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Dutch Poems

A list of poems using the phrase Dutch. Dutch Poetry.

Details | Dutch Poem | |

Ghost Ship Omen

Scientists say it’s just a mirage,
but sailors claim the ghost ship floats
in air, with stormy seas below.
Again he tries to round Cape Hope.

Captain van der Decken angered God
one savage 18th Century night.
Vowed he’d sail till “Judgment Day,”
to cross the Table Bay, he’d fight.

The Flying Dutchman disappeared
sank deep in foggy, wind-swept sea,
but the captain’s doomed to walk the deck
each night in perpetuity.

King George the Fifth, the Prince of Wales
are two who saw the Dutchman.
Although these royal heirs survived,
most meet death -- the captain’s omen.

His curse prevails in Wagner’s Opera
and Washington Irving’s story;
crews tremble, ghost ship emerges
Dutchman floats in frightening glory.

So many sailors and their ships
still meet demise on starless nights,
when demons steer the Dutchman
and a vengeful God reads last rites.

Till this day the Flying Dutchman
looms threatening on a ravaged sea.
For Judgment Day the captain waits,
luring crews to their destiny.


*Entry for the Story Poem contest.

Details | Dutch Poem | |

A whiter shade of blue

the magnificent autumn-sun bursts at its seams
the icy october-wind blows her soft-cold breeze
one of the most impressive and mesmerizing teams
stumbling over each other making me warm and freeze

fragrances of fresh grass mowed for the last time this year
the muted-green foliage whispers with leaves drying out
the hidden dark-red blackberries wither behind protective thorns of fear 
the last flight of geese flying over another scout

rare but visible some glorious leaves of gold
the cloudless sky colors the very rare whiter shade of blue
the bike trail I'am on  partly covered with wet leaf mold
the passing summer is now really saying adieu

while the wintery wind and summer-sun bicker for attention
I'm overwhelmed by this whiter shade of blue's  fourth dimension

©Elly Wouterse

Dutch composer&harp player Anne Vanschothorst wrote a piece for harp and recorded her version of "A whiter shade of blue" 

The link to hear HER "A whiter shade of blue" under "About this poem". 

Procol harum's "Whiter shade of pale"(I am that old- or young?) is on of the songs on my list of most played songs on my mp3-player.. when hearing this song on a sunny autumnal day I was inspired to add my color to the palet..........  I saw a new'kind of blue  and wrote  this poem.. 

Details | Dutch Poem | |

Helga Deen ,1925-1943

Helga Deen  (1925-1943)   (Sentanka)

Mit achtzehn ermordet
Helga Deen im KZ Sobibór
Nur Tagebuch und Briefe

War alles was von ihr blieb
Ihr Andenken aber bleibt 


Murdered at eighteen
Helga Deen at Sobibór 
Only letters and diary

Was all that remained of her
But her memory remains


Helga Deen en Sobibor
Asesinado a dieciocho años
Sólo cartas y un diario

Fue todo lo que quedaba 
Pero su memoria sigue siendo



Note: Helga Deen, born in 1925 in Stettin moved with her parents in 1933 to Tilburg in the
Netherlands. She was a talented young woman not only in writing but also in drawing. Her
mother was a German Jewish doctor and her father-Willy Deen- a Dutch chemist. Helga Denn
had a brother -Klaus- and both visited school in Tilburg. The family had to move from
their house and Helga an her brother had to leave school together with other ten Jewish
pupils. In July 1943 all were deported to the Vugh concentration camp. From there they
were transpoted to Westerbork concentration camp and from there on July 13th  to Sobibór
(Poland) concentration camp. She died from gas there on July 16th 1943.

Details | Dutch Poem | |

Haunted Brothel

Her bony fingers stroked my hair,
I shuddered at the icy touch,
And when I turned no one was there.

I felt the hatred of her stare,
My heart was frozen in its clutch,
Her bony fingers stroked my hair.

I’d walked into the open snare,
My curiosity too much,
And when I turned no one was there.

I stood alone inside her lair,
The murdered prostitute was Dutch,
Her bony fingers stroked my hair.

The room was full of such despair,
I tried to flee but dropped my crutch,
And when I turned no one was there.

