Father forgive us for being forlorn and falling
Father forbid us for continuing in our fractured and failing faith
Father forgive us for being on a Pharisaical frequency, our felonistic fealty
Father be firm in fermenting the old form and forming the new form
Father help us from faith to sight, to stand still and from fumbling and flight
Father thaw the frozen chosen, free the former and ford with the free
Forgive us all for forgetting to forgive family, friends and frisky foes
Father fence in the fiendish of all foes, frown at our flash and Flemish giant holes we fancy
Father forgive the frantic and fatalistic fray, pray tell Father don't falter
Freed from our sins by Jesus our Friend, Founder and Forever Fiddly
Father under Your feathers we can fly freely over the frame of Your fields
Father freeze our fleeting feet, flesh out the futility of fake fossil flack
Father fix our philosophies and our philandering, our fantastic fudging of facts
Father finally [and again] forgive us our frequent fallacies of faltering finitude
I knew an old buffoon
quite the gloomy poltroon
who through a stormy monsoon
flew his hot air balloon
and among the Walloon
and Flemish
much to their surprise
did not meet his demise
but with neither a blot
not a jot
nor blemish
at all
on hand
in the small
6-Government
densely populated
parliamentary constitutional monarchy
3-language country of Belgium
safely did crash land
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!
Ironsmith Quentin Metrys
became a noted flemish
He painted both religious&sacrificial
funding the Antwerp school so special
Flemish born Franz Hals
he&Rubens were great pals
Starting painting in Haarlem
very prolific with many gems
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
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Wedding Kermesse
Common folk with few wants
(Toilers reaping earth’s bounty)
Enjoy life’s pleasantries
By escaping the harsh realities
Of day-to-day existence,
Expressed in a kermesse dance
To the tune of simple instruments.
With joy in their hearts
And freedom unfettered,
They fling each other
Around in circles,
Indulging in feasting,
Drinking, and singing
In the celebratory ritual
Of carefree merriment
(Partakers as witnesses)
Toasting the wedding couple.
With the ground as their stage
And exposed to the elements,
The day wears thin,
But not their jubilance.
***
Note:
“Wedding Kermesse” is an ekphrastic poem based on the painting "Peasant Wedding Dance" (1607) by Pieter Brueghel the Younger (1564–1638).
The “Kermesse” was any special village or town celebration originating in Europe during the late medieval period (1250–1500 AD) and was introduced to America by Dutch and Flemish immigrants.
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.
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
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?
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
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
[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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