"munich" poems
Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.
Cold as snow breath, it tamps the womb
Where the yew trees blow like hydras,
The tree of life and the tree of life
Unloosing their moons, month after month, to no purpose.
The blood flood is the flood of love,
The absolute sacrifice.
It means: no more idols but me,
Me and you.
So, in their sulfur loveliness, in their smiles
These mannequins lean tonight
In Munich, morgue between Paris and Rome,
Naked and bald in their furs,
Orange lollies on silver sticks,
Intolerable, without mind.
The snow drops its pieces of darkness,
Nobody's about. In the hotels
Hands will be opening doors and setting
Down shoes for a polish of carbon
Into which broad toes will go tomorrow.
O the domesticity of these windows,
The baby lace, the green-leaved confectionery,
The thick Germans slumbering in their bottomless Stolz.
And the black phones on hooks
Glittering
Glittering and digesting
Voicelessness. The snow has no voice.
28 January 1963
20.6k
tinted postcards
from Vienna-
Munich oils on canvas-
a self portrait
on a stacked-stone bridge-
rejected, the painter painted
yellow stars-broken glass
Judenstern and Kristallnacht
no starry night,
no van Gogh-
der Führer was no master,
Mein Kampf no masterpiece.
r ~ 8/25/14
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 9:53 AM UTC
Thirty six years after they last were held in pre-war Berlin
The games of the Olympiad were all set to begin
This time though, in Munich, set to host the sports worlds greatest show
It was the night before the opening, and all were set to go
August 26th, the games did start and all was going well
But ten days in, the world was shook, and Munich was now a hell
Where terrorists changed how the world would see these famous games
From that date on, The Olympic world, would never be the same
Mark Spitz, that year, set records as he won seven swimming golds
Olga Korbut, elfin princess, stole our hearts with moves so bold
Frank Shorter won the marathon for America, and he was German born
But, Munich's games are famous for the actions, that September morn
Close your eyes, remember back, if you are of the age
Remember those victorious, who were outstanding on that stage
Steve Prefontaine, he came up short, Lasse Viren, he did what he set to do
Think back now to that late summer day in nineteen seventy two
Eyes closed, still remember....David Berger, Mark Slavin and Kehatt Shorr
Seew Friedman, Josef Gutfreund,Elieser Halfin, and you know there is five more
Josef Romano, Amizur Shapira, not tweaking any pictures in your mind,
Andre Spitzer, Jaakow Springer, Mosche Weinberger...any memories do you find?
These men all were Olympians, judges, coaches, athletes, refs
September 5th is now famous, it's remembered for their deaths
They all should be remembered, for their lives, for why they came
They all reached the highest level, they had made it to The Games
Did they ever win a medal ? Would they ever get their glory?
They're remembered as a victim, unfortunately that's their story
It's 40 years on, London hosts, The IOC does not
Take a single minute, give these Olympians a thought
Now close your eyes again and think, could that happen once again
Could terrorists take Olympic lives, could they come and **** like then
Now if I repeat all the names I mentioned, you may not see their face
But, for one short shining moment, please put them in their earned space
Eyes closed, still remember....David Berger, Mark Slavin and Kehatt Shorr
Seew Friedman, Josef Gutfreund,Elieser Halfin, and you know there is five more
Josef Romano, Amizur Shapira, not tweaking any pictures in your mind,
Andre Spitzer, Jaakow Springer, Mosche Weinberger...any memories do you find?
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 4:43 PM UTC
I have lived in important places, times
When great events were decided, who owned
That half a rood of rock, a no-man's land
Surrounded by our pitchfork-armed claims.
I heard the Duffys shouting **** your soul"
And old McCabe stripped to the waist, seen
Step the plot defying blue cast-steel --
"Here is the march along these iron stones".
That was the year of the Munich bother. Which
Was more important? I inclined
To lose my faith in Ballyrush and Gortin
Till Homer's ghost came whispering to my mind.
He said: I made the Iliad from such
A local row. Gods make their own importance.
