Long Dutch Poems
Long Dutch Poems. Below are the most popular long Dutch by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dutch poems by poem length and keyword.
Have you ever needed to go so bad
That your eyeballs start to cross
Your back teeth began to float around
You're memory's a total loss
It happens to us chappies quite a lot
It's the way we usually react
When downing six or so cold ones
Too blitzed for making tracks
We put it off till we almost burst
Afraid to make sudden moves
But finally we chance it and off we go
We're sure glad to get to the loo
Then back we go to drink some more
Eyes are no longer aligned
We end up at somebody else's table
With a different bunch of asinines
We keep on drinking a few more hours
Till we've all had a boatload too much
They kick us out about three A.M.
Babbling in what could have been Dutch!
© Jack Ellison 2012
It's an area totally different from the rest
From the language to the people's style of dress
Kids young in age but wise with street smarts
Teens sagging and hanging out at liquor marts
Shoes on power lines showing various drug spots
Girls playing double dutch in empty car lots
Loud music blarring from a car with chrome rims
Men lifting weights in a yard turned into a gym
The smell of marijuana just as loud as cigarettes
Where colors worn communicates you with a set
Run down apartment buildings ran by slum lords
Where complaints are registered but go ignored
Businesses looking horrible due to graffiti
Where you always find bootleggers selling dvds
Everyone you meet goes by a strange nickname
Where the less fortunate ask for spare change
Well known people grew up with this background
So the hood isn't as horrible as it may sound
Its helps people to be grateful and to improvise
To get their education and to become wise
Not continuing the cycle but finding a way out
This describes hood life and what it's all about
I am making a list, but do not check it twice
All of you are invited, whether naughty or nice
First, we will have roast beef, stewed in barbeque sauce.
Because I am the cook, thus, my appetite is the boss.
We will have a turkey with the trimmings that my daughters like the best.
This includes over-zealously-seasoned stuffing, inside this nest.
Ten pounds of potatoes will not do, so I send my man back to the store.
He knows one thing about Christmas, there is always room for five more.
Gravy is white, because that is my utmost favorite sauce for a potato.
There will be a zesty picante sauce made out of my own garden tomato.
The chips are not homemade, but they are from a restaurant I like.
A Mexican place we have frequented since I was a tyke.
Hot freshly-baked rolls made with sugar, flour, and yeast.
My mouth salivates a bit as I conjure up this Christmas feast.
Ham for my husband, cooked in a sauce of maple syrup and such.
It will be super tender, springing forth from a heavy pan, Dutch.
There will be six kind of cookies, three pies, and a cake with pudding too.
I am kind of competing with my super competitive sister-in-law, Sue.
Should I throw in some celery stalks for the aunt on a diet?
Yes, but no other vegetables, I do not want to cause a riot.
There is something in the sea that is raging war against thee. The explorers of times knew what was divine; they explore the four corners of the earth to dig up all the dirt, they knew about the existence of life and they made decades of human sacrifice, exploring the unknown at sea, fighting with big waves, that sometimes rise up from the ocean floor and covers their ships, forcing them to take a sudden dip. Sometimes they lost the entire fleet to rough weather and rough waters, and if they get lucky, they beat the pirates at their games, and their lives was never the same.
Christopher Columbus in his time understood the geography of the world, he discovered the island for Europe and discovered much of the West Indies but did not make it to the East indies
it was for Vasco da Gama to explore and the Europeans to ignore. India had spices and the British knew how to roll the dice. India had tea but Columbus died before he could exchange, European coffee.
There is so much in this world except for men, women, boys and girls. The world could not remain as it is so the Dutch, the Spaniards, the Portuguese, the English made a fortune from it and create much fuss over it. They are the old rogues of the sea, and they have the right remedy for thee. They were good seamen of the past; they knew the length and breadth of the sea and the music it plays for thee.
The weather has changed and exploration is not the same; there is an emulsion in the sea, so don’t let it covers thee. Read the lines clearly and examine the color of the waters, when the texture changes search the submarine below and it will lead you to the next row.
I open the space in the ground, to see what was coming into the town; there were two pipes along the strait, one that leads to another gate. Examine the emulsion in the sea and correct the PH chart for me; there is a two-phase system that is colliding with thee.
