Bergen Poems

Silent Scream

Heart's silent scream
     lovers torn 
       from savaged arms

   Hunched over 
     bludgeoned into queue
       they disappear from view

    Auschwitz
      Bergen-Belsen
        Buchenwald
          Dachau ...  

    'Arbit Macht Frei'    *



  ___________________
  *'Work sets one free.'
    Sign posted at the
    gates to Auschwitz
     ~ Hell on Earth.

Farewells

Recollections were a little hazy,
His leaving party last night,
Undying friendships sworn,
That last friendly little fight.
Goodbye, Scotland the Brave,
Home of the warrior Clan,
The Batter Fried Mars Bar,
The Rangers footie fan,
Cool pints of Heavy
Plates of ‘taties and neaps,
Lining for the stomach
After boozy long sleeps.

He wore a Black Watch Kilt
Hung modestly to his knees
With a hem of fishing weights
To stop it lifting in the breeze.
A sheathed Skean Dhu projected
From the top of one long sock
As he stood there, a solitary figure,
On the banks of his local loch.
A supply of Haggis sandwiches
Were wrapped in a large pack
Carefully stored for his rations 
In the Bergen on his back.

Goodbye porridge mines of Pentland,
Casual beating for the Haggis hunt,
Time to think of his own future,
Best foot forward, Eyes to the Front.
One last wistful look around him
Then, carefully adjusting his load
He took that first step from Scotland 
Along that long High Road,
To the Land of the Sassenach. 
He was a Scot through and through
But in such troubled times as these
A man’s got to do what he has to do.

As Survivors Dwindle To a Precious Few

Blackened potato
            rock-hard tomato
          Piece of stale bread
            filthy mattress, a bed

          All luxuries at Auschwitz 
            Bergen-Belsen and Dachau
          The question is not why they
            survived ~ but How

Where Are You

Sunshine Smile one of my best friends on soup,
We started communicating within our group,
From the second month onwards,
And so we continued forwards.
On the 24th May I got
Her last email.
We communicated every day
In May.
Her last poem posted,
The 21st May,
"Children of the Earth",
She was sick
Very sick, had been into Hospital
For an operation.
And had to go in a second time
In an ambulance which took her to
Bergen in Norway.
She was terribly afraid, I have tried
To raise her so often on soup,
Phoned the Hospital and wrote them
A letter, not a sound, not a word,
Now nearly a month later,
Still no news, I know she has a
Daughter, but do not know her
Name or address, what are we to do,
I am so distressed, did not
Want to send out ripples of alarm,
But where to from here, does anyone
Have a contact in Norway who
Perhaps could go to the hospital
Or phone or speak Norwegian to them,
As they were not so forthcoming,
But to someone that speaks Norwegian
They might just respond.
Has anyone been in contact with her
in in the last four weeks or so?
We must do something, 
PLEASE HELP.  We must find
Anne-Lise Anderson!

Back Life

Back Life
All on your back in life and death
Weight of the world on your bare back
Carrying a nuclear backpack for Cuban Soviet missiles
Darling lady riding your back in the dawn surf
Tiger clawing your back as you flee the jungle
Car engine weighing you down back style new parts
Bust your back bend your knees picking up your cat
Bergen on your back as you hike the Eigar North face
Weight of dead souls pushing you back down
Rugby playing popped your spine like piano keys
Take care of your back or its chair time

Jingle-Jangle Bells

Jingle-jangle bells
   Sing-song syncopation
Ambulances hurtle down streets
   of post-war Europe

Eerie bells; haunting bells
   ghosts of round-ups, of Auschwitz 
of Buchenwald, and Bergen-Belsen
   sounds of death and doom

Shades drawn suddenly
   blinds sealed tight
Breath held; pin-drop silence
   'Till the peril passes

Bells tear at tortured souls
   Dragnet's tentacles probing
Reaching for fresh corpses to feed
   Insatiable crematoria ovens  

Decades later, survivors flinch
   hearing jingle-jangle bells
So, too, sons and daughters
   living victims of inherited terror


          June 02, 2019
 Entry in 'What Makes You Flinch' contest
   Sponsor: Julie Leigh Rodeheaver

Learning From Word Architects

LEARNING FROM WORD ARCHITECTS

What a timely wave of a brilliant idea here,
coming from the beautiful brain of Line Gauthier,
proposing the first ever PoetrySoup convention,
a real time annual event of good intention.

The creative poets, some accomplished, some amateur,
we won’t see them in their silent and enigmatic Avatar.
Many of them we’ll be delighted to meet live instead,
in rhythm of their poems we’ll flow, listen them, not read.

On behalf of the organizers I send this invitation to all of you,
come and attend the convention notable and new,
to be held this summer in Bergen on the bank of a Nordic fjord
where the arctic sun will hardly set, you won’t be cold.

As the azure North Sea will glisten under the midnight sun
the tapestry of poetry will be spun with great elan.
To build edifice of poetry from the word architects you’ll learn,
charmed by insight into profound depth of poetry you’ll return.

