Best Amsterdam Poems
Phyllis Upman was a young maid
When she learnt the rules of her trade:
Show men what they want
Behave nonchalant
And be sure to pull down the shade!
n.b. Window shopping in
Amsterdam is a more popular
tourist attraction than tulips
Tulips sway by wood,
Take a puff of the new day,
Where is the coffee?
Those little bridges
Perfect eyebrows
Half-moons
trampled by feet
that don't care
callously tarry.
The questions in
extinguished glances
a play staged for
dwindling feet
for faces are shameful
from corners of eyes
under fading half moon
a price charged
negotiated in the red glare
of evening wet cobblestones.
The heavy sweet scent
nickers around corners
eyebrows raised
over glassy eyes
sitting between evening
hordes of cut-off legs
senseless lemmings
that walk, walk
to nowhere.
***
August 21, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
If you seek to fully understand,
This complex human jam,
You just need a ticket in hand,
To fly to Amsterdam!
History walks the streets here,
In every pavement stone,
You find friendship and cheer,
On every face In town!
Watch the cyclist to the right,
They have the right of way,
Trams, buses are packed tight,
As the Dutch start their day!
Explore the city on your foot,
And relish the jolly sites,
Take a camera click and shoot,
The brilliance of the nights!
Tall buildings on either sides,
With waterways in the middle,
Spend a few euros on a ride,
To solve the human riddle!
Four centuries you will travel,
In a ride around the Gracht,
The mysteries quickly unravel,
As you relax in the raft!
Seventy bridges link the city,
That floats on wooden piles,
“The dancing ladies” look so pretty,
As they lean to their sides!
Great masters of colour and paint,
Lived their lives on this land,
Amongst the sinners and saints,
Were Van Gogh and Rembrandt!
War and peace, joy and tears,
Carved this beautiful place,
Good days amidst daunting fears,
As they etched out their space!
Coffee shops are everywhere,
And the window girls in town,
It is Cannabis best be aware,
Before you bite and gulp it down!
It is a beautiful, honest city,
That is fair to one and all,
While the rest of us talk of piety,
Our values and morals appal!
Health and wealth together ride,
On cycles, buses and tram,
Simple honesty is their guide,
In the city of Amsterdam!!
Right out side the coffee shop,
Below St. Peter's hands
The purveyors of indulgences
Have set up little stands
And should some half-waked baker
Come and stir about the pot
The double-arched McDiocese
Would (likely) thank me not.
Afternoon in Amsterdam
I was looking at the little man
He was a long way away
Dim in my perception
Of Amsterdam time
Turning the wheel
For a song
Played magnificently
From
The bright red street organ
He was turning the wheel
The time wheel of Prakash
And
Organizing all of the stars
Crank
Turn
Crank
falling from the sky
i scraped my knees on concrete
fingernails darkened by metropolitan deceit
the gale of inner city enterprise
fueling trader commodities
and welcoming queues that form
their redundant mantra
echoing a delayed expedition
the signal beginning our attrition
elsewhere,
coal smeared spartans clash
their frosted resolve melting slowly
inside a timeless arena
closer to home,
oppressed vegetation sprouts
cultured venues calling nature's miracle
a tertiary attraction
despite the pain of this vision
we develop a certain rheumatism
numbing perception and the id
our carnal revelry guided by mohammad
***I personally don't indulge in "soothing weed"
but the Dutch and many others certainly do***
Amsterdam
Dynamic charm along many contradictions encompass Amsterdam
House boats festoon canal while tenants toast wine and love Edam
True blue blonds cranking bikes synchronize pace crossing a bridge
Stoned laird hears enlightened souls chant verse perched on ledge
Safe from surging water churches dominate rooftops ogling a tram
Finely carved architecture tower above bars serving eggs and ham
Cafes offer soothing weed dazzling each mortal with such privilege
Fueling dreams of nirvana minds invoke desire to sharpen its edge
Penned: 06/16/2017
12:34 a.m.
