Hamburg Poems | Examples

clouds of hell

The Cloud of Hell
It was a perfect day, cobalt sky and azure, glittering sea
When a stygian cloud came from the east, the Lord of Wars
spat phlegm, spraying us with horror

Inside this monstrosity, body parts, headless, were
Flying by the noise was unearthly, and my little dog
sheltered under my coat, I bought in Hamburg.

When the cloud had passed, I saw a landscape
Devastated as Ypres in the Great War when then
 as now millions of people have died for nothing.

My dog was limp and had stopped breathing. I blew
Life back into it and in the terrible noise of the sky
We heard nothing, not even the stillness.

The master of wars was visiting us the peace
We had enjoyed it for too long; it was time for
Bloodletting, the revenge of the sand dwellers

Grecians

Grecians 

Hellas and the port of Piraeus hold a memory
in my seafarer’s heart, civilized people, no
they are not leaders of efficiency, but you can
talk to them and expand your knowledge.
Not forgetting whores, they had time for a drink
sharing, a joke, and didn’t hurry you.

In Hamburg, it was never thus, no smiles, no foreplay
efficiency ruled; money on the table, the trousers
down  fast, get out, no need to take your
shoes off. Yet the Germans are admired, but
when they have nothing to export
The Hellenic people will go on smoking cigarettes
and being civilized.

BEATLES BEGINNINGS

John..Paul..George..Ringo Starr
four Liverpool lads with drums+guitar
From Hamburg 's Reeperbahn
to a famous worldwide yarn

My Father's Dream

My Father's Dream

A wide and vast horizon beckons me to enter there

where oceans echo ancestral voices and gulls paint images in the air.

The Saxons and Angles, Hansas and Norse of Hamburg, Oslo, Kiel and Gdansk

flows through my blood where the sea is my home.

Father, do you miss never having lived your dream of sailing around the world as  you told me when I was young?

No, son, I am older now, and I lived my dream.  Just standing here with you and looking across the horizon from this Golden Gate is enough for me, now.

And yet, I know, in some small way, I see from his eyes a glimpse of hope that I will fulfill his dreams in my future.

Now the book is closed, and my sermon is said.

My father rests but his dreams are not dead.

With tiller in hand and a gaze across the sea… I live my fathers’ dreams, and his father’s, and his before… sailing off to full fill my dreams… and reunite one day on God’s given glorious shore.


Martin Braun
2/14/2025

Thank you, dad, my Captain.

the cloud of abyss

The Cloud of Abyss

It was a perfect day, cobalt sky and azure, glittering sea
when the stygian clouds from the east came
the lord of war had spat phlegm, spraying us with horror
Inside this monstrosity, body parts, the headless were
flying by, the noise was unearthly, and my little dog sought
shelter under my coat I had bought in Hamburg 
When the clouds had passed, I saw a landscape
 devastated as Ypres in the great war, where millions had died for nothing
My dog was limp and had stopped breathing, I blew her, back to life 
and it the terrible thunder of the sky
we heard nothing, not even the stillness

The master of war visited us, the peace we enjoyed had lasted too long, it was time
for bloodletting the revenge of Sandwellers

Der spiegel

Der Spiegel 

In Kashgar, where the Silk Road begins
I bought an apricot and saw a young 
Fidel Castro on a bike 
The woman who sold the fruit wore 
a red shawl over her shiny black hair
knotted under her chin, a yellow silk
silk dress
do you see this man on a bike, I told
to the woman who sold fruit by the road 
he is Fidel Castro of Cuba and is a very
famous man except in the USA.
Kashgar is the biggest outdoor market 
in the world 
Europe is puny, colorless and far away
why was Fidel doing in Kashgar
so far from Cuba.
I tell you, he is looking for a tobacco dealer 
to supply him with Havana Cigars
Langley is too close to Cuba
A longer Silk Road is being built 
with pipelines and trains to Hamburg
famous market of whores selling flesh
from dimmed rosy lit rooms.
If you want to buy a peach, you have to go 
to Kandahar, or make a movie.
The man on the bike was a secular pope 
his enemy tried to murder him for sixty years.

Der spiegel

Der Spiegel 

In Kashgar, where the Silk Road begins
I bought an apricot and saw a young 
Fidel Castro on a bike 
The woman who sold the fruit wore 
a red shawl over her shiny black hair
knotted under her chin, a yellow silk
silk dress
do you see this man on a bike, I told
to the woman who sold fruit by the road 
he is Fidel Castro of Cuba and is a very
famous man except in the USA.
Kashgar is the biggest outdoor market 
in the world 
Europe is puny, colorless and far away
why was Fidel doing in Kashgar
so far from Cuba.
I tell you, he is looking for a tobacco dealer 
to supply him with Havana Cigars
Langley is too close to Cuba
A longer Silk Road is being built 
with pipelines and trains to Hamburg
famous market of whores selling flesh
from dimmed rosy lit rooms.
If you want to buy a peach, you have to go 
to Kandahar, or make a movie.
The man on the bike was a secular pope 
his enemy tried to murder him for sixty years.