March 12, 2019

From Large To Small

From  ~  LARGE  ~  to  ~  small  ~

K~Konstantin had travelled the world in unbeknown searching~g        

A~Ariadne lost the plot and her thread a modern Sisyphus on the run~n

R~Raised in mathematical precision he questioned logic and Pi~i           

M~Meandered streams of his mind with no delta or source without  fill~l       

A~Archimedes had drowned in the bathtub and produced wanton spill~l

C~Cartesian logic and Newton merely kindled heated debate full of lava~a

A~Acropolis Bergen Belsen Cairo Constantinople Calcutta a firm cul-de-sac~c

L~‘Leave cause and effect behind for a while on its quest for mens sana’~a 

L~‘Life happens when you follow the flow squared circles teach no realm’~m

I ~In sight of the Ganges loin cloth in hand near naked emerges a star~r

N~Nirvana does not fall from the tree but intentions and actions feed Karma~a

G~‘Go resolve not hurt sentient beings and the world will be a little less sick’~k
               

27th April 2018

Warfare

meanness
cruel actions
human history
this being our legacy
before being submerged in our own heart-waste
what happened at Hiroshima and Nagasaki?
Auschwitz-Birkenau, Majdanek, Treblinka, Sobibor, Buchenwald
Dachau, Belzec, Chelmno, Warsaw, Mauthausen, Sachsenhausen, Bergen-Belsen?
No more war.

Vikings

VIKINGS

Erik  went east  to Yamal peninsula’s spring  
For Russian hides and terrifying antlers
From the world’s biggest  reindeer herd,
In April  crossing the thawing  Ob River, 
Safe from predators :  good hunting  
And  fully  laden longboats.  Now,
In a Bergen June, waiting at quays 
On a clouded  grey grave dawn,
Anxious eyes strained  to sea.
Men home from o’er the horizon
In a still tiny  longboat buffeting
Through the  hurling combers,
Sail disappearing, reappearing.
Glad to have them home
From the deep unknown 
Where only an  oak plank  
Separates life from depth : 
As she crosses the bar
To ease down on 
The gravel.

Boston Legal

Boston Legal raises jurisprudence burdens of proof to a more realistic level
Observant fans of Bergen, Shatner, Spader, David Kelley could be seen as rebels,
Savoring games of assault and battery on real life large and small actualities
Testifying every act negligent or malfeasance and trivial  grotesque fatalities.
Opinionated obscure minds, open up objectionable hearts and bankrupt eyes
Negligently embracing the politicians easily spoken but perjured lies.

Larceny  lessons  from history's changing more lenient laws is unmistaken
Evidentiary episodes expunge the human condition without real exoneration.
Guilty grievances gain feelings of raw emotional desire for monetary recovery
Arresting allegations appealing callous affidavits of due process inspired discovery
Legal litigations of ridiculous actions sequester every man's cross examination.
 

For  - Your Favorite Habit-Forming TV Show - poetry contest

Thank you David E, Kelley- creator of shows like Ally McBeal and Boston Legal. you stinker.

Prince Nicholaus

Prinz Nicholaus

Lieb habe ich Dich,
Mein Prinz von den Bergen,
Deine Lieder sind frisch und traumhaft,
Die Berge ein Land das ich gerne besuchen werde,
Mir gefaellt das huebsche Alpine house,
Romantische Lieder gesungen bei einen traumhaft huebschen Mann,
Du erfreuest mich jeden Tag,
Mit Dir aufzuwachen und den Tag verbringen,
Mein lieber Prinz Ncholaus,
Verliebt bin ich in Dir und deine liebe Rehe sehen regal aus,
Gottes Weihnachtsbild mit freundshaft.
Schoen Berge im Hintergrund,
Was fuer ein Traumhaftes Bild.

Author:Gundi von Erlach Schutz

Who Are You

Who are you? I think i know,
but your eyes are so haunted now,
i’m not sure i want to know. 
You hold me, but theres a chill,
your empty frame is full of demons.
They torment you while you sleep.
You cry when you think you're alone,
i have heard you countless times. 
Not for those who have passed,
but those you could have saved.
I know you carry that burden in your bergen,
its weighs you down like lead. 
But please believe me when i tell you,
they would want you still to live.

You're far from the desert now,
far from the smell of blood drying on the sand.
So why is it a part of you still stays in this foreign land?
Or perhaps, in fact, it has come home here.
The one place you wanted to protect,
has now become warped in your fears. 
But please understand, we are safe,
there is nobody to hurt us here. 
When you're ready, we can talk.
Or perhaps, we can just cry.
We’ll piece back together the man
who is so tortured inside. 
It wont be easy, or quick, or now.
It will be worth the tears.

The man i love is always there,
beneath those hollow eyes.

Liebe Wie Ein Wasserfall

Seine liebe war wie ein Wasserfall,
Erfrischend und rein,
Er sah wie ein Prinz von weiten Lande,
Seine Princessin wartet zu Hause fuer Ihn,
Wiesen mit fruehlings Blumen,
Voegel sangen ein huebsches Lied,
Sie wanderten den Bergen,
Zu Hause mit Gott und Welt,
Natur Bild schoen,
Er umarmt sie und sagte ich liebe dich,
Sie schaute Ihn an und er kuesste sie,
Eine liebe Freundschaft hatten sie.

Author : Gwen von Erlach Schutz

Cobble Stones

Cobble stones.
                    By Feo.

 Teenage boys making out in the breeze of April as the new offspring of Brooklyn run around them,

The elderly man of Bergen St becomes a statue for the pigeons to make their mating call,

Fairy nannies with infants, the city kids watch,

The sand from the play ground is a stencil in the wind,

Youth I'll never know, rain in the grey,
Blue eyes and smiling red lips, 

Picasso sketched on the plain arm with a fox in the window,

Girls who wear flowers on their boots and ribbons at the tongue,

I love it when the sun is out and the rain begins to fall,

The peddler is in the garden, the query is on the waiting list,

The query is recognized.

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