Best Germany Poems
this nonconformist city
breathes a calm but edgy air
through gaps in the graffiti
and the street art everywhere
its face is sometimes brutal
but its heart and soul seem not
and it walks a sexy diverse walk
that’s cold yet somehow hot
(but I know I’m getting older
when those fun thoughts in my head
reject the swinging KitKatClub
for KitKat bars instead)
and all those wearing AirPods
sipping hot drinks on the go
pass tourists taking boat trips
slowly going with the flow
while the 'high tea' of a bratwurst
served from food trucks on the street
is eaten at tall tables
en plein air without a seat
and just like high end stores at home
the windows dress up nice
displaying priceless dresses
that are shown without their price
note too that no one jaywalks here
by crossing roads at will
not even during rush hour
when the traffic’s standing still
and when it comes to bridges
here’s a fact that crossed my mind:
there are more here than in Venice
and in Amsterdam combined
and by saving time by taking trams
that move berlin about
we spent time taking time in parks
where locals take time out
while the aiming and the shooting
by the wall towards the west
was just us aiming cell phones
shooting selfies with the rest.
but the death camp films and clothes we saw
of the many that were killed
brought tears that drowned a silence there
for the blood that humans spilled
and I cannot start to comprehend
the minds of those who kill
and just because I went there
- and just because I stood there
- and just because I wrote this
doesn’t mean I ever will.
WALES 1 GERMANY didn’t
The Germans take great pride
In long words measured by the clock
But can they compete when vied
With Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch
‘Twas the night before Christmas in the little town of Oberflugelschweinsaxenmitcracklingewurst.
(There are some that are much longer; it isn’t the worst)
Now hier ist ze haus of ze happy family SCHMIDT
Und Herr Schmidt mit rosenconk giving ze gluwein a hit
Ze Schmidt kinder all excited - Santa Claus kommin to town
Und everyone so merry, mit big smiles, und never a frown
Und zere in ze garten ze liddle haus you know what for
Zose are ze shoes of Frau Schmidt sticken aus unter ze door
Und now here ist gekommin Santa Claus on der grosse toboggan
He is singin Oh! so merry cos he also had a noggin
See ze reindeer geklompin uberhead, leaving Lufthasa standingk
Zen down zey are kommin - all ready fur ze Landingk
Ach! Meine Gott! Zey are heading for ze liddle haus in ze garten!
Kablunden! Blitzen ! Alles Kaput! Ze liddle haus Ist geflattened
Und Frau Schmidt ist runningk aus mit ze knickers round ze ankles!
Zat’s enough to spoil your Christmas; in ze snow it really rankles
Fater Christmas zen ist sayingk: "Shtupid dumkopf reindeer - Heraus!
I gave you clear instruction to be landing on ze SCHMIDT Haus !!!!!"
While Italian girls were looking at shoes,
And German women were reading the news,
And checking to find some good movie reruns,
The Russian women were grabbing their guns.
And while Germany was losing its gains,
Rosie the Riveter was turning out planes.
While Hitler was saying "You've got to be White",
The Tuskegee Airmen were conducting a flight
And when Germany said, We are going to win,
American bombers were bombing Berlin.
Occasionally I write war poems as part of history.
This one was inspired by the Netflix series on WW2.
"Though her visuals, depths and span have been prominent in my life's story, I am sure the Atlantic sea has never thought of me." ... CayCay Godwin
I was in the oven when I first crossed
over that vast ocean sky high above
her on a plane to Germany where I was born.
At age three a ship upon the Atlantic sea
sailed me to America, my home country which
was foreign land to me. At age
thirteen I was lent a dream, a sponsor
paid my way on a tour for chaperoned teens of
four European countries. Flying at that age,
I finally, truly saw the sea's awe.
In Amsterdam mist I was first kissed, a feel so
robust a romance mostly by
mail prevailed for a decade plus.
After high school, I pooled goodbye tears when,
again, my dad was sent to Germany
and with my sis and mom went overseas.
I flew across the Atlantic and back three times
for Christmas love, hugs and kisses.
From Cape Cod to the Keys, I have played in her waves.
My life told includes the Atlantic's role.
On the bluffs above the Lorelei Rock,
Overlooking the Rhine River near Bingen,
Is the Lorelei Ampitheater.
While stationed in West Germany,
Towards the end of the Cold War,
I saw there an awesome concert.
The main band was one of my favorite bands--
Possibly the best band America ever produced
(The only band that ever gave the Beatles any competition anyway).
Cheerleaders from the University of Nevada Las Vegas
Strutted and danced on stage
In uniforms, sarongs, and bikinis.
Rain didn't stop the show or discourage the spectators.
