New Amsterdam

New Amsterdam
by Keaton Foster



This is a tale,
As tales will go,
Of a place not home,
But an ideal sown.

Men in wooden shoes
Clatter through,
Sounds that announce,
No shadow to lose.
They can’t hide,
Nor slip unseen—
New Amsterdam.

Ladies in dresses,
Shades of bold blue,
Drift in small knots,
Kind words, lies too.
They shun judgment’s glare,
Yet wield it, unseen—
Perfection’s a myth,
But here, it’s pristine.

All know their tasks,
How to weave, how to mend,
For self and for other,
A symbiotic blend.
Differences fade,
Discord unwound—
A lesson profound
In a world unbound—
New Amsterdam.

At the street’s end,
Boats stand in rows,
Crafted to last,
Defying the blows.
Nets spill from their sides,
A means to sustain—
Fish teem in the sea,
A bounty unchained.
An ideal unfurls,
Cohabitation’s gleam—

I’ve never set foot
In this place I dream.
Behind these eyes,
I’ve lived it through—
Where I stand, none care,
Coexistence askew.
Yet here I stay,
Words my plea—
To carry me there,
New Amsterdam, free.



New Amsterdam
Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2024