2.7k
young lovers enthralled
in a passion that can
melt the deepest
Alpine snow cap
announce an intention
to join as one
till death do you part
the elders smile
at the audacity of
your grandiloquent
proclamation
youthful optimism
expressing pollyannish
sentiments born
of wistful hope
yet to learn the rules
of the vows of matrimony
and the endless sweet labor
required to keep it alive and well
thus i pass on this sage advice
when the baby cries at night
when the car won't start
when the rent bill is due
and you find yourself
a bit short
i wish you love...
when the cupboard is bare
and the desire to satiate
swelling hunger pangs
is overwhelming
i wish you love…
when you find yourself travelling
through roads that are
unfamiliar and foreboding
when you are hopelessly lost
in the darkest reaches
of the Black Forest
i wish you love…
as you grow as individuals
straining your relationship
when in laws become outlaws
and the pulls and pushes
of family and friends becomes
unfamiliar and misunderstood
i wish you love…
when resentments and insecurities
conspire to undermine trust
when greener pastures
pose a mirage of better things
i wish you love…
when oversight and neglect
leave you empty
when the luster of the
edelweiss bloom fades
when exasperation melts
the Alps greatest glacier
flooding everything you have
when the untended furnace
doesn't fire and the last
log is consumed
be patient
be diligent
be expectant
be kind
hold on to it
believe in it
practice it
trust it
may it bind you
in a perfect circle
and all your fondest
hopes and wishes
will be yours
i wish you love…
Stevie Wonder
Signed Sealed Delivered
Salutation for
Engagement Party
Maxine Lintel and
Glendon McCallum
Munich
11/29/13
jbm
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 12:09 PM UTC
I sat upon the soft detailed carpet
we rose into the air
out of the window
seeing the world
New York, Rome, Greece, Paris, London, Tibet, Beijing,
Budapest, Oslo, Munich, India, African plains, Jerusalem, West Bank, etc
What was the best is the people and the culture
how different each one is but yet wanting the same thing
riding the magic carpet made me think about how everyone
in the world
could work together
to make peace
but there is still those internal
disagreements
peace between enemies
hurts further
In real life I was my imagination
and the carpet was my dream
the future is my hope
Apr 23, 2010
Apr 23, 2010 at 8:10 AM UTC
The Miss-Director was beaming with pride
as he came to escort me inside.
"Come along, these are perilous times,
there is much ugly truth we must hide."
"Herr Goebbels was our school's inspiration.
Joe McCarthy taught here till he died.
Charlie Rangel is among our directors.
Our Grads over nations preside."
"We recruit each years class from young children
who display a disdain for the truth."
"We start with a class on tall stories,
progressing to fibs and untruths."
"By the time they are teens they are ready
to leave little white lies behind."
"They engage in deceit and deception.
These skills help them rob people blind."
"With our Grad course in prevarication
They misdirect and deflect with the great."
"Obama was born in Hawaii,
his foes say he was birthed out of state."
"When Bill Clinton was caught in that perjury
I nearly went out of my mind."
"If only he'd paid more attention in Class
and less to some coed's behind."
We had come to a massive rotunda
The Pantheon of all untruth.
Holograms of Stalin and Churchill
told whoppers in an endless loop.
There were quotes from
the World's Great Religions
inscribed on the sides of the wall.
A Left wing devoted to Lenin.
A right wing like a Munich beer hall.
" The sheeple must never be told
that a place like this even exists."
" You can count on me not to inform them."
I said, without moving my lips.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 8:57 AM UTC
I started watching football when I was eight
At that moment I had everything to hate
The next day I went with the squad
I played with a poor morale
Than as the time passed by
People said Ronaldo in Madrid is *****
Than as the Manuel Neur got the fame
Messi got him chipped later in the game
In June they compared Andre Gomes with James
For real? Thats just lame
Merle said "Football players are like prostitutes"
They said "Giroud comes to show off his beard"
Footballers like Yahya dont even drink beer
While some footballers go to the club when they hit the big time
Tottenham striker said "He cant remember going to a club last time"
Bayern Munich bailed out Dortmund with a loan in the past
Oil money of PSG on Neymar gave me a flabbergast..