How stupid was the double dare,
I’d suffer now for playing butch,
Her bony fingers stroked my hair,
And when I turned no one was there.

For Paula's Unease contest

Details | Dutch Poem | |

Dutch Hill Park

I took a walk down Columbia Street
Back to the place where we used to meet
Where we played as kids until after dark
And hung out together up at Dutch Hill Park
Although alone, I could hear the sound
Of laughter coming from the merry go round
Sometimes we'd meet there in the early dawn
The dance hall, pavilion and the swings are gone
I saw those pine trees and I thought of you
And all the crazy things we used to do
Like sleeping out underneath the stars
Hanging upside down from the monkey bars
A swing made from  a rope and an old tire
We baked potatoes on an open fire
Squirrel nut zippers and an RC coke
Transistor radio and we'd have a smoke
We walked in the woods and we climbed some trees
We scratched our faces and we skinned our knees
Never dreaming that it would ever end
If I could, I'd do it all again my friend
Those memories I have will never part
I carry Dutch Hill Park inside my heart
And all those memories of yesteryear
Heading back home now I shed a tear.

Details | Dutch Poem | |

MEMORIES OF TAMAQUA

Driving past our old home on Glenwood Avenue
Memories came to life from my childhood days
Going over the park, Mom. I'll be in before ten
Got a game of hide and seek. Everyone plays
We'd take a bottle of yoo-hoo  or nu-grape to drink
In winter on Clark Street there was an ice skating rink
A pack of luckies in our shirt sleeve thinking we were cool
The Bungalow was our community pool
There were Friday night dances in the gym at Saint Jerome
Maybe a stop at the Coffee Cup while we were walking home.
Movies at the Majestic and Victoria were great
Fan buses for away games. We'd get back late.
American Billiard Academy was where the balls were racked
No seat at the home game because the stadium was packed
Under the state store, the Y M C A
At the Vic a Saturday matinee
A baseball game with a sponge ball and fist
In the school's gymnasium, doing the Twist
Middle Ward playground, the movie was free
Adjusting the picture on the old T V.
A class trip on  school buses to Hershey Park
Sleigh ride down Snake Hill in the cold and the dark
Walking the coal bank by Number Fourteen
Stopping at Mike's to play the pinball machine
On Biddle Street, we'd sit on the cemetery wall
Jumping into piles of leaves in the early fall
Then I stopped at Dutch Hill Park for a while
Memories of Tamaqua always make me smile.

Details | Dutch Poem | |

Chow Time On The Range

"Rise an' shine you lazy cowpokes!  Time to saddle up yer hoss!
Time to move them moo-cows to summer range!" yelled th' trail boss!
"You've lolled around here all winter, now it's time to earn yer pay!
Jump in yer jeans, pull on them boots an' let's git 'er underway!"

All winter long they'd grown fat in th' bunkhouse eatin' Cooky's fare,
But knowin' that on that long, dusty trail, grub could be mighty spare!
How they'd long fer good ol' gut-fillin' grub as they wuz mendin' fences,
An' roundin' up them wily dogies roamin' over God's vast expanses!

Come supper time th' cowpunchers would lounge about a blazin' far,
Smokin' roll-yer-owns, chewin' th' fat an' nursin' cuts frum bobbed war!
Thankin' th' Lord fer their grub, Cooky yelled, "Come an' git 'er fellers!
Ain't much, but me an' my ol' Dutch oven done purty good!" he bellers!

Th' menu never varied but they knew better'n to complain about his cuisine,
Er Cooky could be as grumpy as a rattlesnake er a disgruntled wolverine!
Ever' supper consisted uv th' same ol' thing - a classic case uv deja vu:
Beans, spuds, bacon, sour dough biscuits an' a dollop uv mystery stew!

