Gert Strydom, 20 february 2013
They enter in
a humid world without a sun,
they enter in,
during blissful passion and sin,
all the swimming had just begun,
in mommy’s little box of fun
they enter in.
Gert Strydom, 20 february 2013
The bit of time
that together we both do spend,
the bit of time
still have some reason and some rhyme
as our love lasts and do not end,
it is godsend and it does bend
the bit of time.
Gert Strydom, 19 february 2013
In the yellow-brown grass
a herd of buffalo are penetrated
when female lions pounce onto a big bull,
catch the herd offside and surprises them
the herd immediately changes their pace,
as they gather with horns in a circle.
In the yellow-brown grass
a herd of buffalo are penetrated,
the wounded buffalo is full of pain
while the other buffalo protect their calves
and the lions are caught in horns
that hit them merciless.
Gert Strydom, 19 february 2013
When the eland gives its last convulsions
the male lion rushes on to it
and growling chases the females away,
as it grabs the carcass and drags it along
and the females and pubs lie docile
when he feeds on the carcass.
When the eland gives its last convulsions
the male lion rushes on to it
and there are hunting dogs barking with hunger
drawing some snarls and roars from the females,
while some hyenas make cunning plans,
and without being bothered the male lion eats curtly.
Gert Strydom, 19 february 2013
(after Ted Hughes)
Resting on a very high cliff ledge
my instincts are very sharp, at an edge,
while below me the world lies open-end,
as prey is caught by my telescopic glance
even if they hob, skip and away dance;
suddenly both my wings does straining bend,
of killing I have the greatest knowledge.
Gert Strydom, 18 february 2013
That there is something dark in everything
and God does not exist,
that love is doomed
even before it’s beginning
and that morality depicts enslavement
are believed and lived by people
that seizes power
to force themselves on everyone else
and in such a way create their values.
I am no follower ofNietzsche
and to me he is fundamentally wrong,
as in every thing around me
I see the creator’s hand,
I see set laws,
and how good people make sacrifices
and it’s almost if I
can touch God Himself.
Gert Strydom, 18 february 2013
There is a winged arrow flying up
which is buzzing from my bow
while my eye is set to a higher place,
far past the stars.
When it rushes through space
and continuously flies up,
let it then take my message
cutting space apart,
going right through the big universe
to where the creator is
and when I stand on my knees
let His answers already wait on me,
let brave angels surround me
and let I see His hand in my life.
Gert Strydom, 18 february 2013
If like Roy Campbell
I could let thunder
flame red out of my words
and with truth
striking like a cobra
could paralyse the guilty ones
no baboon would have to salute
the rising moon
or Shaka would not have to rise
from the dead,
as my words would show direction
with magical power of their own.
Let every thing that I write
not only struck the mark,
but be the conscience
of this country
and stay behind
as a part of me
and let the ones that read my poems
be swept along
into a own world
and give big power
to the words that I leave behind,
that with time
my words become exceptional.
{References: Far be the bookish muses! and To a pet cobra by Roy Campbell.]
Gert Strydom, 15 february 2013
The time has rushed by, love,
but still bliss remains as if not touched by time,
as if there is more magic to each kiss
even when days have turned to months and years.
Gert Strydom, 15 february 2013
The time has rushed by, love,
the days are different from what they had been,
as if all great things our eyes have seen
as no greater feelings to each other we can prove.
The time has rushed by, love,
outside the winter is gone, everything is green,
while in our hearts our love grows unseen
as if nothing can it quench or remove.
Every day have got the capacity of great happiness
as if in it there is something great, something deeper still,
that just waits to come true
as if you are part of me, part of my consciousness
as if daily somehow we will
stick to each other with a bond much stronger than glue.
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