Poetry Blog by Rudyard Kooistra

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Candice Reineke on Bazille's studio (5 days ago)

Greg Freeman on The writing shed, Dylan Thomas. (Fri, 9 Oct 2020 07:24 pm)

Rudyard Kooistra on The writing shed, Dylan Thomas. (Fri, 9 Oct 2020 06:25 pm)

Martin Elder on The writing shed, Dylan Thomas. (Fri, 9 Oct 2020 06:17 pm)

Paul Sayer on No Passchendaele (Sat, 12 Sep 2020 06:23 am)

Robert Haigh on No Passchendaele (Fri, 11 Sep 2020 10:01 pm)

Paul Sayer on No story (Sat, 5 Sep 2020 08:33 pm)

Paul Sayer on No dutch/english (Sat, 5 Sep 2020 08:31 pm)

Nicola Beckett on No forest (Wed, 2 Sep 2020 11:19 pm)

Kevin T.S. Tan on No one (Wed, 2 Sep 2020 09:51 pm)

Dead horse and rider in a trench

The black stallion

my dear friend in this god forsaken war

just died

I am thinking beside him about the days

we were alone on the battlefield

filled with craters and swollen bodies

german or english

It doesnt matter anymore because the sky

above us

filled with birds

circle around


not caring about the colours

that we once proudly waved


at l...

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The conquerors

Marching along dead stumps

iron cross adorned with a english helmet

it shows the ever changing wind direction

The few are on their way to fight

against another life

False are the sounds from the bagpipe

before they are buried alive.


*I hate this one, i cant make it work.


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Bazille's studio

The canvas boasts with

all his lively colours in

a gold-plated frame while blue faced men


The conversation how much this will cost

builds slowly the barricades

dangerous distant from the truth and


that explains the anger from the painter

on the subject of impressionism

and degrees of realism

The piano sounds in the back shows

us the skill and contr...

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Solidifier of impressionism

Black rim and picture reaffirming

Green pressure and unimpeachable

unrealistic pressure from the bottom

of any ocean floor

Red is the thread through the heart

of passion and the hate of the spotters

and all other creeping crawlers

Brown like the stripe through the waves of life

like falling apart farmsteads and failed harvests

under a merciless sun that just keeps on bla...

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Le bateau atelier/just like 2005

A little light boat swinging-----it

betrays the existence ----of

one of the greatest-----it

hides its soul----why?

nobody knows----do you?


Mixing colours----soft and gently handed

a circus for the senses---you can taste it on your tongue

every thought brings----brilliant are the writers of paint 

even stiffer joints----it will only get better in the end



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Der morgen

The fog of an early morning

A velvet blanket between the

rigid silver-fir 

to descend o so softly

down to earth


Life awakens voluble

to divide in a shivering

thin night-dress

before the open fireplace

starts to spread its glowing warmth


Just a piece of a busted mirror 


Clothes damp and crinkled

worn to its seams

they will be falling apart


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Das grosse gehege

Abandoned raft, coarsely built

to bear under a mighty 

lightly torn sail

The last lost battle

forced me to pick a side

A struggle off the silver lined fish

gasping for air one last time

and from there he only attracts

winged friends

The sun, the coward hides quickly

behind a hedge of self cultivated

lung party's

impenetrable absorbing

sedimentary rock and die...

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At night

Streetlight spreads

a light yellow blanket 

Windows in the distance

reflect the fact of filled tables

Coaches drawn by red eyed

demons passing by

Hooves tick with a beat

Songs from a troubled past.


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Time goes by on this little piece of red earth

A flowers breaktrough warming under this sun

imaginative power embraces this yearly dance

Carefully seeking the moment to spread his leafs

The source of your green placenta is slowly turning

to a miserable bacteria colony

Fields filled with the heads following the position

of the yellow giant in the sky, so high

Mono eyes witho...

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Establish the fact

buried silence

copper hammered

refreshing pale

spontaneous sparkling



Daffodils perfect

set and dancing on

a light breeze

Ripples disturb


timeless like a judas

pointing a finger

at he end of being


Orange and yellow

see trough the greens

dominant like

bright red

Truth with a twist

King of ...

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Der mittag

Sand loosely without a system

here and there grass lost on his path

of a soft noon

Magic filled with impatient and failed laughter

on all the known faces

Silence controlling us internally

the breaking of branches

absorbed in a sheet of moss

and holes for undersized mice

to hide from the winged oppertunist

Horizon filled with dark woods

and snow topped mountains


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Another castle

With every gate that closes

another will be opened

and tears silence


Short grass but full of vibrating life

smiles to me

against the clear blue sky

Leather protesting

sabotages his steps

weak against the moisture

socks letting me down

on this

Looked at the path

pieces of a ancient wall

stacks of stones

Shining like a diamond

torn from the roots...

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The subway, 1950.