Frum across th' valley a harmonica's melancholy tune wuz heard,
As th' night guard kept a wary vigil an' soothed th' restless herd.
Th' cowpokes dreamt uv a hearty breakfast but they already knew,
It'd be beans, spuds, bacon, sour dough biscuits an' a dollop uv mystery stew!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved

Details | Dutch Poem | |

Suburban Summer

 , 
riddles N' rainbows paintbrush the day
summer's heaviness invades
rain circumvents geraniums 
ant's N' azaleas dance through sidewalks 
where tiny green grass creep 'neath weeds 
to see sun seed grey with bright 
frogs N' grasshoppers flop along
best friends 
when storm clouds bend beyond old oak trees

boys N' girls skip rope, 
Double Dutch N' such 
up N' down the cul de sac curve

moms N' dads pretend everything's ok 
when they've long since strayed away
from light N' love
gloves come off
when lights go out 
they scream N' shout
the children barely notice
yet they'll feel the coldness N' cold shoulders 
as it's gets colder N' colder
just not days N' nights like now
fuss N' fights have no place 
right here N' right now
along these roasting roads
where ticky tack homes 
crowd suburbia 

where riddles N' rainbows paintbrush the day
summer's heaviness invades 
as nature n' naïve children play...
today , 

~JSLambert 2014

Details | Dutch Poem | |

My Ode to The Netherlands

Hook of Holland arrive by the ferry
Meeting our good friends Ans and Jerry
The pancake house is where we love to eat
Being our with our Dutch friends – what a treat

Zwarte Piet will be visiting soon
Children crowded into the living room
Waiting for the black hand around the door
Sweets are freely scattered on to the floor

Visiting the haunting Anne Frank museum
Makes me think of the phrase carpe diem
Walking along the stunning cobbled street
Our trip to Amsterdam is now complete

I would love to return again one day
Meet Elly Wouterse on lands far away

Submitted to Elly Wouterse’s Contest
My Ode To The Netherlands
~ Awarded 2nd place ~

15th April 2014

The poem is written from very vivid childhood memories- its been a trip down memory lane  - it is also my first attempt at a sonnet

Details | Dutch Poem | |

HEY WAITER, THERE'S A TURTLE IN MY SOUP, sonnet by SYNISTER TRENDENCIES


Twee/DULL da/DUM da/DUM da /DUM DUM
jeers at the Dutchess, then exhumes jewels        
from sightless eyes. Five and Seven, forbidden,
bleed out, for the Queen beheads those unschooled

in her ways. Cornered, the ole turtle mocks
his Soup's new lexicon, using small words,
but behind the scenes, he damns even clocks
for changing with tides. Poor Dodo, still absurd,

drowns hapless guests in sent-a-meters of tea,
for he knows best and trusts his ex-tincts,
though the hatter is maddened by duplicity.
So a chair empties. A cat sadly winks. 

New wonderlands await. She's out the door...
Cuz Alice just won't live here anymore.






My new alter-ego, SYNISTER TRENDENCIES, will occasionally make an appearance
on soup. Best to leave the more .... in/sight/full and inciting views to poetry.


Questions? Fire away! 
Comments? 
Laughs?

Hugs sent out, even to turtles.

Details | Dutch Poem | |

The Wily Goat

The purple on his chin was tellin'
there was just no use to lie.
That pesky, good for nothin' goat
had eaten Mother's pie.
She  had set it on the porch 
jist to cool it down a bit,
and don't you know that goat had come
and calmly eaten it.

My little brother looked as if
he was inclined to cry.
They'd warned him things
would have to change
or Billy Goat would die.
I got a rag to help him scrub
that bright dye off his whisker.
He could appeal to Mom's good side,
but didn't want to risk her.

That goat had climbed on everythin'
from our new car to house.
He'd eaten nightshirts off the line.
No wonder Mom would grouse.
I'll kill that goat", our mother said
a dozen time or so.
Of course she didn't mean it but
our brother didn't know.

Now little brother'd come along
when most of us were growed.
He never seem to learn the ways 
the rest of us all knowed.
He didn't learn to work around
our mama's laws and such.
He had no wiles to pertect him.
His goat was sure in dutch.

Bein' so much younger must be tough
and not too easy sailin'.
His best friend was this pesky goat
and that was fast a failin'.
He guessed the only way to go
was take his goat and run.
He didn't think to take a coat
and weinies and a bun.

