Laughter from the Park (Babenhausen, Germany, Spring of 1975)

Laughter from the Park
(Babenhausen, Germany—spring of 1975)

Birds fly over head…cars running by going nowhere…
a kid’s laughter is heard, echoes throughout the little park
a siren goes off—the boy doesn’t know why—(at the military base nearby)
it sounds again, soldiers smiling with their marching arrangements…
and life goes on, on, on,
as always.
The little boy runs, tries to whistle, escapes and hides (under bushes)
from those flying birds, and creepy crawlers
playing in that deep green, with its soft soil (anxiously)
and from the swings and teeter-totter, drama under the blue
he looks about this mysterious world…with new eyes.
All is clear; flowers budded above the bushes, light from the sun
creates a warm wind and a view that puts a smile on the boy’s face
to his memory completely fresh as a new born chick
it’s life that will not be remembered, not at four…
And life goes on, on, on,
as always.
The boy’s hands, mind and body are mixed with geometry
he is living in a magic world, merrymaking his revelry,
with the dome of the earth overhead, as his silver throne
looking for that golden trumpet, that sounded a while ago!
From the park to the Old Babenhausen Tower we walk
Cody and me, it is 1975; to him, the sun is a ball above his head,
but he doesn’t say a word, he doesn’t have the vocabulary yet;
he just thinks it….
Our apartment is down the street a bit from the tower,
I reveal a secret to him: that evening is coming
and that the moon is a ball, colored like the sun…
and neither one follows him, it just seems so!
He keeps the secret and smiles—looks up.
He is living with multiple wings…
and his mind is racing like the swings,
and life goes on, on, on
as always.
He wonders if he’ll have time to catch up…?

Dedicated to Cody Siluk Sir; No: 1941 (8-17-2007); the author lived in Babenhausen, Germany for several months in 1975, out of close to 5-years he spent in West Germany throughout the 70s.

The White Lady Of Kulmbach A Poem-Germany

Prologue - with the advent of the Middle Ages and onto the Renaissance, progress had come to Europe, and important men took the seat of familiarity, it was the time of: William Tell (1306 AD), Edward the III of England, Louis the IV of Bavaria (1333 AD); Othman Empire founded 1299 AD, the first clock, 1348 AD; the French used the cannon in 1308 AD; the Compass, 1320 AD. Window glass was introduced in around 1300, the Dark Ages was over, and on came Martin Luther, 1521 AD; William Shakespeare, 1546, ended up reading his plays to Queen Elisabeth. And then there was growing legends in Kulmbach, and its Castle called Plassenburg.
The Ghost of Plassenburg
Perhaps the ghost did it, so many have said in the past,or perhaps it’s been bad luck or poor leadership, whateverPlassenburg Castle was ill-fated for much of its past.
I have myself heard many a ghost stories in Germany,heard their footsteps in an old Babenhausen, fortress (1973);a World War II story, someone was thrown out a windowfour stories high, those were those footsteps, still alive.
But the ‘White Lady,’ of legend, of Plassenburg,still haunts its dark corridors; I saw her one morn.I’ve heard her called by many names, Agnes is one,but all are the same, the ‘White Lady’ of Kulmbach.
The legend goes—she killed her two children cold, for the love of a fashionable young count;and when he washed his hands clean of her, suicide,but with her dying breath, she left a curse, for her ghost.
In 1553, Kulmbach and its castle were under siege;and the thirty-year war was also extended to thee.Napoleon besieged it in 1806, blew it to bits. You see: ill-fated—bad luck, or the White Lady…!
Notes: This writer has lived and traveled in West Germany for five-years, in the 1970s, and traveled it extensively, and seen many of its castles, rivers, Abbey’s or Monasteries and the spirit of its land still haunts me, its legends and lore still have moisten my spirit to were I seem to crave more of its spectator design. 7-22-2007 (No: 1914)

Polirritmo of the: German Winter Shower (Multi Rhythm Poem)

Polirritmo of the:
German Winter Shower
((A memo of 1970, in Augsburg Germany)(multi rhythm poem))


I have an arch-enemy here in the barracks
it tries to eat me, slowly, it works on the mind
it has one big eye, looks down upon me like God
in this case perhaps the devil…
it lives to be my thorn,
I know this as plain as the nose on my face.

I slant to the side, right and left
the water is running, running in one spot
warm, barely hot, can’t seem to get enough of it
old showers, rusted old showers, half thrust
weak power push, as if someone’s sucking it all out
before I get it, leaves me only enough to wish I had more.
I wonder how the Nazis contended with this.

Slap my face, slap my face, the chill of the air seeps
seeps through the windows…cold breeze on my feet
old and warn showers, my face is hot
my torso cold, my feet hot my face cold
my belly warm, my arms cold…can’t have it all;
the top of my head is chilled; cars car-tires I hear
outside alongside, flanking I think, the building,
the barracks…horns, it is just first light…
a pale gray from the window (it dribbling on my head)
my steel chrome teeth are shuttering
like a galloping race horse.
I wonder how the Nazis contended with it.

Cold as a cat’s meow running from a mouse
down this old World War Two Hallway
quivering and dodging the green saggy walls
trying to get to my room to warm up
before formation, before the brass horn sounds
(to salute the flag, run around the buildings
as of my heart wouldn’t be pumped up already)
my heart humming like a purring car engine
my eyes flashing like windshield wipers bobbing
the barracks is like a beehive—full of unthawing life!
Like fish half frozen, coming back to life, snapping
Flapping its flippers, jumping to kick-start the heart!
This winter’s cold stretches my neck veins,
my internal guts, like pumping pistons,
where’s my, my—blanket? (a question to the mind
the big eye don’t like);
wind, wind coil it around me like a cocoon!
I wonder how the Nazis contented with this!

Up, down, up down, up down…
I feel like a clown jumping like this
as if I was a confused bullet…:
plunge heart into the pumping, pumping!
I stop, I have to wind down…
Bodies walking by, down the hallway—
wind down I say, down, down, down...
They already got their engines started
rr perhaps didn’t take a shower…?
Breathing better, reflexes not sputtering,
motor functions operating,
everything’s back to normal…liberty!
my body’s inflamed with heat again,
a spirit filled heat;
the eye didn’t get me today, no not yet.
I’ll never get used to these winter showers!...never!
I wonder how the Nazis contented with this!



No: 1925 8-2-2008. Moving and condensed poetry, poetry that captures the movement and spirit of the theme is seldom done, and can only be done by someone who has experienced the motion, the condensed actions, and here we have a trip to a German shower (yes just a simple trip, the things life are made up of), in 1970, in the city of Augsburg, West Germany, when I was a soldier, a Private in the Army, USA, when I was 22-years old, something’s never leave you…simple things, but perhaps to certain people, in this case, me, it is no different than a motorcycle ride, one that lasted for 10-months, and in the cold deep of the winter the shower was my arch-rival, it the sense of, it seemed to have its own life. I like the poetry of Juan Parra Del Riego, I enjoy it it tells you the real moment of action, when it is taking place, and so I try to capture this moment in a multi rhythm order. Called Polirritmo. I thought about doing this poem for many years, but was not sure how to produce it without losing its value, its character, its theme, premise, and so I do it the only way I know. And I dedicated this poem to Juan Parra del Riego, for his works have inspired me. This style of poetry has several rhythms to it.