Munich Home of Monks

Walking through the tall pines of Perlarcher forst Munich Germany I walk deep within the woods every day the barbarian alps in my view colorful leaves rustle beneath my feet my London fog trench coat blows open in the wind as I wander over forgotten Polish graves my soul seeks solace in this Marianplatz meaning Mary's town why my heart beat is just above a whisper leading to Fraunkirche Our Lady of Munich the coo coo clocks all rang out the bells chime in sequence wood cutter saws while the milk maids dance as the enchanted chimney sweepers hum downtown Munich near the Speilplatz park where the famous statues of writer Thomas Mann my muse always enlightens need for my self expressive desire alongside the Knight less black horse kneeling for Christ sake as my mind simply dangles right here near Ava Braun's bungalow I imagine her slipping on lederhosen stockings awaiting the Fuhrers return to the guest Haus why I don't dare breathe or even utter a sound holding my brown paper bag I remove a blue berry scone crumbs fall deep into my cleavage while I settle into the Wienerwald for black coffee a Munecher is what I'm called growing up in Munich Forgotten in time I suppose watching hedge hogs scatter like tiny little bushes making a God awful sound I think of America suddenly I am quickly reminded of 1944 victory my grandfathers boots trampling over Europe's unattracted era the tangible Tar Beach the Normandy's i feel the chatter of guns glaring planes flying over head taking bites out of Italy i take cover within a red telly how far away is home my calm place comes right into view just in time for noon mass the meeting of Ratzinger arch bishop robed and cloaked shepherds abound me clock makers knocking on wood drinking wodka in the bier garten a creative rush captured in the breeze wooden clogs pound the red cobblestone come come bitte bitte please inside gather inside the cathedral communion of the host peeking from stain glass windows the devil foot print lies in the garden entrance way a woman yelled Teusfelstritt serpent has escaped I take my seat father opens with Hail Mary full of grace dark cloud surround the dome the towers began to sweat I kneel holding my rose colored rosary a clear vivid memory of now and then for the sake of his sorrowful passion Amen Non fiction Written 2-13-2024 based on my tour in Munich Germany and my grandfather serving WW11 BY Yolanda Nicholsen American Poet American Writer