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It’s not that big a surprise
How much I adore Amsterdam
Like immigrants long ago
So welcomed here just as I am
In the historic Lloyd Hotel
To witness a wedding so swell
I’m glad I’m here in Amsterdam

Canals and bikes aplenty
Whizzing past on every street
The Keukenhof gardens amazed
VanGogh’s Museum made me weep
I’m glad I’m here in Amsterdam

We walked for miles & took the train
Our flight home I made not a peep
It must have been that Space Cake
We ate it and went right to sleep
A fond farewell to Amsterdam
Just returned on a 10-hour flight from Amsterdam to Miami, after witnessing a magical wedding of my niece Karen & Fabian, her now Dutch husband, who shared their vows on a boat ride to the Skinny Bridge where they kissed to seal their love. The' Space Cake' made the plane ride back less painful!
Why an emptiness within
with the summer wind
blowing away the dust

Why the mute tears
we weren't friends for years
but came together awhile

The earth doesn't pause to grieve
but in the heart of hearts
when a good friend leaves
the void for lifetime hurts.
Our fellow Poet and friend Richard Riddle passed away on the 23rd April.
He will be missed.
https://hellopoetry.com/richard-riddle/
Teresa climbs on the bus
before the sun, if she has
the fare

to get there, where she
makes the bread; she's been at this
two of her nineteen years  

yet she has fears, they will
come for her--green card or not;
though they like her rolls

she kneads the big *****, pulls,
pinches, a sculpting of dough, a laying
of trays, one after another

then, from the Iglesias,
they come, decked in their finery
though she does not see

she only hears the litany
of language she can't comprehend,
a clanging of trays, laughter

the urging of the jefe to work
faster, bake the bread; the communion
wafers did not fill them

now they are here, breaking fast,
forgetting the words they just heard
the songs they sang

Teresa does not complain; she
is glad to feed the worshipers, though
they will never know her name

nor will they stop for
her in the pouring rain,
the blistering sun

Teresa never wavers
next Sabbath will be the same:
dawn, the dough, the oven

it is the work--her hands
which make the bread others break,
the grace granted to serve

holy, holy, holy...
 Apr 2017 Hopeful Ponderer
Louise
I lost my inner poet
apparently she was last seen
just staring idly into space

She was sitting with her notebook,
gently pondering
in a quiet, tucked away place

I could only see the back of her
she wouldn't turn around
I so wanted to see her face

She was always so quiet
and very often reflective
working at her own steady pace

Not only am I left without poetry
I am also lost for words
she may have taken them all
along with my grace

The search will continue
maybe until the end of my days
as I fear she's left no trace
This was something I wrote last year.  I hope I don't ever lose my inner poet lol
All the passions of my long life
Are dust in the road behind me,
And all of that precious dust
Was nothing more than foolishness.
The trees around me
Have no names,
And the wind I feel
Blows from no direction.
The river I see is just a river
That stirs no memory,
And I know not where it goes
Nor whence it comes,
And I know not that I know not.
The rapids roar,
But they say nothing,
And I hear nothing,
But the sound they make.
I know the ones I love and loved,
And love comes flowing back to me,
And love is all that matters here,
By this river, under this tree.
Reconstruction of an old memory
There is practically no distance that can cure this feeling i had for you.
Not even the miles, lands or galaxies,
not even the reality.
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