Gert Strydom, 16 february 2012
Pretty
witty
petty
slutty
smiling face, pretty, witty disgrace;
petty, slutty to the human race.
Gert Strydom, 16 february 2012
Life
is
like maths
when people find
themselves common as
points bearing meaning in a plane.
Gert Strydom, 16 february 2012
The small candle flickers on the wall
while shadows make us somewhat tall
your eyes gleam shining in the night,
outside it is golden moonlight,
into the depths of you I fall.
Gert Strydom, 15 february 2012
There paths go crooked through the veldt and bush,
they graze on grass,
cropping some of the leaves of smaller trees
before they pass,
at first sight of man plunge into cover;
hunters harass
them in attacking, native groups at night
with some big spotlights that are very bright.
Gert Strydom, 15 february 2012
The thunder branches, crackling down blue-white,
on the inner eye the power
of God is lingering.
*
At the old pond each raindrop circles out wide
before a fish gleaming gold
brake through the calm surface
*
With the first cold rain shower that is falling
steam hisses in snow white clouds
reaching up to heaven
*
No croaking frog or cricket that screams shrill
can be heard above the noise
of a train and lorries.
Gert Strydom, 15 february 2012
Ah, bright sun, so red and then so brilliant white
shadows, fall everywhere, moving as if having fun
vacationers tan, on summer days to your hot rays
turn their bodies from toe to tip, to be beautiful brown.
Gert Strydom, 14 february 2012
(after Elizabeth Barrett Browning)
In loving each other we sow our seed,
in passion kiss
while we wish for some greater happiness,
in joy’s great bliss
and then suddenly some life comes from us
and we know this
binds us each to each and to a own child,
our joy and pride runs extremely wild.
From our very birth we learn about love;
feelings within
at times comes forward from the very dark,
they are unseen
but alive they jump, breathe, roar, run and thrill;
they are quite keen
to set a mark on each single life
they materialize in love and strive.
Still the depths of some selfless love remain
a mystery
while we create like the divine some new life,
we are set free
to love or hate, to do right or wrong in
integrity
or in the evil, we strive on our own,
or we try to reach beyond the unknown.
[Reference: “Mystery” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.]
Gert Strydom, 14 february 2012
(after William Shakespeare)
Love has got no kind of impediments,
it does stay true,
its direction does not wander about,
its simple bright hue
like a star sets an unfaltering mark,
it does shine through
the darkest bitter kind of circumstance
goes far deeper than only some romance.
True love is present in every glance,
some soft lips, cheeks
do entrance, but its totally timeless,
it does not seek
something better for itself, it’s selfless,
at times it’s meek,
yet wild, unfathomable in essence,
it draws two people to its own presence.
[Reference: “Sonnet 116: Let Me Not to the Marriage of True Minds” by William Shakespeare.]
Gert Strydom, 14 february 2012
This is the time where feelings become real
were we do know
the full impact of love and nothingness,
where we let go
in our existing of every thing,
where first quite slow
the moment stretches to eternity,
where we grasp love intimate and fully.
Gert Strydom, 13 february 2012
At times sinister, other times placid,
just sweeping on
far over the horizon of the flat earth,
all life seems gone
in the arid landscape of the Karoo,
stone upon stone
shimmers in the great scorching noontime heat
while wild pigeons walk the roof with small feet.
Two old rusting wind-pumps guard the kingdom,
they are lifeless
and when the light wind passes they creak to life;
somewhat careless
rusting tools are strewn all around the grange,
quite purposeless
she pages through a very old magazine,
around her life and the world does decline.
Every day she picks a marigold
from the garden,
continually plays the “he loves me” game,
a passing warden
is at times the only male company,
she does pardon
her fiancé for not coming to visit,
but she does not really understand it.
As time passes she grows somewhat older,
time moves slowly,
the old wooden floor creaks under her feet,
far too lowly
her life seems while old portraits watches her
and gradually
she starts to live in a kind of strange dream,
at night inhuman voices laugh, cry and scream.
[References: “Mariana in the moated grange” in the play “Measure for Measure” by William Shakespeare and “Mariana” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson.]
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