwer the dyke.
Red, Green, Yellow
Scotland has i's 'aggis, Lancashire i's ho' pot,
We 'ave uz sausage an' tha' does uz lo'.
Yan, Tan, Tether
Ice-cream a' Allonby shiftin' ter Silloth on sea,
Righ' round Wes' Cumbria an' back yam fur scordy, like eh.
Red, Green, Yellow
Up a' five an' ou' a' dawn,
The 'aaf-ne' fishers, early morn, like eh.
Yan, Tan, Tether
Keswick, Caldbeck an' Seascale too,
All the visitors passin' through.
Red, Green, Yellow
There’s Por' Carlisle on the warl,
People comin' yan an' all.
Yan, Tan, Tether
Whee am i, eh?
A'm Cumbrian thats whee, like eh.
My Ode to the Netherlands
White water lilies picked for Verlena in Friesland.
The Dutch Republic is over a century old.
We are there during autumn.
Flowers are everywhere.
The sunflower fields
Yellow and brown profound the canvas
To visit the Domtower is a climb.
Utrecht is a trek.
An ode comes to mind…
Dutch greetings we say…
Dutch greetings we say,
in the land of Friesland today.
Our home is our joy.
We are logical people and not emotional.
We are expressive in our thoughts.
Call us opinionates, if you want.
Dutch greetings we say to all!
Sponsor: Elly Wouterse
Contest Name: Your ode to 'my' Netherlands and/or 'my' Friesland
Date of Entry: March 29, 2014
Date Written: March 29, 2014
~Elly, happy birthday... This is two forms in one poem. The couplet and the irregular ode.
Best wishes and hopefully, this is not to much.~:)s
The giant of the east, a thorn in the most prosperous continent
possessing land so massive which is second to none
having each day measured in nine different scales
and twelve large waters in full interaction with its borders
Its pride feeds on most of European and global superlatives
is it from the stores of fresh water
or the preservation of the wild plant communities?
Is it its rich deposits piled beneath the Earth
or its sized capital of huge significance to Europe?
This historic nation prides in them all and even more
But then, the limbs of its diplomacy are incomplete
in such regard, important allies are difficult to come by
no room for adjustments- it must be what it wants
Georgia and Ukraine’s tears then becoming the pay
for its domineering spirit
Though not adequately reverenced by the inhabitants of the jungle
a hippo still remains more dangerous than the lion
well ranked among the frontiers of global authority
but a major 21st century bully even in this time of civilization
With all the world waiting, we turned our eyes skyward.
Remember that day when we all looked through
Our electric windows on the universe,
Seeing old spheres from a new point of view?
Three times again, and again, and again,
Descending on dancing flames,
They scurried, slow-motion, through ancient dust
Who still now remembers their names?
They did the unthinkable, achieved the impossible,
Went where none had preceded, and more.
"Ho-hum! ...another launch, you say?
Is football on Channel Four?"
Mechanical colonists left behind
When we blasted back home in our ships
Drew life in their bellies from shattering atoms,
Energizing electronic chips.
They sensed the heat of ancient fires,
Moon-embers, banked deep inside.
They felt the star-bits streaming,
And the rumbling silent tide.
ALSEP voices, talking to Earth
In chattering bits and bytes
Sent their colonial treasures back
Through the lunar days and nights.
They measured the limb-shocked solar winds,
Changing the charges in sputtered lands,
And vibrating signals crossed the void,
Twitching inked fingers on metal hands.
The footprints and tire-tracks, unchanging, remain.
Like paths to the future, they glisten.
Solipsistic sentinals converse with themselves,
But there's nobody left who can listen.
George Hastings October 1, 1977
A soliloquy comes over me as a testament to this great rock.
The names and dates and markings from generations ago unlock,
those that past this way on foot and ox and horse,
and those that never made it here; to chisel and endorse.
Silent now are the graves that sit beside this place,
and the thousands that pass by and give respect to unknown names.
A rot-iron fence sit's where some say they lay
the children that may have died here; is also where they played.
Stone scratched history, tar and paint,
the rolling Sweetwater accentuates,
this giant rock where thousands now have trod,
left with only the name,
of Independence Rock.