Aboard cruise liner: Vision Of The Seas
Docked in Amsterdam, Holland
Amsterdam
By
M Saleem Chaudhry
Annelies of Amsterdam is our guide
She took us to her home town for cosmo's ride
Amsterdam is a city of canals so wide
Where everything is open, not much to hide
The treasures of art, deep sea and culture
She showed with pleasure and with pride
A replica of maritime venture converted
in to museum
A floating Chinese restaurant on low tide
The four major canals, representing past Prince and empress for political
system,
Gentleman And single are reflective of the social profile
The ancestors struggled so hard to build a city of canals and ventured so far
In Far East to Indonesia to spice their lives with clove, cinnamon and pepper
With the magnificent past, present lessez faire
The future can be doomed if not taken care
p.s Annelies was our tour director for Cosmo's tour of six countries in ten days
Amsterdam.
Calm, gentle.
Cycling, boating, walking.
Tulips, cobbles, bakeries, fresh air.
Eating, drinking, sight-seeing.
Modern, historic.
Holiday.
Walking past a "coffee shop,"
The weed comes wafting out.
Though once I would have thus indulged,
Today I'll do without.
Somehow that's been tucked away,
A relic of my past,
Like youth and risks and craziness -
It wasn't meant to last.
But how that smell just brings it back!
With every single whiff
I'm tempted just to take a toke,
But I'll stick to a sniff.
Roosters gather in a parking lot,
cackling and crowing.
A man is bent over in a field,
fixing his tractor. One long breath,
a yawn, a wide field with horses,
clusters of sheep beneath low trees.
We fly along a creek, short stretches of fence,
a dusty path, a boy on a motor scooter,
a tunnel, blackness.
A swan curls on a green pond,
a construction site is only half complete,
a windmill barely rotates in the misty sky.
Swirling white butterflies
dance in a meadow.
I think I see kudzu in the overgrowth;
I forget where I am.
How can the Holland countryside appear
so similar to the American South?
I could stay on this train forever
and always be happy.
If you were to inquire of me
To impart my knowledge about flowers
My answer would be this
I have seen with my own eyes the Tulips blossoming in May
In Holland's field's
On a sunny day
The likes of which my eyes had never seen before
Colors divided into rows so rich
Try as I could
I could never explain
What I have seen
In Colors so perfect they rended my eyes blind
In high resolution definition my vision recalibrated
To a new scale and level
A miracle of nature I knew not had existed
Has blessed me with
I was at one with the greatest gift
A rose can not compete with for sheer beauty
you are the sick
the disgust in the swallow
the cringe in the choking
we are the same in our affections
cheap and quick
taste and spit
we are the same in our forgiveness
heavy and grieving
a bathroom floor bereavement
a curved spine casualty
empty
unflattering and unforgetting in all your doing
i lie heavy
a fish bowl of a stomach
a stomach of a body
solemnly swaying
you were the stranger at the first funeral
the child poking my body thinking i'll open my eyes
not knowing the ghosts would come for you too
or how the bitterness would travel
or how quickly you must stumble to stay safe
you held my hand
dragged me to the cold tile
dropped me to see if i would bounce or break
bent me over the sink
and drenched me unholy
you were the sheets suffocating me that night
the pillows i've chewed through
you were the fault of it all
the downhill spiral
and the homesick
and the earthquakes
and the heartbreaks
the crying and the spilled milk
you are the hunter
rifle in hand
coward in eyes
you were the wind chasing that bullet
you were the stranger at every funeral to come
picking and prying and smacking and slicing
and sometimes i worried you would not show up
would not tower over my body
watch me gagged and restrained
but you always came
thought that being dizzy made me prettier
you never missed a party
if you knew i'd wake up bruised
the droplets ran in blurring rivulets,
her form behind the glass a fluid shape,
a naked wraith in smoke from cigarettes;
about her shoulders ghostly tendrils drape
when posing through the pane into the street
through plumes of steam adorning as a cape;
sat unclothed upon the window seat,
dulled by all the damage needles do,
reposed another teenage piece of meat;
sex for sale to feed the human zoo,
sightlessly she pouts into the damp,
at all the punters staring coldly through;
sat beneath the ruddy neon lamp,
her habit gnaws, serrated like a clam,
and chews upon her loins with grit and cramp;
pale and skinny like a slaughtered lamb,
remaining statue still with ersatz smile,
another sorry child of Amsterdam…