The Wanderer

Hey, sir!
Why did you stop and look awhile?
Amazed by flurry fleeting fog,
or seeking sacrosanct solace 
behind the calming chiaroscuro
of boundless beguiling beauty
in front of you?

Hey, sir!
Will you look back at me awhile,
and gaze upon my eyes?
I wonder if ...
a mysterious monarchial mind
I see from your back
is depicted in the way you look at me;
I want to know.

Hey, sir!
It seems you got miles to go;
Will you stop and hang awhile
to have a drink for two?
Hurry not...
And we both will ponder
on the misty haven
before the night is through.


Notes:Wanderer above the Sea of Fog, or Der Wanderer über dem Nebelmeer, to give it it's original German title, is the most famous painting from the career of German Romanticist painter, Caspar David Friedrich. It was finished in 1818 and now resides at the Kunsthalle Hamburg in Hamburg, Germany.
Photo and info credits to: thehistoryofart.org


10 August 2022
'A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE' Poetry Contest
1st place

Prisoner of My Language

We study our language when we are just born.
First, we touch and hear, taste and smell, and then we see.
We put a name on it.  And we repeat it back by sound, motion, and symbols.

Some words we cannot really translate, like the words in the greeting "Hummel, Hummel; Mors, Mors."  The people of Hamburg, Germany might be able to explain it, but it would be difficult.  In short, "mors" generally means in English "kiss my butt."

But what if it was more profound, take philosophy and theology?  Not many in the "west" understand Hinduism.  There are words like "zen" and the teachings of Kabir, that describes ideas foreign to the "west."

Unless we look beyond our language, we will be prisoners to it.

by,
Martin Braun
3/17/2020

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

I cope with commercials 
that sit on my head, 
that wallop my westerns, 
and leave them for dead. 
They shoot me and loot me 
till I go to bed. 

I scream at a stop light 
that steps on my brake, 
that raises my hackles 
till knucklebones ache. 
They turneth me into 
a coiled rattlesnake. 

I hate when my hamburg 
is freckled with fat. 
What does "extra lean" mean? 
Is it idle chitchat? 
I'll be giving the grocer 
a crisp caveat. 

I abhor dirty dishes 
piled high in the sink, 
or when morning coffee 
is too cold to drink, 
or when my dear children 
push me to the brink! 

I detest barking dogs 
when I'm trying to snooze. 
Discourteous crows 
also fail to amuse. 
Perhaps I'll reserve a 
Caribbean cruise!

The Abyss

The cloud of Abyss
It was a perfect day cobalt sky and azure, glittering sea
When a stygian cloud came from the east the Lord of Wars
Had spat phlegm spraying us with horror 

Inside this monstrosity body parts, headless bodies were
Flying by the noise was unearthly and my little dog 
Sought shelter under my coat bought in Hamburg.

When the cloud had passed, I saw a landscape 
Devastated as Ypres in the Great War when then as 
Know millions of people had died for nothing. 

My dog was limp and had stopped breathing I blew 
Life back into it and in the terrible noise of the sky
We heard nothing, not even the stillness. 

The master of wars was paying us a visit, the peace 
We had enjoyed had lasted too long it was time for
Bloodletting, the revenge of the sand dwellers

In Hamburg I Loved a Strange Girl

In Hamburg I loved 
A strange girl,
She put my whole being
In a whirl,

She spurned everybody 
But me,
I made her happy,
In Hamburg.

But if she had
Spurned me,
I'd have looked her in the eye,
And run away,

And in my room,
I would have cried,
I might even have died,
In Hamburg.

(Very faithfully based on a song written aged ca. 18).

Day After Grad

The Day after grad.
The day after you grad. You get home not knowing what to do.
Looking through the newspaper.
A butcher, a baker, a Hamburg maker.
No plans at all but just had to call. Mickey Ds or the cow king. They say jobs are 
good.
I walk the floor I just can't do it no more. 
Dam I want to go back to school

Prostitution

Prostitution 

I never liked horses, 
oh yes, they are beautiful 
and dumb
and crap in their food
on the grassland of forever.
Horses are like Romanian women,
you catch them, rape them 
and tamed you sell them 
in Hamburg as tame whores, 
who can be ridden by any man 
for a bit of cash.
And all the owners of horses have
to do is to serve them weed.

War , He Said

Broremann’s war
 
Spring, 1945, German troops in his town were walking about not
carrying arms, they spoke to the locals in a friendly manner.
Looking back it was peace before the peace. Near Broremann's home
there was a tall house occupied by old non- commissioned officers,
middle-aged men in their thirties with children, gave the kids
chocolate and sweets (after the war the building was taken over by
Mormons). 


British troops arrived, put a canteen in a disused fish factory,
the German troops had surrendered. Broremann got white bread
with spam from the British. The Germans left by train; many
of the town´s people came to wave goodbye, there was no
dislike against the common soldiers, wrath was directed at the
local Gestapo who had betrayed their country by being crueler
than the enemy and by sporting rimless Himmler glasses.


Years later Broremann met a docker in Hamburg who had spent
five war years in his town. They drank together and declared
 it had been a peaceful war.

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