The rest of us when we run off,
we knowed enough to take
some warm clothes and some
sandwitches 'n even choclit cake.
We were all scared when brother
didn't turn up for a meal
and we could see the worry our
mama began to feel.

So Daddy got his good horse Dan
and took the dogs along,
and said he'd just go scout him out;
be sure nothin' was wrong.
It seemed a good long time before
we saw Dad ridin' back
with somethin' on his saddle.
It looked much like a sack.

But it was our little brother
and he was sound asleep.
Dad found him in the orchard
with apples in a heap.
His cunnin' goat had climbed up
in the ole apple tree
and flung down the ripe apples,
as nimble as can be.

So brother wasn' hungry
but he was mighty weary.
Our mother grabbed him in her arms
and all of us were teary.
That wily goat was smart enough
to prove himself a winner.
He'd saved our brother and himself
from becoming our goat dinner.


By: Joyce Johnson

Details | Dutch Poem | |

The Park

Saturday afternoon with a few moments to kill
Took a ride by the park up on Dutch Hill
My mind went back to a time and place
When I wore a little boy’s smile on my face
So much had changed since those innocent days
I drifted back through the years where a child plays
I played in the sandbox and rode the swing
Climbed the monkey bars in the Early Spring
I remembered church picnics and being there after dark
Playing cowboys and Indians with my friends in the park
We rode the sliding board and climbed in the trees
Spraining our ankles and skinning our knees
Sometimes we gazed at the stars while we lied on the ground
Or tried to see how fast we could push the merry go round
We learned from each other as we grew up back then
And drifted apart as we became women and men
We played from sun up until it was dark
The best years of our lives were spent at the park

Details | Dutch Poem | |

What If A bedtime poem for kids

What If?

What if guppies and goldfish could swim through the air?
What if birds could only relax by sitting in a chair?

What if spider webs looked like charming bungalows?
What if cheese sticks had to be hunted out in the jungle-os?

What if curtains were carefully hung up in the Maple trees?
What if cookies only came from buzzing little bees?

What if horses were allowed to take rides on our backs?
What if skateboards could take a ride on the rail road tracks?

What if Saturdays came more than just once a week?
What if at your birthday presents you could take a peek?

What if alligators played music every time they’d sneeze?
What if teachers taught Algebra to the chimpanzees?

What if delicious gumballs grew out in the yard?
What if scoring soccer goals wasn’t all that hard?

What if arching rainbows were something you could touch?
What if with each of the colors you could skip Double Dutch?

What if the medicine that the doctor gave you tasted like ice cream?
What if you and your best friend could go to sleep and dream the same dream?

What if all of these things were completely true?
It wouldn’t matter at all to me because I would still love you.

Details | Dutch Poem | |

Wrath of the Flying Dutchman

  Among the cries of lonesome gull
  A crude cross-slash, grinning skull

  Below the tattered crimson sail
  Those that did weather the fiercest gale
  Noblemen fearfully bow
  Seamen kneel before its prow

  Quiver before the pirate`s might
  A vision of ivory, dark as night
  We slowly conquer waves of teal
  All eyes follow the steady keel

  The ebony ship, its purpose grim
  The treasure hoard hidden within
  Like a glittering blade, swift and sure
  Cursed to never dock at shore

  Remembered in forgotten lore
  Not even the bravest Mortal knave
  Shall escape the wrath of the grave
  So we sail forever-more

Details | Dutch Poem | |

Prologue to Lessons of Change

  for King Wen, circa 1151-1143 B.C.E. – with seven mind-bending kowtows

There where you had no occasion for play
There in your confined Ming I space
Where change wrought no change
In your fate
But for those plagued by your linear grouping games

Where before the fall from your embroidered gardens
The lavender embossed bowl to dip your fingers in
The enamelled daïs that spurned the kowtows
the cloistered summer watering palace
the decorative duck pond
the turtle and dove court
where dainty demure mincing concubines
under dispassionate eunuch eyes
stroked and tickled the mandolin strings of their Lord’s heart
Where time sailed through Flying Dutchman seas
At the serene centre of Qian’s mundane realm