Check the emulsion in the sea.
There was a man named Kaldi who herded sheep
He fed them berries in Ethiopia but they could not sleep
He then told his friends and they tried them, too
Soon everyone worked harder and said goodbye to curfews
Not 600 years later, it had spread through the Arabian Peninsula
Then Turkey, Egypt, Persia, and Syria
There was a terrible time when the Turks invaded Hungary
But rumor has it that is when they brought coffee
From 1520 on the story goes
Coffee spilled through Europe and put people on their toes
But many people in the church they had their concerns
They called it Satanic and in hell coffee drinkers would burn
But Pope Clement VIII he gave the bitter drink his blessing
Then in 1670s London King Charles II took to his own messing
There were fears of coffee meetings and political uprisings
But by the end of the 1600s Kings Arms of Manhattan cafe was jiving
It was brought by the Dutch to New Amsterdam
People preferred tea and beer but would give coffee a chance
Decades went by and they sipped, worked, and danced
But by 1773 something forever changed the fate
Of not just coffee but the colonies' reason to celebrate
King George III went wild with tea taxes
Revolutionaries rebelled by the masses
They had the Boston Tea Party and then the war
America was born and it opened a door
Not just for freedom but the bitter, once Satanic drink
It changed the way people socialize and the way that they think
From Ethiopia to Turkey to England and the US we have Kaldi to thank and our minds to impress
Not Like We Did
Sometimes I wonder about the good old days
Growing up and parting ways
Sometimes wish I could have stayed a kid
They have good times now but not like we did
Painting ghosts on store fronts for Halloween
Stop at Mike's and play the pinball machine
Go for lunch down old Broad Street
Get a hamburger from Texas Pete
Friday dances in the gym at Saint Jerome
Stop at the bowling alley before going home
In the Vic is where I first got kissed
At the Coffee Cup, we did the Twist
The Coney Island and the S and A
Stopped at the pool room almost every day
Behind the Acme lot there was a circus show
Swim in the summer time at the Bungalow
Stop at the station waiting for the train
Deliver the Courier in the pouring rain
Watch a parade on Decoration Day
Flowers for Mary during the month of May
Little income but we were all well fed
Danny sold Italian bread
Back porch picnics and we played wiffle ball
Free movies in Middle Ward park, we had it all
Church picnics at Dutch Hill Park
Play in the street until well after dark
Small man thrived, a living earned
Tamaqua was where we grew and learned.
We had sports heroes when I was a kid
They have heroes now, but not like we did
Stadium was filled for the football game
Basketball season, the town did the same
Roller skating on center Street
Stop at the Five Points to get a bite to eat
I look back and my memory thrives
So many good people have touched our lives
A glib giant of the river borders
The discerning ears of the ancient Power, we mourn
Where caravans cascade to unseen voices
And the rumbling of avalanche bullets invades our peace
This mind captured it with a piercing eye
From river “Nun”
ere wasting wore garbs of gloom
this savage brandishing of the source of livelihood
Wiwa's blood spills, as the Khaki boys obeyed their paymaster
Profligate bands in union vexed by demons hunt sane men "like partridges"
With arms, murderous Pirates just for greed offers bullets as our prize
Subdued our river for gain never known.
Ruined face-stretching pains like coverless carpet
A reservoir of floods tumbles through the eye gates,
Our rich resources ploughed by strangers,
Where is Royal Dutch Shell? or Schlumberger, where is Chevron, Total
when we are hungry,
when we die, of pollution,
where is Petrobras, Equinor or Agip
when we mourn the damage on our offspring
we are silenced by the tyrants in Aso.
Insipid insanity of blood brothers ignored safety
Our tyrants cared for the gains
and for gains, Wiwa was murdered,
And a Massacre in Odi
Kill them all, says the goggled tyrant,
Take the gains to Zurich, I will spend it tomorrow,
but like Mobutu, he never lived to count the cash
For their greed, we die.
As these Lords watch the drama, smiling at our folly
From the coast of ivory, where children groan in pain for jewels
to war-ravaged Sudan, famished by the same burden
and like Esau, we trade the future for ephemeral
And obliterating while reenacting the trade of yore
unending wars for greed, a blinding greed
Who will save these captives from the taskmasters?
