Amsterdam.

 

We arrived on the ferry upon waters of thirst. Waiting in line we got talking to a German

Woman, who told us of Oracles and her chatter crept among the ears of the water’s myths.

We carried our bags through the cracks of people, the vestige of their hearts roaming from silence

To silence like a tumbleweed.

We walked down the steps into the realm of transgression; talking of Gods and caterpillars,

of the first butterfly…

The smell of our auras filled the noses of those we passed. They knew nothing of our gestures

And why we moved in such a way. We moved like unknown creatures rising with a shiver…

The chill from the wind caught our breath, its icy grasp sharp and taunting…

we held the elements in our hands like a branch loves a leaf.

The grey sky made us aware of our melancholy, the mind’s anxiety and the hearts repose.

We make it to the city where the eyes of the buildings follow us and the gargoyles upon the roofs try to tempt us with the rush of impulse.

We do not accept.

We greet our friend who is accommodating us and walk the long distance to his high storey flat.

On the balcony I see the turn of the sky, the evening sun bubbling like a cauldron.

I pluck the guitar sitting on the bed; sober notes in a drunken air.

We adventure back out into the wild bluster of the city, lighting new fires in Ancient voices.

We smoked hash in the coffee houses;

the green of the air showing its teeth, biting at the afternoon fog. I do not drink coffee,

I drink the herbal leaves and sip from my cup as if I was kissing some relevant past. We laugh

At the glow in our eyes, seeing the small sun of some other world.

 

I observed the walls; the patterns upon them confute my eyes.

I heard the bartender speak of tall grass to a young woman wanting the heart of the matter but getting

Nothing but veins.

Our hearts pulsate like little insects scurrying for shelter.

The slant of the table brings us down…

We move on out into the streets once again, twirling around a lamppost; alert and sharp…

 We go in search of the Blue Lagoon in a gifted hour, the evening is animated and we are told the Blue Lagoon serves specialties…

It is not far away.

Or so we are guided.

We ramble through the streets, very naïve…

back and forth, back and forth, turning only for a different view.

We are searching for the Unicorn among the horses, obvious yet unseen.

The thrill of the search is slyly inviting, we know we are lost yet we keep going.

The bar signs swing in the breeze like wild gymnasts, I sense their waning, yet

Like us they keep going.

The gargoyles have their eyes on us. We know they are watching, tempting our inhibitions,

Encouraging our shadows with charming talk.

We sit and rest upon a seat. Across from us apples on an apple tree hang like stars, in them we look

For our destiny. Our ears prick up to the scented fires of their inborn tapestries.

We do not feel worthy, so we turn away from it patterns.

     The nervous energy struck with skin and bone; the monomania of silent verbs.

We argued and spat our tongues with paranoid venom, maddening our senses with frail mutterings.

I sensed the bearing of the weight and ringed with a darkening temper.

  To settle the mood, we take photographs by a painted wall; feeling ugly I shuddered at the flash.

The air is now strange and the wind is knotted.

We say nothing to one another for a while and feeling very peculiar we sense the drooling from the lips of our masks.

  The trail is a mystery and has faded.

Sick of feeding upon one another’s anxieties we jump on a tram, scuttling like mice in search of a seat.

The other passengers stared at us with suspicion. We look no one in the eyes.

The rocking of the tram distorts our balance, we sway to and fro, disgruntled and fed up…

An old man sneezes across from us.

    The ring of the bell chimes, startling us to attention.

The ticket master sat in the middle of the carriage like a casino croupier.

His beard dirty and his tie wonky, I knew he hated his job; sullen and miserable like a dried-out flower.

    The rattle of laughter disturbed our half-smiles, we are too cautious to move our mouths any higher.

When the tram arrived in the centre of the city, we felt a sense of balance and caught the last ferry

Across to the other side where the last bus was waiting.

   The journey back was quiet except for the tapping of our feet.

Off the bus we walked past strumpets who twinkled their eyes and offered us their groans.

 

In the apartment with our hearts beating with the startle of a sharp moon;

    We laid upon the bed in the living room shaped into the dream of the day, not knowing the truth of its meaning.

 I drank orange juice with a sigh, the pillow over my knees and held the stomach of mother light.

     We lit incense to clear the air, an attempt to calm the sniffles of our minds.

