I've recently been having flashbacks of Amsterdam, although this poem is fictional. |
Notes: I wrote this poem in what my friends and I call "Inverted Tenebrae" form. In this form, we use n lines, where each line respectively has n, n-1, n-2, ..., 3, 2, and 1 syllables. This form may officially have some other name, but we gave it this name because it looks like an upside-down Tenebrae Hearse, the triangular candlestick that Catholics use in their Good Friday service. Amsterdam Amsterdam... Two dikes burst and went down hard, casting water- works in roles of Thelma and Louisa May Alcott. College- bound but none too ruled, we went Dutch in Delft blue, coolly trickling through the crowds as dusk hung from gabled roofs and framed the girls in red. We canvassed canals under kites in the park as Van Gogh watched. We took out Thai and noodled and spooned as we played with our words. Over bridges, the houses bloomed on barges as buildings rose from bicycles and vendors pedaled bulbs. It was bizarre. I saw with diamond-eyes, inspired by the coffee- clouded smoke. In the silence, our emotions were like water, our minds, our wills, like windmills that pumped the floods from fields to let tulips grow. |