Even what drops from the sky may hit the ocean bed
And so stamped under in your tyrant’s dungeons
With your retinue and court
Where each faked their fate in psychotic delusions
Simulating as it were
The neurotico-schizophrenic passage in another dimension
There where you bought a little time
Time enough to fashion a play
A game of change
A game that never really changes
Even if your son the Duke of Chou
And the Master expositor Kung
Paved your broken and unbroken lines in words
from which no man may return
unchanged

Where the longest dialogue you began
Becomes seems a polyalogue among some
  or all
Who have gone beyond the hexagram wall
And those who await the inexorable call
Where speech is ambiguous
To say the least
In eight by eight cyclic situations
Though someone YOU maybe ME seems to be saying
Take heed ! all this’s a mess
The Truth
Might not it be hidden in the lines
and in the lines alone
and not in the words

Take them down one by one
And build them up again
Note the beginning and the end
And the correspondances of change
Put the judgments of my son
And the wordy attributions to Kung
Especially those from the young Wang Bi
On either side of the hexagram
What is claimed for the Superior Man
Is within the reach of every clan
Measure the lines in or out of tune
The trigrams from whence
The inner ones note hence
Think on them but once
Or only now and then
for the nonce
This’s all I have to say
Though others may make much of the Way
Think not on what I have said
More than it takes to put paid

O ! Great Royal Sage !
Are there not behind these lines
Three or four bearded lords, nay sages
Who drive terror into those who gaze
Day and night into their wizened faces !

© T. Wignesan, May 20, 1987 (rev. 2011, from the collection: Lessons of Change, 1987)

Details | Dutch Poem | |

Fear of Not Loathing

I wasn't completely sure who I just was, so 
I counted off three-chimes of the bell in the
clock tower.... I'm out late.... Nighthawks swoop
and Crickets hush their tensile ratchet, until I
pass by.

He pushed by me, cutting me off, as I pointed
towards the Hotel on the hill.... he could stay
there, but I would need to remain alert, focused
on matters close by..... like, why is pink my
favorite color? .... and, why are Dutch People
in art, always painted blue?

Doesn't seem fair... with no expectations, rewards,
or pressure, would humans naturally be of a giving
nature? ...... or selfish?

Details | Dutch Poem | |

Sheltered

We stood hand over heart as the flag was unfurled
We were sheltered from the real world
All men are created equal is what they did teach
Never realizing, they don’t practice what they preach
Who said poor? We were rich beyond our dreams
Working to make ends meet, endlessly, it seems
There were Italians and Jews, Lithuanians and Greeks
Puerto Ricans and Poles, Germans and Dutch
No matter what your nationality or color was
We were neighbors. So, it didn’t matter much
I have memories of neighbors walking in our front door
Nobody knocking, just dropping in
I have memories of children playing on the parlor floor
Nobody judging the color of skin
Our riches were neighbors. Affluence carried no weight
We were sheltered from bigotry, sheltered from hate
God bless the children who knew neither hatred nor fear
God damn the people who brought those things here
When there is acceptance beyond what the eyes see
Then perhaps we can call this the land of the free
When there is truly no master and truly no slave
Then perhaps we can call this the home of the brave
We need to see the unity we’ve not had in the past
If we continue to hate, our country can’t last
If the American people can stand side by side
Then we can restore our American pride
When we stand together, again we’ll be strong
And we can be sheltered from all that was wrong

Details | Dutch Poem | |

heaven on the water

trawlers steam out from dutch harbour
patroling the frozen waves
serching for gold under the sea 
to feed my family

in the wheelhouse the stars shine in
skyes dark and air so thin
no mater where this vessel takes me
my heart is yerning out for you

heaven on the water
is where im dreaming of my love
i see your face on the misty spray
as im calling out your name
heaven on the water
it wont be long my love
for a few more days i know you`l guide me 
guide me home to you

icey winds shiver my spine
as we bring out catch abord
empty net and broken dreams 
as the waves come crashing down

storms break loose with a crash of thunder
rolling across the bering sea 
up and down around then under
but still i dream of you

heaven on the water
is where im dreaming of my love
i see your face on the misty spray
as im calling out your name
heaven on the water
it wont be long my love
for a few more days i know you`l guide me 
guide me home to you

i see you face as the boat goes down
sea whispering my name
beconing me to the river
where we first found love

heaven on the water
im still here my love
watching you and our daughters 
from the stars above
heaven on the water 
calling out your name
calling out your name
heaven on the water
calling out your name

