Gert Strydom, 11 april 2013
When I am caught in thoughts
when my eyes see an old vista
and other times come alive and back
I look in another light,
see the changes in the city
the cataclysm, the new regime’s warp and woof
in decay, decline, in hovels, in shacks
and I am not anymore unguarded
when fatal forces come together
to ravage the past for me
and do only awake more crime and evils,
when there utopia of abatement comes to life
and at times I hope not to return again
to this old rubbish dump.
Gert Strydom, 11 april 2013
In a region where thunder falls in the summer
the city lays stretched out when the first sounds of war resound,
when boys are called to be soldiers for their own country
to protect their borders from danger when the first shots are fired.
The infallible remote control unravels a falling of feet
of eighteen year old boy upon eighteen year old boy.
In a region where thunder falls in the summer
the city lays stretched out when the first sounds of war resound,
with military police on patrol to avert decline
where in front of garden gates, on veranda steps they lean smoking,
catch drunken soldiers in bars and kick them that they groan
somewhere in the back corner of the universe
in a region where thunder falls in the summer
Gert Strydom, 10 april 2013
Suddenly a photograph takes you back,
it’s as if a face comes to life
when you are caught in moments
of longing as if you have got it right here
and that momentary recording
of a young face becomes reality
as if that yesterday was just a moment ago.
Gert Strydom, 10 april 2013
Memories are caught
on the sideboard,
maybe on the fireplace
or locked in the garage
as tools that are forgotten
and photo albums are opened
but nothing brings the years back.
Gert Strydom, 9 april 2013
As a young man I did not know
how quickly the heydays past
and when the summer sun
rose to its peak
in a blue open sky
I taught that even summer
would forever last
and vigour and prosperity
was the way
that live was meant to be.
With time age started
setting in and with the grey hair on my head,
steel grey days came
as part of the way life goes
and in the early autumn
of my years
my wife is still lovely,
flowers still pretty,
work is very scarce,
the country is in shambles
and time is setting its mark.
Gert Strydom, 9 april 2013
Maybe living asks
for us to handle life
day by day
and to make the very best
of everything
that destiny brings
since everybody has their own
winters, summers and spring
and laughter and tears
are characteristic of living.
Gert Strydom, 9 april 2013
Sweet is the juice of Hanepoot grapes
where they hang golden in bunches in vineyards
when the Cape summer catch this world
when the hours move on to the late afternoon
and high in the air a dove flies
where it turns caught in the clear sky
and in this summer I get an urge
to move my life to Cape Town,
where I want to find You in the beautiful nature
in a world that astonishes and does blind.
On a military camp I heard from a grape farmer
who lived near to Stellenbosch
that the children of his workers are bewitched,
that his labourers were addicted from before birth and he was adamant,
as if with wine generations of farmers did exist in this way
and somewhere he had lost his humanity
did not want to hear of any complaint about this kind of thing,
but this wickedness moved me deeply.
Gert Strydom, 8 april 2013
Mist fades the sun out
and houses are blocked off
by smoky rain clouds,
but the yellow iris flowers pure
and the air smells fresh
as if I am kissed by nature.
There’s wet drops on the grass
and the two dogs
lie under the shelter
on there beds
hardly wanting to move.
A vague delight unfolds within me
while I walk through the garden
lost and locked into a own world
and see the sun almost looking
like the moon
where it hangs white and laced off.
Gert Strydom, 8 april 2013
My bedroom’s window is an awesome thing
wherein birds are reflected, as they sing
sometimes pecking or knocking on it
drawing them to land, to start their whistling,
and I have a lovely kind of view
of hollyhocks covered with dew,
growing over a fallen tree, with ferns
and bright geraniums looking crisp and new,
although I am alone, are on my own
I do see at times that the birds have flown,
I know that nature’s beauty affects me,
see the leaves in autumn falling down
and nature speaks right into my heart,
whether being together or apart.
Gert Strydom, 8 april 2013
When summer lingers in the last hot days before autumn
every dove, sparrow and weaver gambols
but already the end of the hot season has been set
and there are far horizons becoming the swallows.
Sometimes love is a strange kind of thing
and I wonder why I do constantly get hurt
when with words that do cherish I do attract lightning bolts
and in the twinkling of an eye a whole lifetime passes.
I am stripped in this coming winter season
as if there will never again be a spring and a summer
as if nothing that comes ever again can make an impact,
when already I read the signs of decay,
but still the summer sun lingers in my days of old age
with promises of the golden days that will come again.
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