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 12:56 PM UTC
In 1972,
Nixon shook hands with Mao
and the world turned its back on Taiwan.
In 1972,
Ceylon changed its name to Sri Lanka,
Okinawa returned to Japan,
and Jane Fonda became Hanoi Jane.
In 1972,
twin Olympics were held,
hungry tigers on wooden skis dashing
down the white slopes of Sapporo,
while the streets of Munich ran red
with the blood of slain Israelis.
In 1972,
Elvis was still the king,
Elton wasn’t quite the queen
and Prince was still a quiet teen.
On September 21, 1972,
Philippine president Ferdinand Marcos
placed my grandmother’s homeland under martial law.
I was born that day
while my grandmother wept.
Jan 5, 2021
Jan 5, 2021 at 9:17 PM UTC
Motorbiking in Paris through the small windy streets
Nearly getting hit with a bike near the prostitutes in Amsterdam
Getting ditched and running across Berlin at 6 AM
5 story club, all you can drink tour, and 80 cent beers in Prague
Surfing in a garden then drinking in the beer gardens in Munich
Ruin bars and getting ruined at them in Budapest
Walking hungover on the triple bridge in Ljubljana
Sipping a spritz on the canals in Venice
Throwing back mojitos with the locals in Florence
Roaming around the ancient ruins in Rome
Partying until the sun is up and more in Barcelona
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 9:03 PM UTC
Elsdorf, Düsseldorf, Erbendorf, Greiz
Gengenbach, Hilchenbach, Kelsterbach, Schleiz
Siegburg, Lichtenberg, Wesenberg, Jülich
Schnackensee, Radensee, Dillensee, Munich
Delbrück, Kindelbrück, Bersenbrück, Sußen
Eibelstadt, Diemelstadt, Glückenstadt, Stößen
Traunstein, Taunusstein, Uffenheim, Zwönitz
Ziegenrück, Innenbrück, Osnabrück, Zöblitz
Wietmarschen-Schwartenpohlerbruch
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 2:10 AM UTC
I am Munich
I am Paris
I am Edinburgh
I am New York City
But I am not New Jersey
I am not Bonn
I am not Alberta
I am where the city lights are
My life is a piece of art
I am where the symphonies lie
I am wherever Nabokov and Dali want me to be
I am on paints and pictures
I am temptation of rapture
Oh, Mister Nabokov, why this fate for me? (I beg to you)
Oh, Miss Grey, why this fate for me? ( I envy you)
Oh, Miss Banks, why this fate for me? (I hate you)
Tortured ****
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 11:57 AM UTC
The Miss-Director was beaming with pride
as he scurried up to escort me inside.
"Come along, these are perilous times,
there is much ugly truth we endeavor to hide."
""We recruit each years class from young children
who display a disdain for the truth."
"We start with a class on tall stories,
progressing to fibs and untruths."
"By the time they are teens they are ready
to leave little white lies behind."
"They engage in deceit and deception.
These skills help them rob people blind."
"With our Graduate course in lying
They misdirect and deflect with the great."
"Politicians here are made, not born,
and must learn to prevaricate."
"When Bill Clinton was caught in that perjury
I nearly went out of my mind."
"If only he'd paid more attention in Class
and less to some Coed's behind."
We had come to a massive rotunda
The Pantheon of all untruth.
Holograms of Stalin and Churchill
telling lies in an endless loop.
There were quotes from
the Koran and Bible
inscribed on the sides of the wall.
A Left wing devoted to Lenin.
A right wing like a Munich beer hall.
" The sheeple must never be told
that a place like this even exists."
" You can count on me not to inform them."
I said, barely moving my lips.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
A relapse is not a pretty thing.
As I finally pick up pen and paper
or at least set my fingers fluttering over the keys again,
I have no victory to report.
Medicine has saturated my mind and whisked so much away
acid dissolving the Munich, the Skin Man, the Stalker, and Others...