A significant percentage of the audience were young people,
Who liked the songs their parents treasured--
Songs about hot rods, love, and surfboards.
The song of the beautiful Lorelei below
Harmonized with the California sound above.
ON LOOKING AT SCHILLER’S SKULL
by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Here in this charnel-house full of bleaching bones,
like yesteryear’s
fading souvenirs,
I see the skulls arranged in strange ordered rows.
Who knows whose owners might have beheaded peers,
packed tightly here
despite once repellent hate?
Here weaponless, they stand, in this gentled state.
These arms and hands, they once were so delicate!
How articulately
they moved! Ah me!
What athletes once paced about on these padded feet?
Still there’s no hope of rest for you, lost souls!
Deprived of graves,
forced here like slaves
to occupy this overworld, unlamented ghouls!
Now who’s to know who loved one orb here detained?
Except for me;
reader, hear my plea:
I know the grandeur of the mind it contained!
Yes, and I know the impulse true love would stir
here, where I stand
in this alien land
surrounded by these husks, like a treasurer!
Even in this cold,
in this dust and mould
I am startled by an a strange, ancient reverie, …
as if this shrine to death could quicken me!
One shape out of the past keeps calling me
with its mystery!
Still retaining its former angelic grace!
And at that ecstatic sight, I am back at sea ...
Swept by that current to where immortals race.
O secret vessel, you
gave Life its truth.
It falls on me now to recall your expressive face.
I turn away, abashed here by what I see:
this mould was worth
more than all the earth.
Let me breathe fresh air and let my wild thoughts run free!
What is there better in this dark Life than he
who gives us a sense of man’s divinity,
of his place in the universe?
A man who’s both flesh and spirit—living verse!
To The Muse
by Friedrich Schiller
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I do not know what I would be,
without you, gentle Muse!,
but I’m sick at heart to see
those who disabuse.
Keywords/Tags: Goethe, Schiller, German, Germany, translation, skull, bones, body, charnel, house, grave, best friend, friendship love, funeral, souls, soulmate, ghosts, spirit, flesh, dead, death, shrine, divinity, universe
Of course no one can predict the future and what is to happen.
History has a way of repeating itself that’s the way of things.
In Europe, Germany has the strongest economy that’s amazing isn’t it.
When they flex there muscles all Europe trembles and financially they are split.
Winston Churchill warned Europeans about this nation before the Great War.
At first subtly, then they stormed ferociously and left the world with deadly scars
The European Union runs strictly by this nation’s evil agenda and policies.
It flexes its muscles, economic power and institutes its ideologies.
Why have the western nations allow this enemy of democracy to take control?
We stand idly by listening to rhetoric and let their policies to roll.
Their navy is dominating the Mediterranean Sea poised to control and to act.
Shortly they’ll have military might another Third Reich is powerfully back.
They don’t want England involved they are being alienated and forced out.
Yet we stand idly by without so much as peep or a shout.
Our military is being stretched out to the limit.
We as a free nation and as powerful as we are, are afraid to speak out.
Our faith in God has turned lukewarm and we fail in our duty morally.
Our leaders forget that with the Lords guidance we can conquer spiritually.
Standing as a beacon to the world, repenting, kneeling and ask God for His loving guidance,
We would be able to prevail against the devil; the world needs this nation to stop this moral corruptness.
The free nations England, U.S.A., can’t stand alone against this assault.
The fascist Nazi’s are alive and thriving we can’t allow this, we are at fault.
They were to never again have military might after the World War, never allowed to re-arm.
Yet, they are here again rearing their ugly agenda this should be shown to the world, and we should be alarmed.
In Winnegan, on the Moselle
There's a story townsfolk will tell:
A witch came to dine
She savoured the wine
And cast a prosperity spell!
What a sight to behold! A home to immigrants,
a spectacular city rolled with a wealth of arts!
predominantly Catholic with its many facets
its historical resonance and genesis of existence.
While it’s a welcome contrast from other countries,
there’s evidence that it’s replete with triumph and fall;
just after Bolzano, Trento, Rovereto, Verona Porta Nuova,
Peschiera del Garda, Desenzano della Garda-Sirminione and Brescia.
That from Milan Central Station the train arrives in Monaco.
Indeed, I was so impressed to see the main city
its combined history and culture; a satisfaction
just on the horizons they gave me an enormous impression
to the so-called civilization that München defines its soul.
Churches can be found almost in every corner
with their baroque or lavish rococo architecture,
some artifacts and gothic designs in some parts
in the eye of the beholder, they’re indeed a treasure.
People from all walks of life converge at the epicentre
the bustling footpaths, crowded shops and restaurants
with families from Dubai, Abu Dhabi and Pakistan
Asians or other Europeans in common desire
this place holds a promise for future and families.
