Bad poetry Day No. 1

I warned some of you that I would start posting my poetry here. Oh, and it's bad, but somehow, like going by the auto crash, I can't help myself. I've got a million of them. Really. Here's one from 2002:

Dutch Love Song (version 5)

Doggedly did I pursue Janje Buis ‘bout the Kolonie
In younger times, when eyes were clear and life laid before me.
Cleverly did I stalk this girl down carriage-rutted roads,
Klompen beating knotty slats in time with rattling reins
To where birch canoes were stowed by wandering Pottawattomie.

I

Spring sun burst the tulips as if in festival galore
And westerly winds bent grass along the Black River shore
When I tracked her to the channel walls where she drew a breath
Before ascending shifting dune to sit and loosen off her dress.
She let it fall to show me what I’d not beheld before.

Ja, well, I am old now and have seen my fill of GAR in uniform,
Of thund’ring October skies driving embers through hellish storm,
But my memory’s clear now as when I lay panting hard that day
And later more controlled over spring and summer’s chase.
It stays with me though she is gone to rest with earth and worm.

The one whom I idolized in pillared church on Sundays bright --
As reverend told, and passed the plate, of lustful sin’s respite,
Clink, clink, some pennies spent to wash my soul of carnal stain
As I contemplated what’s the gain by making her my bride --
There stretched back in softened sand to let her fingers have delight.

Breasts as white as harvest moon, as round and ripe I still can see.
Nipples red as rose’s bud unopened. She stroked vigorously
Between her thighs until she sang in tune
With the echoing roar of the Big Lake’s angry gale.
Cautiously then did I pursue Janje Buis ‘bout the Kolonie.

Ah, but like dandy coat in Meindert Steketee’s window display
That’s been eyed by many men night after day --
She I watched on cloudless forenoons frolicking in the dunes
After coffee kletz when my labor slackened
At acid-aired Cappon-Bertch tannery – for that I would not pay.

The better buy was Huldah Buis, two years older,
Darker hair, dower face, crooked smile, demeanor colder.
She was prize. Not to herself would she touch her hand.
This I know, for neither to mine would she surrender.
But at vespers, Dominie would note her close by my shoulder.

II

Now when blizzard plugs the way of Interurban track,
Macatawa’s frozen ship to dock, and darkness shrouds my shack,
I know I made the prudent choice, the one that kept me fed,
Though Janje went to Singapore, a banker did she wed.
I know priceless moments come free when I secretly look back.