Details | Dutch Poem | |

My best Girl

Sweet Mary Jane
She's always there for me through thick and thin,
Even though she knows, she'll just get burnt in the end,
We've had this affair for quite some time,
She'll always be my partner in crime,
I don't mind that because of her, I'm often broke,
And it feels so right when she makes me choke,
Her beautiful red hairs, I adore so much,
My sweet girl, will indeed go Dutch,
She never complains when she's cleaned and picked,
I can't get enough of her, for her I am an addict,
Before we met, I never understood all the hype,
But now, I can't go too long without her in my pipe,
I'm not afraid to admit, I will never let my baby go,
She'll be, until the end of me, my best Ho.


Details | Dutch Poem | |

Monster

I am putting out a beacon on the A-M, I Am Legend morning double-dutch
Pepsi cola, paranoia, post-exilic high school drama. Stop.
Is there anybody out there, I’m hoping you can hear me
Break the door, cover down, but most of all believe me
I haven’t seen another human being in this God forsaked oasis
who wouldn’t place me in his iron-sights just to bury me with the faceless
tasteless, and all around degenerate in-animates
that beheld the new millennium and become some pickled-plastered shits.
50 milligrams of trapazene and a metric ton of ritalin
with any luck will keep me from burning down New York like a Marvel Movie villain
Like ninety percent destruction, like the news on nine-eleven
like the peter parker web net, catching mary jane to save the day
top story at eleven.

Back to you Jen! Thanks Bob.

We are on the precipice of New World Order, but not what we were promised
by the inside job, swiss bank, illuminate, and Rothschild alarmists
This is not the Black Pope signing off on Masonic acts of terror
But a voluntary waiver to exclude yourself from error
Like bubble gum “POP POP”, likes oops that wasn’t me
This is merely just an act of infallible insanity
Temporary numbing off the senses til it lingers
Let the beasts in his cage lick the cheesy powder off your fingers
In the year of 1980 there was a scientific discovery
indeed the researchers were baffled by this nihilist anomaly
They kept a scaly monster locked up, Isla Sorna penitentiary
But they didn’t tell the people what the spectacle was meant to be
The monster was a man, and the man an animal
I don’t believe I’m ever getting out of this dirt hole.
The monster was a man and the man an animal.

Details | Dutch Poem | |

Neptune

Neptune 
 The king sits on a wooden throne on a turf of
dry land, his country has been swallowed up
by the sea, turns to his premier and says; why 
didn´t you ask the Dutch for help, their flat 
country has been beneath sea levels for many
years... and as a result they have grown to be
the tallest people in the world, this so they 
look over dikes and keep an eye on the ocean.

The king takes off his green wellies and asks 
for dry socks, a flunky puts them on, but sees 
the king has webbed feet and wonders why.
The monarch knew his country would sink, 
and was prepared, his kingdom will be big and
limitless.
  

Details | Dutch Poem | |

Ode to my son on his 28th birthday

When I looked up at you the other night
I saw you coming through the door
Framing it with your amazing smile
steadfast, self assured, a happy man
A happy Dutch life with Irish sea-kissed roots
Not just a European but a world class man
As you stood before me, I felt such pride.


When I think of you, I see my little boy blue
Forever young, blond mop, those winsome sky eyes
my spry child, intelligent, forever questioning
hyperactive,  mischievous, a little dare devil
your smile, a mile wide in times of trouble
I see you holding your teddies Ruby and Rupert
Tractors, diggers, broken engines brrrrrrrmm.


Your love of engines, paid off after all
as you shifted gear to driving instruction
For a guy who showed no interest in being a scholar
Now you are the teacher, with a flurry of pupils
I think it works better, this way around.
Your greatest gift is your love for people
Your greatest asset, your winning smile


Keep on living and loving as you do
You view life through a positive lens
Becoming a mother hit me with a new perspective
An appreciation of life, when I gave you yours
Together we grew, and continue to grow
In love and respect, now and forever.