Germans in general, love to drink and hang out with friends
a place like Hofbräuhaus where huge crowds can be found
a good description, the best picture to recall.
Deutsch, the language spoken but difficult to learn
gave me an impression of its beauty in articulation.
With their conventional greetings like in many other cultures
respect is the by-word along with courtesy and reason.
like the Olympic Park, Marienplatz, Nymphenburg palace,
English Garden, Königsplatz and many other sights
They’re beautiful places steeped with history and connection
to the people of München who love their own culture.
I may not be keen about other European cuisines
however, as a person drawn to taste them all
with a sweet tooth I couldn’t resist a typical German version
of the American pancake served in the morning
kaiserschman, its name and it’s common to all.
If you ever go to Munich for you must see
the church of our lady it's cathedral is
nestled in late gothic brick it's a beautiful
landmark there a symbol of such peace
the bricks so nicely placed like angels
were up all night performing these two
towered structures it enhanced my glory
the gold in the ceiling capturing
the smiles of the people surrounding this
beautiful faith dome pure compassion leaves
your soul landing in the heart of a stranger
causing a sense of family for loving always
one god knowing we are safe from satan
as you enter there's a dark imprint of a
foot print the teusfelstrict it is said
by local lore's to be the devils when he
challenged von pollen to build a nave
with out windows as he excepted
and so stands this enormous window
invisible to the naked eye
Written by Mrs Yolanda Joy Nicholsen
In Tchibo Germany,
enjoy a cup of coffee,
idea from Schopenhauer to Nietzsche
A country which holds so much I wish to hold.
Venerate friend, old forgotten memories, or new cognizance to him.
Goddess hold my favor and keep him close to my anima.
He is honorable and altruistic and that speaks to me.
Venerate friend, old forgotten memories, or new cognizance to him.
Walks in the park, tours of castles, hold my hand, ameliorate my grief.
He is honorable and altruistic and that speaks to me.
Credence, adulation, and reverie await me in Germany.
He is honorable and altruistic and that speaks to me.
Goddess hold my favor and keep him close to my anima.
Credence, adulation, and reverie await me in Germany.
A country which holds so much I wish to hold.
GENTLY MY MIND PORTRAYED
AN EMPTY SADNESS WHILE I'D CRADLED
THEE NESTLED THOUGHT
LEAVING THE INFAMOUS BONDARIES
AWAITING THE VIEWING
OF THOMAS MANN'S QUIET SETTING
BETWEEN THE SOLID STRUCTURES
OF STILL RUNNING WATER SEEPING
OVER THE GOTHIC STONERY
THAT CARRIED SILENT WISHES
BENEATH THE FOUNTAINS CORE
TRAVELING BEYOND VOSS SHORE
WHILE CRAVING TATTOOED SMILES
THE UNSEEN GESTURES OF MINES
THROUGHOUT THE GALLERIES
OF INDUSTRIAL SOLITUDE
WHY I'D BEGAN TO OPEN PACKAGES
OF MEMORIES SAFELY TUCKED AWAY
BESIDE HOPE AND CHARITY
WHY I FOLLOWED MADNESS
CREEPING THROUGH THE FOREST AGAIN
AWAKENING SUDDEN EMOTIONS
BOTTLED I SUPPOSE GRAVELY
DANCING TO THE TUNES OF BROKEN
FOLKLORES TALES WHISPERING
THE SONG OF POVERTY CATERING
TO BAYOUS OF HASTE
WHERE SACRED GROUND OPENS
EXPOSING THE VALLEY OF DRY BONES
MY SOUL HAD MASTERED A QUICKENING
BALANCE A MEANINGFUL GATHERING
HOLDING ON TO COPENHAGENS
SECRET TUNNELS WHERE KOFF
DESIGNED BLUE PRINTS AND PATTERNS
CAPTURING MY EMPTINESS OF REMEMBERING
THE WHITE LAB COATS THE CRYING LAMBS
WRITTEN BY
MRS YOLANDA JOY NICHOLSEN
3/9/2013
FROM MY HOSPITAL BED
IN TAMPA HEART ATTACK
DRESDEN, GERMANY February 13, 1945
Pathfinders lit the night to show the way
for bombardiers too hungry for the word;
as Dresden's dark was made as light as day,
all hearts were stopped before the blasts were heard;
and as the din was heard by all their ears
the sound it made was not reality
but far removed from all the hopes and fears
and what they thought would never come to be.
They loved the Fuhrer -- sin enough for all
to die the fiery death of sweet revenge
brought on by those who had enough of gall
to drop their loads in wartimes heated binge!
And when the fire consumed all that it could
the winter of their lives was understood.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet.