In Germany beneath a foreign sky
I took sweet Sherri’s hand as mine
We built our days upon young hopes
And we consumed love like sacred wine
Then one day the world stood still
A voice like thunder split the air
I ran by will through dread and fear
To find death waiting there
They said my sweet Sherri had gone away
And with her passed a child (inside)
“What, a daughter I’ll never see?!”
Then felt my own heart landslide
Once we talked that if it should ever be
That God would bless our love the same
A little girl with Sherri’s eyes
We both would give her Emma’s name
Then dawn broke cold upon my face
No blood, no ward, no final scream
Yet grief still echoed through my mind
For all of it had been a dream
take heed; the bell
a call to church
or needless knell
the village prank
pews of ghost town
the bodies shrank
need a pastor
that draws them in
could be faster
the ring and shout
it’s loud and clear
bring love about
In Germany's dusk, the fourteenth century fell
Disorder in the shadows, and village anger will swell
Where towns blossomed once, now chaos reigned
All rights tangled, privileges weren’t gained
Classes divided, old alliances torn
Princes and estates where conflict was born
Fields and workshops, commerce and trade
All swept up in strife that no one could evade
Country folk suffered, their fortunes declined
Feuds and famine ominously combined
Villages vanished only names remain
Echoes of lives lost to hunger and pain
Unrest and lawlessness, violence and fear
Only the strong could persevere
No ruler to unify, no guiding hand
Germany's turmoil swept across the land
So peaked the chaos the harbingers said
The way of order whimpered and fled
They would not do the same in The Western Land
They learned from how Germany had mistakenly band
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Autumn’s abundance attracts adventurers to Munich.
Oompa bands boast boisterous beats.
Beneath the boundless, blue Bavarian skies,
Bountiful banquets beckon where breads and bratwurst blend,
Beer bottles beckon, from barrels and bars.
Steins are sloshed with swaggering splendor.
Generations gather; Bavarians bask in bucolic bliss.
Hearts harmonize in humble hymns of heritage held dear.
Hand in hand, they huddle, harvesting hope
*Oktoberfest in Germany will take place from September 20 to October 5, 2025. This annual festival is held at the Theresienwiese in Munich. (source: oktoberfest.de). You still have time to book a flight and travel to Munich; hotel rooms, though, will be hard to find. smiles
In halls where silence cloaked the dread,
You raised a voice, though fear had spread.
With leaflets fluttering like doves in flight,
You lit a candle in the night.
Not with guns, nor iron might,
But truth and courage, fierce and bright.
A rose in winter, pure and still,
Defying hate with steadfast will.
Your words, like whispers through the air,
Asked hearts to feel, to act, to care.
Against a storm of brutal lies,
You stood with clear and open eyes.
Though gallows claimed your final breath,
You did not bow, not even in death.
Your petals fell, but not in vain—
They bloom where conscience dares remain.
White Rose of Germany, proud and free,
You taught what strength and soul must be.
A bloom of hope in darkest hour—
Forever grace, forever power.
He crossed the seas with dreams in his hands
a boy from home trying to understand
how to grow, how to belong,
how to be right when everything feels wrong.
On the streets of Germany he welcomed every stare
Every words whispered is a scare
"Schau dir den ‚Neger‘ an,
wie arm und wild er sein kann."
In classrooms, he knew his stuff
books, lessons and long nights of tough.
But sometimes, all they saw was skin
and never paused to look within.
Still, Osman kept his eyes on the goal
not just the surface but for his soul.
Because he knows knowledge isn’t black or white
it’s what frees one in the darkest night.
Now he speaks not just for him
but for all the racial fights within
for those who held their heads up high
even when the world passed them by.
Bavarian Barista
At that first taste,
my initial savoring sip,
smoky, rich, strong,
unlike any anywhere,
anytime I had ever had
and I had had my share,
but this German Kaffee
mit zucker und kreme,
served hot as her smile
suggests a second cup
for the rest of my life.
Our Christmas traditions ...
They came across the sea,
From the old, old towns
In the heart of Germany
Sugar and spice - filled
Were the gingerbread men,
Cut by hand ... carefully
As was the tradition then
A wooden nutcracker guards
In a frosted windowpane,
To keep away evil spirits ...
Out wandering down your lane
And, the advent calendar
Which hung on the wall,
The Christmas carols sung
In the home by one and all
Ornaments of blown glass
And the Christmas tree ...
Born in many an old town
... A gift from Germany.
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.
They were young starry-eyed, yet too soon so many had to die.
Brave to a fault with wanderlust of youth, no challenge spurned however seemingly uncouth.
In azure blue skies with only clouds as friends, they sought their prey through war's myopic lens.
No quarter given and none spared by their foes, incandescent bullets superseding schoolyard blows.
Skill and verve no match for destiny's roulette, to survive another day an all too losing bet.
Still they flew and fought with all their might, for love of country protecting it from blight.
Summoned by that bell with its strident chilling tones, pervading every pore of their worn and tired bones.
Verve and duty each relying on the other, no place to hide but raw courage as their cover.
For all those boys that fast turned into men, saving our isles from sweeping plain to gleaming glen,
We shall remember you forever in our lore, the few that gave so much and often so much more.
A clean way to big tears dry
Is it make a fresh bold try:
Not in fury's red pan fry .
Nor wear a smile dully wry .
You may into stars' lives pry :
Those who'd made it planting rye .
Yet, this could make a bloke cry
Or wish one did not it try .
Your mood should often be shy;
For cash be ready to fly,
For God's fast out the time carve:
The things you long for many
Please, fly straight to Germany
Dreadful masters of deceit at its creation
Censorship and fear, hallmarks, it’s inception.
You think, ah, that’s just ancient history?
As the news marches you happily into misery!
Race-baiting, how you love demonstrations!
Forgetting the lessons, the recriminations.
Skin color does not make you superior!
Just a slick word that justifies terror?
Into the night, you run, text and curse?
Making this planet, not better, just worse!
***Written on the murder of a young, Black
male, at the hands of five Black Police
Officers, who are labeled as “racist!”**
Such argumentation is clearly,…Fascist!
1/27/2023.
England And Germany
Twin sides of the same coin
Light and dark the game's the same
Two soldiers doing the same job
Both would be mortal enemies
Yet their stories are the same
On a certain type of mission
Getting the same result
Like it's a scripted storyline
The hit man and the cop
Telling exactly the same story
Each eradicating the rapist
Not a tale I made up but real
Or so they say to me
What do you think?
SELL OUT Nick Armbrister new book out soon
Benny was a high living’ bon vivant
Who ran around with his crazy old aunt
They traveled many countries afar
Playing Spanish flamenco guitar
Until she married a man named Ben Brandt
written September 30, 2021
California Student in Germany
What a winter wonderland!
Snowflakes just fall in my hand!
All's white! What a treat!
But how wet my feet!
Both boot soles broken -unplanned!
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