I twist and curl the locks of my hair, my fingertips cold and bewildered…

Tired we consigned ourselves to bed.

Our room was no room at all. There was no bed or pillows to rest our dwindling heads.

I made my disappointment known, my tripled tongue un-loose and scathing.

We slept upon our clothes and used our bags as pillows.

   In the morning, unhappy and dreamless we booked other accommodation.

We ate breakfast in a café next to the canal, watching bicycles overpower the pedestrians. 

   A blind man walked his dog; dodging the oncoming dangers. I watched on with a ringing in my ears.

Signs from a winged mirror.

We walked the streets, connected with the dreams of Van Gogh and dangled our feet over a bridge, then found a cheap bar to play pool.

    The green of the table was the colour of fresh grass.

We could smell the purity of its image.

  After a few hours of potting joy, we grew bored and found ourselves in the bright

Atmosphere of another coffee house.

  The smoke goes to our heads!

The crumbs of shadows filled the floor.

  We took a chessboard that was under our table and began to play.

       The empire of black and white squares absorbed our dry tastes.

We are the knights riding into battle!

  The wild horses hailing to our cries.

    The King and Queen are sceptical of our merits.

              The Bishop whispers over our shoulders.

The medieval trumpet blows its sound of fury.

    We get distracted by the laws of divine geometry

And the flock of eidolons inattentive to their senses

like junkies in a Victorian opium den.

     

    Amsterdam is the home to unenlightened saints,

And we do not desire their paper roses.

 

We head back to our lodgings for some dinner.

After we stroll through the city, ruffled and innocent…

      There is a ballet of moths under a crowning light.

They are splendid in their beauty.

Sirens sing out…ancient and modern.

We cheer! Unknowingly submitting to false charity.

   In the spacious fug of crowded breath, we land among unsettled feelings.

Our hearts drop like the first fruits of spring.

    The waters in the canals turned to fire, spitting like ravenous beasts.

The ground began to shake, holes appeared and out from them flew

Daemons and Witches.

    Cackles and growls projected out into the gaping night.

We sip upon a bottle of water. Our minds are filled with stupidity.

Soon vultures are above our heads and snakes wrap themselves around our feet…

      Our cheekbones grew hollow and we howled like a church bell ringing with the vibration of hope and faith.

 

Back at our hotel, mad and dishevelled…. we laid upon the bed terrified,

staring at the ceiling with eyes marked by foolish curiosities.

     ‘’This is Hell! This is Hell!’’ we cried.  

 

For the next two days and nights we fought off dark enchantments.

 

We did not trust the architecture;

hostile and cut into the guise of heroic sympathy.

   The gargoyles showed us otherwise….

 

They whispered to the witches who followed us around…

   Stirring with the stench of rotten eggs,

Mumbling in hushed tones invitations into our ears.  

   We do not listen!

 

     Sitting on a bench with the damp air

Stinging our eyes, we argued with fierce rage.

   I stormed off and was warned…

‘’Do not venture down there, that is where thieves and brass gather.’’

 

That night our dreams stormed feral.

   ‘’This is Hell! This is Hell! We cried.

 

The next morning, we opened the curtains to find we had a visitor…

   A Heron white as a perfect moon

Telling us:

‘’All is well. All is well. Talk of Gods, caterpillars and

of the first butterfly…’’

 

We held one another, soft and golden…

   Grateful for the symbol!

 

We packed our bags and headed off to catch our ferry home.

     We were poor and hungry, yet our relief filled our stomachs.

The North Sea was steady and forgiving of our plight,

      And that night rocked us to sleep, sang us lullabies,

Bringing hymns to our dreams.

 

    When we awoke, fresh eyed, our hearts rising with the sun,

          We opened the curtain to find a visitor…

A butterfly the colour of life,

   But it is not the first.

Reviews

[R.J Calzonetti (Siniste..]

This might be your best work out of what I’ve read. Thanks for sharing.

[Robert Haigh]

Some very interesting imagery in this piece, and good use of language. A vibrant and entertaining write!

[Betty Hermelee]

Seems like a very haunted journey across the North Sea, almost like a unending nightmare with spooky people and emotions going wild; creatures from St. Elsewhere, and finally reaching home to peace and a butterfly. almost like stream of consciousness writing, but all ending well.
Best, B