From Amsterdam to Budapest
Amsterdam
I’ve fallen in love with Amsterdam
I’m bitten, I’m smitten by the town
It reminds me of Paris on water
With canals wherever I turn.
You take your life in your hands
While idly crossing the road
As cyclists fly speedily by
Without a care in the world.
A cosy pub on each corner
And cafes in between
The long leg-ed Dutch
Overlooking the scene.
Each person has three bikes
One for the job
One for the pub
And one for the road.
This town’s seen some scenes
From glory and gold
To painters and pot
This place has the lot.
Bring me back another time
To view canals I haven’t found
To drink more beer in the summer sun
Where stilly waters run.
Bloomsday 2026
I’m sitting in a tiny café in Bavaria
Sheltering from the gentle rain
On a mild Tuesday in late June
In the tourist town of Regensburg.
Easy to love this simple place
That dates back two thousand years
To when Marcus Aurelius
Defined his Empire ‘s northern boundary.
Where the Danube turns south
And cyclists navigate cobbled streets
Beneath Saint Peter’s Dome
The scaffold covered Cathedral
With stained glass of a thousand years
Witness to Archbishops and lay people
Eyes raised , heads bowed
In hope and humility.
This is Germany of the middle tier
With humble homes and simple shops
Homely and disciplined
Where nature is loved and lived.
Germany you have kept your secrets well
No calls to foreign tourists
No loud campaigns
Things must speak just for themselves.
Germany, the beating heart of Europe
Has now erased the madness of before
Teaching us that madness can strike
Anywhere, anytime, be aware, take care.
I have descended
I have descended the mountain
Patiently one step at a time
Down from youth’s lofty heights
To the ordinary that is mine.
I have come down from the pulpit
Where youthful zeal spoke clear
Down to autumns misty valleys
Where all is not as it seems.
Down in well worn pews
Where Everyman sits and sighs
Life has shrunk and so have I
Though grateful to be alive.
Let me sing in praise of the simple
Let me relish the wonder within
I will kiss the innocent flower
Alone on a village street.
Everything that is, is wonderful
Everything a miracle of being
The meek inherit the earth
For the wealthy it lies unseen.
Dürnstein
Durnstein sitting pretty on the Danube
A little gem on a resplendent gown
That can now be reached from Amsterdam
But apart from that her pretty coats
Beguile and charm the restless tourist
Who has happened on her by happenstance.
Is it the Main or is it the Danube?
Sorry friend it does not matter.
Are we in Germany or even Austria?
Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn
All that I know is that we have been seduced
Our little crew has arrived in heaven.
No need to ask the fleeting time
To halt and pause a second
We have arrived where time means naught
Like Eden in the beginning.
Yes, we bought some stuff
As weary tourists do
Beyond that far, we carry in our heart
A light that always lingers.
Come stay with me.
Come stay with me on a boat.
Be spoiled to death on a cruise.
Pretend you’re in heaven.
It isn’t as hard as it seems.
Our every wish entertained
Our wildest dreams are met
In food and drink and food again
Until we cry ‘enough’!
None of us really deserves this,
To arrange to live this long.
We tried avoiding the bullets
We remembered to duck in time.
German towns and cities all in a blur
Towns with bergs, towns with burgs
As long as they don’t ask
Where we were as we leave.
In time we will assemble
Some thoughts and photos that make sense
As for now, it’s all a blur
Of food and drink and sandwiches
Budapest
Budapest the imperial city
Clad in concrete vestments
Resplendent Art Nouveau
Bereft of poets praising her.
She may gladden hearts
But lies bereft of words that rhyme
While Hungary though full of promise
Fares no better in the poets’ study.
Her language long mined in Asia
Makes no effort with its forty letters
A gentle month to drink in its charms
Leave’s us more despondent than before.
But folks ignore her language mute
And drink in Boulevards as proud as Paris
With the Danube transforming all
From merely nice to beautiful.
Another bloody church moan the gang
Who’ve sailed and dined from Amsterdam
Leave the churches and Museums
Walk the tree lined shaded paths.
Before you die
You’ve got to fly
To the city
That stands pretty
On the Danube.
No rhyming couplets
No heroic meter
When stones speak louder
Than the consonants.