Cocoa harvested in Ghana, Indonesia et al, yet not a chocolate plant
but this coffee is not from Ghana,
the Chocolate bar is sent back at the dollar price
Nigeria is rich with crude
Yet they meander around a refinery from far off climes
Congo is ravaged in war, who supplies the arm?
Oh! for a taste of Freedom
Inspired by the Painting "A Girl With A Pearl Earring" by Dutch Golden Age Painter "Johannes Vermeer"
What are you telling me, My timeless Beauty?
You turn and stop..,
You look at me with your plaintive eyes,
Your luscious lips are apart, but you remain voiceless…
The pearl in your ear shines ~
Light on your face shimmers mysteriously,
Your eyes are serene ~ reflecting, refracting
The depth of your emotions…
Those dove-like eyes are the artist's inspiration!
The topaz blueness of your headscarf
With which you have covered your sensuality,
Surround your face with a serenity of
The ocean, gleaming emerald green
Of your attire evokes the unspoilt
Magic of your youth…..
You are not what you appear
To many souls in this mundane world…
They don’t see the painter’s Muse.
You are the nymph, who visited me
For a rare moment of tranquility.
The Pearl shines, an iridescent
Gem shimmering, unfolding your heart~
You remain eternal in my imperishable creation...
You linger in hearts..... my masterpiece!
Summertime memories of better days
Playing outside way past dark
Bungalo was the community pool
Church picnics at Dutch Hill Park
Sliding boards and old metal swings
A box for the little ones filled with sand
There were monkey bars and seesaws
A merry go round that we turned by hand
A pavilion full of picnic tables
Where neighbors sat together to eat
And the old beat up wooden dance hall
That gave little relief from the heat
Usually they had a polka band
Playing polkas, waltzes and rock n’ roll
Wooden floor jammed with people dancing
Those memories touch my soul
Sometimes we’d run down to the baseball field
Play ball until we were soaked in sweat
Or sneak down the woods when we got a chance
We’d all have a cigarette
Then we would walk back to the picnic
Get food at the concession stand
Carry it over to the dance hall
And listen to the band
The picnics lasted until late at night
Neighbors sat talking and having a good time
A hamburger was only twenty cents
And a beer was only a dime
Take me back to those innocent days
Where my memories still roam
To church picnics at Dutch Hill Park
Saints Peter and Paul and Saint Jerome.
Part 2 - The Great Fire of London, 1666
Just think of a town, put up with no plan,
where people build houses wherever they can.
The streets twist and dip, hugging ditches and streams,
and safety's a thing of which nobody dreams.
There aren't any rules, or best practices, codes,
regulations, fire stations, no hydrants or nodes.
The street where you live has no concrete, just clay,
and it's narrow, foul-smelling, and no light of day
can squeeze in. Your ground floor is brick-built and stout,
but your upstairs is flimsy and jetties right out,
almost touching your neighbour's. You thus form a tunnel
through which rats, cats and faeces can constantly funnel.
Well, come with me now to meet Thomas and Jane,
who live, work and worry in just such a lane:
it's always called "Pudding", which gives us a clue -
for baking is what all the people here do.
September the second, the year sixty-six,
and Old Mother Nature's been up to her tricks:
we haven't seen rain since the start of the war,
and timbers are shrinking, and drier than straw.
Tom's oven malfunctions. The house catches fire.
Our instinct, in peril? To try to get higher.
Tom, Jane, the children, and Sukie, the maid
(Sukie is thirteen, and very afraid)
climb out on the roof. Oh, the smoke and the heat!
The roof tiles are baking, and hurting our feet!
We've all got to jump to the roof to our left:
but don't glance below as you're leaping the cleft!
But Sukie can't do it. It's asking too much.
She'll be the first to be killed by the Dutch.
The signals aren't vaulting across her synapses.
She's lost from our sight when the storey collapses.
Four days blazed this greatest of all conflagrations,
engulfing some thousands of poor habitations
and scores of old churches, whether timber or stone.
The tally of people will never be known.
A square mile of ruin. A city destroyed.
A blackened and acrid and comfortless void.
Saint Paul's is a shell, its rubble still smoking.
But who is that gentleman, measuring, poking?