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Munich Home of Monks
Walking through the tall pines of Perlarcher forst
Munich Germany I walk deep within the woods
every day the barbarian alps in my view colorful
leaves rustle beneath my feet my London fog
trench coat blows open in the wind as I wander
over forgotten Polish graves my soul seeks solace
in this Marianplatz meaning Mary's town why my
heart beat is just above a whisper leading to
Fraunkirche Our Lady of Munich the coo coo clocks
all rang out the bells chime in sequence wood cutter
saws while the milk maids dance as the enchanted
chimney sweepers hum downtown Munich near the
Speilplatz park where the famous statues of writer
Thomas Mann my muse always enlightens need for
my self expressive desire alongside the Knight less
black horse kneeling for Christ sake as my mind simply
dangles right here near Ava Braun's bungalow I imagine
her slipping on lederhosen stockings awaiting the Fuhrers
return to the guest Haus why I don't dare breathe or
even utter a sound holding my brown paper bag
I remove a blue berry scone crumbs fall deep into
my cleavage while I settle into the Wienerwald
for black coffee a Munecher is what I'm called
growing up in Munich Forgotten in time I suppose
watching hedge hogs scatter like tiny little bushes
making a God awful sound I think of America suddenly
I am quickly reminded of 1944 victory my grandfathers
boots trampling over Europe's unattracted era the
tangible Tar Beach the Normandy's i feel the chatter
of guns glaring planes flying over head taking bites
out of Italy i take cover within a red telly how far
away is home my calm place comes right into view
just in time for noon mass the meeting of Ratzinger
arch bishop robed and cloaked shepherds abound
me clock makers knocking on wood drinking wodka
in the bier garten a creative rush captured in the breeze
wooden clogs pound the red cobblestone come come
bitte bitte please inside gather inside the cathedral
communion of the host peeking from stain glass windows
the devil foot print lies in the garden entrance way
a woman yelled Teusfelstritt serpent has escaped
I take my seat father opens with Hail Mary full of grace
dark cloud surround the dome the towers began to sweat
I kneel holding my rose colored rosary a clear vivid memory
of now and then for the sake of his sorrowful passion Amen
Non fiction Written 2-13-2024
based on my tour in Munich Germany
and my grandfather serving WW11
BY Yolanda Nicholsen American Poet American Writer
Copyright ©
Yolanda Nicholsen
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