Elongated hallway

distant incoherent

unbridgeable sterile

a layer of claustrophobic

screams of probably

decay, madness and inhuman

burning rapidly and suffocating

stages of twisted metal


Wait and regroup the scattered foughts

tangled up at fixed routes

sloping hills and the escape


To  the grey forms melted

into stumped automatic


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Cartier Bresson

Fatique hits the muscles of

both legs and my mood swings

between drunken to plain stupidity

it turns to negative thinking instead


Sand light in colour and sticky to the touch

pushy plaques in the cracks of my shoe soles


Lane features beautiful trees whose arms are dancing

against the beautiful sky, will they ever reach the kingdom

of heaven?


Village from o...

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River landscape

Birds dressed in a blinding colour palette

are chatting from the riverbank and shaded

trees to each other

Insects imperturbably productive buzzes

from here to later on the day

Water shallow and clear as sapphire glass

slow but steady in its course

cleans mortality

down his path

Stone bleached and sharpend

around it edges

Fosters its sparsely moments

of intimicy ...

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No title.

Tears flowing. it sounds wilder

yet deperate at the same time

Barely dressed

Waves pounding constantly against

the wood and rope torn to loose fibres

Raw throaths and busted lips

amongst the few survivors

Sea playing god, give or take

past or present

It remembers everything.


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Roaring from a distance

A squall of a rainbow

looms up

Rustling and whooshing

pointy rock formations

are flowing by

Swirling streams ahead

starboard or larboard

To escape or to perish

It will hang in the wordly



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Over the hills, because October is showing its true colours

while it hunts the paths of sand and mud

Brown, black and also white are poked up

with long sticks by men on horse

The last sun beams are falling on not yet harvested fields

Sweat on many foreheads at the end of the trail

are wiped clean and you can hear someone say

winter spirits are not far away.

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Working and living with red

yellow and blue

Let the unknownly follow

its path through three fases

of being an artist

Dance madonna and show us

the pure suffering

under minimalistic black lines

painted upon your face


To reveal the secrets

that you hide

deep deep inside.

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The door whispers softly

and the air touches your hair

just briefly

The echo sounds back from the smooth

grey walls

For a moment, silence

The beating of your heart and the scratching

of iron on paper

Words under a minimalistic light

the mumble of half sentences

You are o so secretly sneaking up to him

The surprise of all this beauty is simply



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The writing shed, Dylan Thomas.

Two windows between him and

the harsh elements

The poet sits down in the old wooden chair

and scrolls towards the little table

Books and scraps of paper are everywhere

Empty bottles litter the floor around him

The old shed fitts him like an old glove

Isolation is what he seeks

A warm blanket so to speak

One bottle is waiting


It tastes just heavenly

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Staffa, JMW Turner.

Full steam ahead

Black smoke curses against

the grey inciting sky

Waves are beating

high against the columns

of light coloured basalt


Just the thunder of the ocean

amplified back through Fingal's cave.

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The hospital at Arles 1889

The sick are sitting on straight

wicker kitchen chairs

Thightly packed around the rusted

potbelly stove

Madness, depressions and warped

looks on life of the creating

painter patient.


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Rooftops 1878

Like a thief in the night, de snow snuck up

on us

The thick pack on the rooftops flies in a

piercing wind dance upon the fragile shingles

Blinds are opened and the faces appear

in random numbers

Complaining over the lack of summer born mornings

and chattering while cursing de cold away.


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New mills

Water brings life through tightly organised channels

Light is the source, from beginning to the bitter end

trough an mix of incapacitated oxygen

Black smoke chimneys carry lethal-looking fumes

on a bed filled with goose feathers

Grey looking walls and colourless window frames

cant hide the traces of former glory and the end

that all of us awaits.

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Valley and church

From here i look down on the silent majority

digging under the watchfull eye of an old grey dog

The wind touches my face and i am listening to the sound

that rushes through the canopy of the trees beneath my feet

My perspective locks on to the small stream and the bridge

that probably has been made of the thickest wood they could find

I follow the slow streaming river until i see...

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Pissarro 1868

Colour and soul in delicate moments

Reveals beauty in light vocabulary

Sprouts talent with pride at fifty percent

of the time

Revolutionary sharp, knifes and regions.

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A taube

Fragments striked the little sniffling kid

He embraced the dirty pavement

Wiped your life from the slate

A grave dug in a hurry

Forgotten in just another

part of day.

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I am turning back, simply to look at the perpetual river

What i can see are the flattend and broken pebbles

Brown trees covered in green

Branches hanging in black streaming substances

Like a mirror just hiding beneath its surface

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The sun shines his colourful pallet

in small strips

On the ground close to the

sweating organisms

Reddened steel

to forge at effective speeds

Under monotonous voices singing

Hart wie krupp-stahl.

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Ersturmung des dorfes

Killed on the spot

wrong were the thoughts

Meat and blood brothers

Strange as giving yourself up

for what?

Bullets whispering softly in your ears

No more colours

Handen hoch brings your voice to a halt


Walking,  the morning will come

whenever it wants.