But as is often the case
when I cast off one
I fall to another
My nights
I sleep well
because I've spent the day pacing, sobbing, wringing my hands
back to where I was before the fear set in
back to where I've always been.
A relapse is
that one drop of cold water
that hits between your shoulder blades
while you take a hot shower
a constant reminder
of the the guilty thing you were
A tiny, tiny vine
snakes across my shoulder
where all of my t shirts and tank tops cover
but even I can see
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 9:13 AM UTC
In 1945 The War was over
The survivors were trying to make life work
And occupation forces here and there were set
To guard the roads, the rails, the city streets
And so it was that Master Sergeant Hall -
Normandy, the Moselle, Belgium and the Bulge,
Munich, Dachau, Thuringen, and Zwickau -
Was sent to old Marseilles to be a cop
A watch commander, assigning patrols
And sending men to their various posts
Even to directing traffic in the streets
There was a complaint from a traffic hub:
The American soldier in charge there -
Sometimes he chose to block all traffic there
And swagger about and cuss ‘em out
Then laugh, and all at once turn ‘em loose again
And then one day there came an alarm:
Machine guns shooting at that intersection
A soldier from the colonies gone wild
And murdering people in the street
They sped to the scene, the scene of horror
And helped - but they could not find their soldier
Posted there at the beginning of the watch
Was he among the dead? The wounded? Where?
And they didn’t know until the end of the day
After the soldier returned, alive and well:
“When the shooting started, I ran down the street,
Found another spot, and directed traffic there.”
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 3:03 PM UTC
El peñón enarca
su espinazo de tigre
que espera dar un zarpazo
en el canal.
Agarradas a la única calle,
como a una amarra,
las casas hacen equilibrio
para no caerse al mar,
donde los malecones
arrullan entre sus brazos
a los buques de guerra,
que tienen epidermis y letargos de cocodrilo.
Las caras idénticas
a esas esculturas
que los presidiarios tallan
en un carozo de aceituna,
los indios venden
marfiles de tibias de mamut,
sedas auténticas de Munich,
juegos de te,
que las señoras ocultan bajo sus faldas,
con objeto de abanicar su azoramiento
al cruzar la frontera.
Hartos de tierra firme,
las marineros
se embarcan en los cafés,
hasta que el mareo los zambulle
bajo las mesas,
o tocan a rebato
con las campanas de sus pantalones
para que las niñeras
acudan a agravar
sus nostalgias, de países lejanos,
con que las pipas inciensan
las veredas de la ciudad.
907
On a splendid sunny day with the Gestapo standing by,
A Munich Co-ed, the condemned, Sophie Scholl spoke for the last time.
Sure of her cause, strong in her Faith, the last petal of the White Rose
Bared her neck to the guillotine already wet with her brother’s blood.
Opponents of an unjust War. The White Rose defied the Fueher’s rule
In their pamphlets they exposed the horrors of the camps
until they were condemned in a court of law.
Not every German was complicit; not all revered the red and black.
Some still thought for themselves and secretly they fought back.
Like Antigone of old, Sophie stood against the State:
certain, to the very last, of Love’s victory over hate.
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 10:26 PM UTC
A moth
Rorshach
A rat head
drooping
seeping
on
a
spit
*******
sliding off
a bedpost
A T
A cross
a convenience store
back-lit display
dissolving two-dimensional
Charlie Brown
feed your dog
Misty
shaking, dry-ice
eyes
Find the bed and
Close and rest on
pillow lips
Slick black
gossamer shell
plastic
Red light
warning—bleeding—beating
always on
always seeing
always waiting
But
what do I see?
Glimpses
manipulated mutated
I see nothing next
to nothing.
