Amsterdam

Haringstalletje te Haarlem

Frank liked a fresh herring in the evenings,
split raw,
served with chopped onions and pickles.

Wandering the streets through falling snow,
munching,
his melancholy heart soothed by piscine flesh;
Frank wondered what it would be like to fly,
soaring over mazed canals, arms wide,
arcing,
each snowflake spiraling, drifting,
glinting in the moonlight,
melting on moistened tongue.

Perhaps this was as close as he’d ever get
to tasting the stars.

Haring met ui

 

*Note: This poem was written for Trifecta’s Week Thirty-Nine Writing Challenge.

 

Also linking with dVerse~ Poets Pub’s OpenLinkNight~Week 58. Its my first time, eek! :eek:

Protected by Copyscape Online Plagiarism Detector

© Scriptor Obscura and Scriptor Obscura Writes, 2011-2012. All Rights Reserved. All works, writing, images, and information found herein are protected under Federal Copyright Law. Any unauthorized reproduction or usage is in direct violation of the Federal Copyright Protection Act and is strictly prohibited.
No part or parts of this electronic publication may be reproduced, copied, modified, published, or constructed from in any way without the express, direct written permission of Scriptor Obscura.
Individual authors and creators of original works must be contacted individually for the express, direct written permission to reproduce, copy, modify, publish, or construct from their respective works.

About these ads

31 thoughts on “Amsterdam

  1. Wow, and wow! Your poetry is real. I love it. I love that photo as well.

    Thanks for introducing me to this duo. They’re a powerful statement. And I’m always interested in seeing how hip hop has evolved, as I was there at the dawn of it in the mid/early seventies when we had two turn tables and a microphone parties. Seeing where hip hop has traveled is fascinating.

  2. Actually, I like the pickled herring. And the poem.

    A flying fish is something we know a little about here, in the Catalina Channel. They follow the boats out to the island. But walking the streets of Amsterdam was wonderful, too.

    Thought your choice of the character’s name was significant, though — Frank chooses fish, NOT a hot dog?!?

    • No. Piscine only means swimming pool in French. I used the English definition of the word here, which really should have been obvious. Swimming pool makes no sense at all in the context of the poem. Thank you for stopping by, and I am glad you liked my poem here.

What do you think?

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s