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Reclining Nude with left arm resting

Let us look at your lines

Just relax and lay down on the bed

Passion in all his ugly forms comes

in mighty waves over me

I can't stop the darkness

any longer

Hours and days

To be or to perish


Regrets, lines and silhouette


to extort

It controls my life

just as it is.






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In the name of

You can hear the weapons speak

Terror with no control

To aspire is to die for


Ira or Sinn Fein


Separated behind the wall of so called love

Black masks hide murders

In every shape or twisted form of



The union jack  marks the spot

right in the middle.


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Shell dump

Salty sweat and nerves of steel

Faster my friends

let the copper

Spread his wings

Death, death, we are the widowmakers

they sing it out loud with an heart filled with pure passion

Laughing about death

by the pound





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Oppy wood

Piles of wood

cold to the touch

empty, fungy, deadly

The fountain mixes

sand and water

Trees, and all things red

i may forget


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A losing battle

Waiting until you see the white of their eyes

Cramped and shaking

Fingers and bodies

We are one with our rifles

Lead awaits them


Just bend and drop on the spot

Then a loud click

No more



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War is sick, 2005

It is finally over

those hours of

repeating bomb curtains

Green and rustic has faded

to bubbling mud pools

Death and decay

are now the rulers of the land

Friend or foe

German or English


blood and shredded


Stumps mark bodies along the paths

And soldiers just passing by


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Totes Meer, part 2005

As far as the eye can reach

you will see the fallen god like sons

They died for an idealism

that could not stand the test of time




Riddled with bulletholes



Ripped apart


A snow coloured owl

Looked on to this with stone cold eyes

Spreads his heaven send wings


And flies noiseless away




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Shipwreck by JMW Turner

The raft



and their appointment

with destiny

Swirling waves

as high as a house

The wind sailed the art of human instincts


Drenched they see

the failure of the rescue

in front of them

This moment will not be forgotten

Just spare our lives

Show us your mercy

even for a small amount of time


We must go forth




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No mirror

Your body shows in the reflection

Of the gold plated mirror

The glory of your light skinned self

is like a waterfall of fresh colours

Smelling like the first warm summers day

Growing as the most beautiful flower

i look at your piece of uncovered back

and stare without shame at the style

of your hair

You sparkle full of life

You are my life



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No Buchenwald

The floor is littered

naked is the truth

loosely stacked

in the corner

forgotten are the sins

silenced mouths

skin and bones


Life in general passes by

in a murderous tempo


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No fosfor

The light explaines the deed

generated by strange combinations

Fatigue disappears from

the stunned faces

The ticking of the clock and

the sound of popping wood

in the fireplace


Reecho like iron beaten on

firm anvils

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No shooting on may third

The aiming of the cast iron

gun barrel

Brought a sting trough his heart

No, not meeting the same fate

like the others

The strangers

The godless

The everlasting dead

Just a simple gasp escaped

his mouth trough bloodless lips

The soldiers couldnt care less

Better him and not mine

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No Passchendaele

Wet and chilled to the bone

Your skin looks brown

Show us your strenght

on old  and splintered wood

Set the cannon free that has

been rusting slowly away

Two months of moving all of them


Came with a cost of fifteen thousand

brave souls


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No more dead

They fled from the flooded trenches

Hanging on to the last threads of being human

They seek for broad shoulders, just to feel

the warmth and making them whole again

Only the form of the helmets all around them

betray bygone dreams and fast disappearing




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No fighting Temeraire

A noble heart follows

his doomed path

Thick black smoke that is regurgitated

and vanes that hit on the soft splashing water

On this tiny and very noisy ship, men are not worshipping

the god of bulging sails

But an god of fire and coal brings an oath

to the brackish waters of the Thames



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No sides

See the helmed peering

their eyes around the empty fields

Looking for the battery heavy cannons

that are spreading their load


Muffled impacts on the mud

are mixed with hot shards

creating a bloody path


Gritted teeth are fixing their bayonets

Their hope is to find a weak spot in

the line of their fearsome enemy


The order has been given, moist is in the a...

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No steam and speed

From afar you can hear the sound

of an approaching full metal beast

In my thoughts i see many men

fighting the enormous black steam engine

Hot air from the coal and elbow grease

penetrates the clothes that they wear

and blends with an outbreak of sweat

Hoarse voices shouting at each other

While the massive black train rambles

ahead, i am left in a total state of panic

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No totes meer

On the beach near the white cliffs of Dover

There lies the tail, ripped and shredded on the edges

but still very recognizable by the swastika

Nobody knows anything about

the life that had been lost for gott und dammerung.

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No wonder

Scheur jezelf open onder het genot van een cocktail, olie en benzine en vergeet niet de te korte lont. Speld een mouw aan het touw, verlaat dit klote leven. Roep fluisterzacht uit volle macht, tracht niets te begrijpen. Speel met mij een spel, hemel en hel, wat heb je te vrezen? Vernietig je eigen geest, heilig is het nooit geweest.


Tear your inside out while drinking a cocktail, oil and g...

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