**** mirror.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 1:56 PM UTC
I
-dulcimer clatter opens the sun, first fruit-
timber fathoms/crystal veils
on all steps, crossing all human borders
untethering wood
from forest, until only the green element remains
to purify the soul
an alpine afterimage, shadow-display
(creature of Earth, moss-backed & yowling thru the chaotic sleep
of October, you see it's symbology in your tea, sharpening its
obsidian hands against the seastones,
imprinting loveliness into the rock, to be worn by tides,
replaced by death absolute)
The fabled Black Horse (shadow-self) waiting solitary at a
gas station, an imprisoned dreamer inside
its gaping jaw/saturnine, coldness
of daybreak, clouds at their Atelier, my head
feels a pressure, been awake too long,
breathing in through the nose/out through
mouth, monastery of the mind in need of clearing.
II
Soft/soft/skin/fury
embrace, catharsis, collision of
two individual energies
pent-up and cast/release
like a skeleton net::onfire
(kissed, consumed
elated, recurrance)
closeted eternities
cycling back into the
wind (hanging willow)
calling to the seeker, gold,
purification & lightness/mouthcurl washed in silence
(your own body, rising tide)
welcomed crucible of chilling air
& my black and
white vessel,
electricity spirit-
whispers
“valley swimmer, elude me”
FLASH OF LIGHT
III
…. The widewaking world
unspun-
theatric elucidation,
emergence of a great snake
a wisened flower, sprouted from exile
blissful rejuvination of
the ivory leaves, at once!
I wrap my throat in a Munich scarf
(pattern-blue)
walking upon the softness of
Grötzingen (angel's eyes speaking)
an orchard, where the last gardener's tireless
work lay like a dreaming ossuary
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 9:48 PM UTC
all the complicated feelings of outward past us-raking the tawny munich sand
the strange depression asking of itself, and of itself
beetle hymn involute vessel
imperceptible footprints walking towards
then away array of circles
lounging for themselves the sweetbitter
arc
of hands
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 10:12 PM UTC
I don’t give a **** who runs the world
Just so long as they keep their anonymous women out of the picture
And don’t knowingly, crash cymbals on Sundays.
Whilst I’m ominously left of centre and kinda’ right of everywhere else,
I can’t help but watch the political circus perform.
Polititians everywhere, particularly, currently in the USA, are flexing their muscle, using the tools of their trade to the best advantage:
Coercion, persuasion, exaggeration, the blantant use of unsubstantiated facts, manipulation, outright lies and even overbearing bullying.
I hear them rant, I see them strut.
Their egos blooming like peach blossom,
Projecting themselves on the populace.
Preening their image with self serving eyes, loving themselves shining brightly on the podium in the morning sun.
But here today, gone tomorrow.
Their words hang, resonantly, like loud vapour suspended…then vanish.
The believing crowd gathers, sways, roars, disperses…and promptly forgets.
The circus is global, playing out its’ performance with expediency, bombast, and utter disregard for consequence, collateral damage incurred in achieving their immediate imperatives…to Hell with the tomorrow ahead.…
Occurring simultaneously everywhere…you can watch the circus performing daily in Amsterdam, Washington, Beijing, Kolcutta, Canberra, Munich, London, Capetown, St. Petersburgh, etc.etc.
Watching this, with a sense of disbelieving astonishment, I’m amazed that anyone actually bothers to take any notice anymore?
M.
11 February 2016
Foxglove farm, Taranaki NZ
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 5:44 PM UTC
In the Dark Days
In Palestine,
Hatred rules over love,
happiness is a sin,
peace was unheard of,
people would fight,
people would judge,
your true self was held against you,
arguments were continued,
purposely never solved.
How did people find joy?
you can't be bad because of your past,
but you fight back just the same,
they Killed your people in Munich,
you took their land,
you both are fighting the wars,
killing mothers and children,
yet you feel no shame.
How can one forgive you?
When you took all that was theirs,
and destroy it permanently,
You are just as bad as them,
therefore the dark days remain,
haunting in your heart,
how will there be a resolution,
You tried peace accords,
to make the fighting end,
but still the fight remains,
the horrors through your head,
you, like many still want one thing,
the thing that is the hardest to achieve...
the one thing you failed at before
but yet you try again to gain the harmony the
Peace
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 8, 2010 at 5:36 PM UTC