Details | Dutch Poem | |

What is in a Name

“Susanna” is the traditional name
The first granddaughter who came

Shared with my grandmother and mum
Named “Suzette” – confusing to some

My school chums called me “Suzie”
I’ve never been known to be a floozy

The teachers called me by my surname
For my sisters’ errors, I took the blame

Proud of my family name, “Myburgh”:
“My town”, pronounced “(Chris de) Burgh”

An impressive family crest adorn
The hallway – from titled family born

The wine farm, Meerlust : “Pride and joy”
For ten generations is has been their toy

"Honour" is the byword of our kin
To break it is frowned upon – a sin

I got married at the tender age of twenty
Suitors to choose from, there were plenty

From a very noble Dutch stock I came
With English blood I had tarnished the name

Alas, as foretold, this union did not last
I had become in each family an outcast

When I mentioned the word “Divorce”
My family recommended a different course

Shame on the family name I must not bring
To their piper I must dance and sing

Thirty years later I plucked up the courage
I left an abusive marriage before carnage

My parents by then dead and buried
The Divorce Degree successfully carried

I plucked up the courage to be alone
For the loss of my identity I now atone

Freedom never tasted so sweet
With open arms I rushed to meet

All the things I could not freely express
My worth and measure of being less

Being able to read a good book
And to eat what I want to cook

To run at dawn on the cold beach
With sand and seagulls that screech

Laughter and love of all perceived
The loss of all that I have grieved

The sunsets have now come alive
To embrace love and a new life

“Su” is now my new given name
A poet who feels no more shame

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For a FREE download of The Flight, which deals with the point of breakup, please visit:
http://suzette-poet-author.webs.com/free-downloads

Details | Dutch Poem | |

The Forgotten Path

As 
it 
was 
that 
in 
my 
pain 
I 
felt 
the 
agony. 
Building 
up 
inside 
me 
like 
a 
Jericho 
wall 
that 
refused 
to 
fall 
was 
my 
misery. 
I 
forgot 
the 
names 
of 
those 
who 
shot 
the 
same 
people 
in 
the 
struggle 
with 
me. 
It 
was 
never 
discussed 
how 
we 
can 
get 
focused 
through 
the 
strain 
of 
the 
chain. 
The 
Abels 
of 
the 
Dutch 
people 
were 
the 
evil 
spirits 
that 
murdered 
a 
Cain. 
In 
unsettled 
homesteads 
in 
the 
wilderness 
of 
pity 
hanging 
filthy 
attire 
on 
trees. 
Our 
women 
danced 
for 
their 
men 
and 
their 
women 
cooled 
our 
faces 
like 
a
morning 
breeze. 
Through 
your 
many 
outcast 
brothers,you 
created 
a 
vessel 
that 
spread 
your 
disease. 
They 
structured 
gay 
constitution 
and 
made 
prostitution 
businesses 
out 
our 
sisters. 
Established 
churches 
to 
tutor 
slaves 
on 
the 
slave 
trade 
and 
rapist 
ministers. 
For 
long 
have 
we 
endured 
the 
pain 
not 
insured 
under 
the 
reign 
of 
terror. 
Blood 
has 
been 
spilled 
and 
my 
fathers 
raped 
and 
killed 
trying 
to 
settle 
the 
error. 
We 
are 
one 
but 
not 
long 
have 
I 
begun 
seeing 
black 
in 
this 
bloody 
mirror. 
Color 
is 
just 
a 
craving 
of 
the 
whitewashed 
masses. 
When 
was 
it 
that 
you 
forced 
Dutch 
vocabulary 
upon 
the 
dark 
skinned 
classes? 
And 
when 
we 
rallied 
in 
the 
streets 
against 
it 
you 
chose 
to 
shoot 
us. 
Now 
your 
christian 
institutions 
are 
trying 
to 
brain-
constitute 
us.
If 
war 
was 
never 
the 
motive 
we 
would've 
saved 
more 
lives. 
Now 
you've 
created 
democracy 
and 
raped 
our 
wives.

Details | Dutch Poem | |

Ode to my daughter on her birthday - 26

My Sarah
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!