Best Utrecht Poems
Grammar Series
SECOND CONDITIONAL
If I were a gambling man as my sin;
(I confess an occasional flutter)
Then if I had an acceptable win,
I would buy myself some new schmutter *
Note: it would make my verse more refined
If instead of "if I..." I wrote "we're I" and "had I"
Then perhaps The Immortal Bard would not mind
And Jane Austin would give me the glad eye
While I may forgive modern language’s slur
Wanting that which is sadly defunct, if
We avoid "if I was", rather say: "if I were"
Mindful that we are using subjunctive
Now the First Conditional suits admonishment
By uncles from Amsterdam, Delft or Utrecht **
While the Third is rueful and penitent
For sins of commission or those of neglect
But the Second tops my panoply
And it always has me beguiled
Inspiring creativity, phantasy
And imagination run wild
E.G.
Had I the combined wit of Wodehouse, and Wilde
I would put my pen to write such a tale
That would make the face of God crack a smile
And the heavens to burst in a giggling gale
Ode to the Netherlands
Oh, Netherlands, I remember you well
the beautiful cities I came to know
Brukelen, Haarlem, Utrecht and Zeist
as a younger man in search of lore
the blue canals along the street
the Amsterdam bistros where people meet
my nederlandse friends and Indonische love
a culture blended with the best of beers
Is it the same as I recall
when Queen Juliana ruled with great aplomb
in the fifty six years I have been there since
bloom on forever , Oh, Kuekenhof
and flow on, Oh, Zuiderzee
My heart will always be with thee
Contest
Beneath Australia’s expansive sunlit sky, I recall the patchwork quilt, where my life began
12 provinces united, one country created; uniformity resists when anthems unite the parochial clan
From staunch Overijssel in the north, to Limburg’s laughter in the south
From Drente’s eastern reach renowned, to Zeeland’s exalted river mouth
Friesland’s fair and twisted tongue, a language apart
Her “Tjalks” adorn the “Ijsselmeer”, binding forever a Fries heart
Groningen’s Martini towered capitol sits amid Europe’s oldest man made scenery
While Utrecht at the countries heart, the nation’s birthplace abounds in greenery
The Hollands next both South and North, give us cities which compete
For world renown, both Rotter- and sweet Amsterdam, with tulips are complete
Gelderland’s unfortunate claim to fame came from war
When allies forced a German retreat; they aimed a bridge too far
North Brabant lies beneath southern skies, a friendly place where life is good
Before Lent with carnival spent round old Saint John, is where, my cradle once stood
Limburg land of promise, of fresh fruit flans and singing nightingales,
Where clear streams cascade through oaken forests and silence prevails
Flevoland, the last, where fishing boats of Urk once sailed the Southern Sea
Now reclaimed land doth arise as each polder dries, thanks to the vision of Lely
Fatherland, motherland, though far away now, if truth be told
A warm place in my heart, “Je maintiendrai”; I will uphold
My Ode to the Netherlands
White water lilies picked for Verlena in Friesland.
The Dutch Republic is over a century old.
We are there during autumn.
Flowers are everywhere.
The sunflower fields
The sunbeams
Yellow and brown profound the canvas
To visit the Domtower is a climb.
Utrecht is a trek.
An ode comes to mind…
Dutch greetings we say…
Dutch greetings we say,
in the land of Friesland today.
Welcome all!
Our home is our joy.
We are logical people and not emotional.
We are expressive in our thoughts.
Call us opinionates, if you want.
Dutch greetings we say to all!
________________________________________________________/
Sponsor: Elly Wouterse
Contest Name: Your ode to 'my' Netherlands and/or 'my' Friesland
Date of Entry: March 29, 2014
Date Written: March 29, 2014
~Elly, happy birthday... This is two forms in one poem. The couplet and the irregular ode.
Best wishes and hopefully, this is not to much.~:)s
(absurdly enough, a true story)
Four centuries ago this year
(believe me, for I’ve checked!)
Britain and Spain jointly adhered
to the Treaty of Utrecht.
They’d been at war so long before,
concerning – of all things –
the British right, as Britain saw,
of choosing Spanish kings.
Yet more wars came, with curious names,
as often as the seasons.
But what was claimed? Who was to blame?
We scarcely know the reasons.
In ‘thirty-one, Boca Raton
saw trouble reappear:
the brittle peace o’erran its lease,
and Jenkins lost his ear.
For Jenkins, Master, this disaster
befell him while afloat.
The Spanish fleet, on meet-and-greet,
boarded the British boat.
Of depredations wrought by nations
we’ve surely seen enough.
Suffice to say, swords were in play:
one cut his ear clean off.
Of privateers and buccaneers,
we’ve heard, and Captain Morgan:
but not of Tom, thus parted from
his auditory organ.
Tom Jenkins went to Parliament,
with amputation: viz,
of Commons and Peers he had the ear
(and they, by George, had his!)
“It’s war! It’s war!” All voted “for”.
“The clearest insult ever!”
“We can’t have kith and kindred with
appendages thus severed!”
From first to last, the canon blasts
rang out for ten long years.
Who knows the cost? But many lost
a good deal more than ears.
So, blood ran high. Men fought, and died.
Faced grapeshot. Didn’t falter.
But who today can name that fray,
or guess at what it altered?
When will we learn? When will we spurn
the razor and the cosh?
Or, decades hence, will violence
still spill out, over tosh?
Adriaen von Utrecht
loved to paint his pet
A large Still life wit h Dog&cat
upon his easel often sat
Star of Utrecht, Anna van Schurman
Was not allowed to distract men
She had to study behind a curtain
Her brilliance wrote history for certain