Best Flemish Poems
I Love Horses: A--Z
A is for... Appaloosa. They have
blankets on their rumps.
B is for...Belgian. They work
hard and can pull up stumps.
C is for...Clydesdale. They're
BIG bays with white fluffy feet.
D is for...Dartmoore, a pony
from the moors--so sweet!
E is for...Egyptian, the finest
horse on desert sand.
F is for...Fresian: Big black War
Horse--a Knight's demand.
G is for...Gypsy Vanner, a rare
beauty like fairy tales.
H is for...Hanoverian. The best
all-round from England hails.
I is for...Irish Tinker. A loyal
horse that's black and white.
J is for...Java Pony. He's
Indonesia's working sprite.
K is for...Knapstrup. He's a
horse full of leopard spots!
L is for...Lipizzaner: Grey
leapers known in the Big Tops!
M is for...Mustang. Wild and
Free--roams America's West.
N is for...Nonius: Big-headed
black and drives the best.
O is for...Oldenburg. Dressage
ribbons just get bigger.
P is for...Palomino. Roy Rogers
named his, Trigger.
Q is for...Quarter Horse,
cowboy's fav'rite! Does
Everything!
R is for...Racking Horse. His
ride's so smooth it will make
you sing.
S is for...Spotted Saddle Horse,
Gaited beauty everyone loves.
T is for...Thoroughbred. Racing,
"The Sport of Kings", he does.
U is for...Ukrainian Riding
Horse: Beautiful born after
War's end.
V is for...Vlaamperd: Flemish
black stallion and true friend.
W is for...White (Albino) Horse.
The Lone Ranger's 'Silver'--of
course!
X is for...Xilingol. He's
Mongolia's riding draft horse.
Y is for...Yonagui, a chestnut
pony from Japan.
Z is for...Zebra: African wild
but tamed by man.
A personal therapist long past
the end,
The love of a horse...is the
love... of a Friend.
deborah burch
02.28.2013
Beyond the bay the sun peeked over waves;
calm belied what destiny would tell.
A statue peers where sailors served and gave,
so far from Gloucester shores where seagulls yell.
So far from sheltered harbor's gentle swells.
Undaunted sailors dared the Flemish Cap -
too far, as nature mixed a hopeless trap.
Like hungry beasts tempt fate to catch their prey
and stray beyond their tribal hunting grounds;
the George's Bank was left to stern that day
to go where surely greater catch abounds.
But while their hold was filled with bounty found,
two angry storms swirled in a deadly dance
and left the Andrea Gail without a chance.
Her captain turned for port but could not know
such wrath of nature blocked their pathway home,
and all the crew on wings of Angels glowed -
the face of God to trust and not to roam.
Though oft in tumult's grasp they will bemoan
and think to sell their souls on devil's waves,
yet safe in Heaven's grasp they will be brave.
RIP October 28, 1991
What lesser mortals?
What lesser mortals
than Rimbaud
claim themselves
a poet within
another self,
for there is more
than just one self
depending on the
time and day
and nothing
is as it seems
at first,
we are born
from abstract
firmament to the
Infirmament
arriving
planned and unplanned
in the in-between
swaddled in skin,
a nude shade of blue
turning pink
and revolutionary
the most sincere
we've ever been
we are slapped to
make loud noises
to prove we are alive;
we are small noises
for the most part
of our continuum
as we evolve
we reveal our
true colours
our different dimensions
bleed like water pastels
we are shades
and shadow of each,
easily morphing into
the will of others
less than
and more than likely
just to keep the peace
or challenge
subterranean night crawlers
from their obligatory big sleep
silent scarabs
black hats wearing
white hats
guarding gates
of ruined castles
like red caps
pacing the watchtowers
like laughing hyenas
for their better
bleached masters
who are small noises
for the most part
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
“As I was going down impassive Rivers,
I no longer felt myself guided by haulers:
Yelping redskins had taken them as targets
And had nailed them naked to colored stakes.
I was indifferent to all crews,
The bearer of Flemish wheat or English cottons
When with my haulers this uproar stopped
The Rivers let me go where I wanted.”
“And from then on I bathed in the Poem
Of the Sea, infused with stars and lactescent,
Devouring the azure verses; where, like a pale elated
Piece of flotsam, a pensive drowned figure sometimes sinks”
They say
?There are a million ways?
To say I love you
In this day and age?
I could only find
?In my computer’s brain?
The words
to say I love you?
In 53 languages
of the 10,000 languages
?Spoken on this planet
Someday I may be able
?To say the simple words
?I love you?
In all know languages?
This will have to suffice for a start
So I will say it
?Loud, and clear?
Just so you understand:
I love you (English)
Mein tumse pyar karta hoon (Hindi)
?Tu Tane prem karoo chu (Gujarati)
?Ame tomake bhalo bashe (Bengali)
?Me tula premkarto (Marati)?
Hum apse mohabbat karte hain (Urdu
?Mein thoda prem karanga (Punjabi)
?Man Dooset Daram
(Persian)
?Ana Ahabik Yanooni (Arabic)
?Havala (Hebrew)
Yongchon(Chinese)
?Aloha (Hawaian)
?Cinta(Indonesian)
?Dangshinun sarang hayo (Korean)?
Ajo (Japanese)
?Kasih (Malay)
?Phom tirak khun krap (Thai)?
Akoay Paginghe ikou (Tagalog)
?Toi yeu ong(Vietnamese)
Renmen (Creole)
?Jesuis L’amour voies(French)
?Liefdle (Flemish)
?Estoy amor tu (Spanish)?
Yosono amore tu (Italian)
?Estou o amore tu (Portugese)
Dashuri (Albanian)
?Maiteizam (Basque)?
OBHYAM (Bulgarian)
?Ljubav (Croatian)
?Laska (Czech)
?Jeger en kaerlighed du (Danish)
?Ikben houden van jig (Dutch)
?Gra (Gaelic)
?Ich bin lieben tu (German)
?Agape/eros (Greek)
?Ami (Esperanto)?
Armastama (Estonian)
?Rakam (Finish)
?Envagyok szeretet te (Hungarian)
?Elska (Icelandic)
?Ejekirin (Kurdish)
?Milestiba (Latvian)
?Meile (Lithuanian)
?Eu dragoste tu (Romanian)
?JHOBOEL Lubush (Russian)
?Elske (Norweigan)
?Easka (Slovak)?
JBYBAB (Serbian)?
Jagdan karlek du (Swedish)
?KOYATH (Ukraine)
?Benin sevi sen (Turkish)?
Ahava (Yiddish)
Ngingu u thando ungu (Zulu)
Vacation in Manhattan
Thought I was going to be bored when we
Were told we were going to see
A panel hinged shutter
My speech was beginning to stutter
Jan van Eyck’s nude art I see
12/28/2015
The Ghent Altarpiece by Jan van Eyck is a very large and complex early 15th-century Early Flemish polyptych panel painting. The altarpiece comprises 12 panels, eight of which are hinged shutters
Artists: Hubert van Eyck, Jan van Eyck
Period: Northern Renaissance
Dimensions: 11' 6? x 15' 1?
Tell all the worlds about the treasures found
Renaissance trace spellbound in the ancient form,
Tender and haunting; an era of time curves around
Past the present to a future beset with tech charm.
Historical pages cling romantically to our eyes,
Each epoch defines a sparkling gem of surprise,
Their fluttered rebirth is like stars changing sizes
Release by time flown from the damp demise.
That dip their limbs to bow unto gloss modernity
Like the artist and sculpture, they paint a world.
Of aesthetic peculiarities and lofty discovery,
Longing to find a place soaring free in the soul.
A vault of citadels says much; then said no more
Deep within, ancient wonders rise from the ashes
Talented beauty weaves from centuries we adore,
The time and place asleep in a waste wilderness.
The plague of colors survives in medieval triumph,
England, a literary monument of architect literature.
Finds the noble heart to express cherished breath
Creating the etiquette claimed by French culture.
Such dept alone could not be paid by metamorphism
Humanism fading in a mist has its place in society,
Heightened with extreme lust and erotic mannerism,
Italy removes the conscious veil from bizarre reality.
Ceiling significant through music strings serenade,
Renaissance dazed; allusion lay dreaming half awake
The inquisition of fate went on pilgrimage made,
German sentence commute through the classical gate.
The Netherlands explore and navigate all the distances
Byzantine adherence goes beyond impregnable walls,
depict faces of the Tsars persist in the military hypothesis,
And labyrinths take refuge in Russian banqueting halls.
The richest measured proportion of distilled beverage,
Vodka values more than all the dull limited senses,
Spanish religion repository of the myths and rage
Set the path where new western experience commences.
Portugal selfie, the pinnacle piece that thirsts for commerce
Lisbon flourished paints and medicines with Flemish.
Poland concept and conflict gain border land dominance,
Spice trade rises high and makes indiscreet allusion flourish.
We travel far beyond renaissance to the greatest monument,
When the transition of culture from the middle age evolved
Mesmerized art is a rediscovery of an enduring cultural movement,
The monarch of the Roman Empire renaissance man inspired.
Inviting you into my heart was both a blessing and a curse did you not think ?
to tell me in less reckless ways you lost yourself in this fragile dance for two
Inside this tango of passion you dipped then dropped, where was the floor ?
that swallowed me like a Spanish dancer with a Rose between her lips
Idealistic player that you are we fitted right, so what sin did I commit?
Truth be told the only one that I could think of was loving you too much
Ignoring all your calls I tried to make a life without you in it but why oh why ?
tackling all my dance moves you got me like a Flemish wounded poppet
Indian giver that you are you loved then passed it on, so why was she ?
tangerine lipped & coiffed congealed to your chest like a Minerva Goddess
Ice cream words melted from the heat, castanets clapped & where were you ?
tendencies often nothing more than Paso Doble moves for you, so you slid
Inside your wealth like a hoof. A Hexabranchus man, did you not miss?
the little doll you toyed with in Valencia while the festival of fire was going on !
August 27 2022
Sponsor Mark Toney
Contest Name 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 13
A progidy in her early teens
When this Flemish lass burst on the scene
A stylish breakfast piece
an epulaeryu in paint-
a gifted amateur she ain't
Tribute to the Clara Peeters 1594-1657
Specialist with breakfast pieces eg Table with pie,game & olives
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clara_Peeters
i sat on the sandy shelf looking out to sea
intensity in the sunshine
set my head spinning
i could smell the sweet scent of the sea
could hear the breaking waves upon the dusty sands
and could feel in my bones the grains of time as they passed
a thousand years sailing ships plying the
beautiful breeze of the golden shore
a thousand lifetimes of men knowing the depth of love for the sea
and in my heart i too heard her calling me
to wrest a life from the living sea
like the ages old conquest of wind and tide
so with a madman i set off in a twenty footer
and as the gulls wheeled overhead we set our lines
with a sea of stars above
a sea of brackish water below
we harvested a bounty overflowing in my grasp
to make market we had to put every inch of sail to the wind
but by the time we reached shore
the madman had cast all our fish back into the sea
saying that they had begged to be set free
a thousand years of sailing ships plying the golden sea
had worn his mind
worry rubbing the bone of his skull
the wild sea had grasped his soul
the wild sea had stolen his soul
now i chase him cross the flemish cap
every sail straining
no life lived so well
as the life of sea and sand
I married the place where I was born at a second time,
Even today, your chest is still holding,
The vibrations that become intense,
When my hand touches your rim.
You acknowledge,
That we've always been willing to breathe
Perhaps freer among space,
With fire roots around the neck,
Shouted at each other silently of love,
The world has ceased its existence.
I am suffocating,
A distance away from me
The appearance of a different era occurs:
Of being or not.
I let my Vail fall on your palms,
Digging springs on my shoulders,
Flemish to you.
You forgot,
our marriage is bound in heaven,
There is no love on the Earth!
what to do with the grand mother
just a picture to me in an heavy frame
I never met her
she died before I was born
emptying my life
I look at her and try to find myself
buried in morocco she hardly spoke french
her husband gone a year earlier
they wait for the next grave to be filled
and no luck as it will never happen
as disperse my mother the atheist made sure the missionary
from my father side visiting africa never to wear the cross
just memories in a box
[Frans Snyders, oil on canvas 1614]
A young stag suspended by both hocks,
dead tongue lolling, brick-red,
from the corner of its mouth.
A pair of rabbits slung across the board.
A pheasant and a string of songbirds,
silent. Even the white swan, its long neck
graceful and its wing unfurled,
is not immune from Saturday display.
A cauliflower. A wicker basket
overflowing grapes and apples
that will never ripen to a fuller
red. A squash and two melons
plucked from their vines.
How many heavenly
mouthfuls, thinks the poor man
who feasts on porridge. But
for such a man with famished pockets,
our Flemish master didn’t paint
this scene.
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I am painted by a minor Dutch master
whose name is only known
as a Flemish squiggle.
Low clouds could evaporate
or lift the wings of varnished geese.
Wind-sails part a low-land mist.
I will send the black dog.
Pheasant and grouse fly up
each feather intense with hindsight.
This is a New Year’s Eve poem,
yet I can’t remove the Flemish windmills,
the black dog, the shotgun,
the marshy landscape.
I will roll up the old canvas,
hawk it around, barter it for some new boots.
Windmills will keep turning the sky.
Frames will keep breaking free of walls.
Clothes for the artist:
an old bush hat,
a long canvas coat,
borrowed from a gallery
of yellowing landscapes.
New brown buckled boots.
I'll go looking for red swans
in the sunrise,
though I won't call the words that.
I will splash forward following
the dog's quick nose.
Flemish born Franz Hals
he&Rubens were great pals
Starting painting in Haarlem
very prolific with many gems