Gert Strydom, 18 june 2013
Foxhounds bark and tare away
with tails in the air
like guiding antennas
as if chasing a spectral bone
While hunters dressed in black
and some in red
with white helmets
follow at full gallop
urging their horses on.
What a spectacle they make
while they race
through the field
as they have being doing
since eighteen twenty-two.
Gert Strydom, 18 june 2013
The grey horse grazes outside
and eats, eats bit by bit
in our country
and on the farms is were it gets delicacies
but first it must go up into dark Africa
as pestilences and plagues
and famine asks a toll.
There are clouds hanging black
and thunder drawing closer
and it smells the rising wind.
Still it waits on the angel of death
to give a loud whistle
and then it stretches its stride
as everywhere there are corpses when war comes.
Gert Strydom, 18 june 2013
A bee buzzes past in its flight
when the first peach blossoms flower
while birds call out of the bright blue sky
A bee buzzes past in its flight
and the year turns back to summer
and on the hunt is the butcherbird and preying mantis.
A bee buzzes past in its flight
when the first peach blossoms flower
Gert Strydom, 14 june 2013
I
Like the destruction in the white and black
of a chess board during nights and days
destiny makes its moves and plays
with the lives of men and women with a uncanny knack
and like mere pawns it demands where anyone goes
whether to move, to mate or to die as an act of fate,
it rolls its dice and makes its moves in love and hate
and without choice in the throes
of life and death we jump to it
going to and fro,
we are like marionettes happy to rise,
without thought, pity or any wit
just where we are demanded to go
when our country asks us to pay a prize.
II
When our country asks us to pay a prize,
to gain the enemy’s territory
some have to pay with their demise,
as a man you are not free.
They send young men into the gates of hell
with uniforms and boots to clean with polish and spit,
while at home like kings they dwell
and lucky are the ones that come back from it,
but to children the ruling men tell tales of fun
while returning soldiers have shellshock,
from the beating of canon and gun,
think and dream daily about utter havoc
and not one was treated like a gentleman;
Lord, today I met a young man.
III
Lord, today I met a young man
believing that he has more power than You
he even cursed You and out of the blue
said that he could end anyone’s lifespan
and this fellow wasn’t from my own class or clan
with stripes and swords pasted on his arm with glue,
he even hated the things that I hold dear and true
mocked my beliefs; Your salvation plan,
tried to strip away my dignity
while lashing out with curses and gibberish,
every action and word did sting
and without cause he punished me
while dark vowels were flowing at ease
while on far-flung roads I was wandering.
IV
While on far-flung roads I was wandering,
far from home
my footstep did roam
and destiny was plundering
my humanity, every decent thing
with war’s gruesome
impact and the trite welcome,
of wasted starving children without any blessing
who watched wide-eyed,
smelling like coming death,
where others had paid the cost,
walking past soldiers that had died
without a last bequeath,
what can I say about friendship lost?
V
What can I say about friendship lost?
That the lives of soldiers are insecure,
in weeks we have received no post
and it bares me no pleasure
to tell about a soldier, great and brave
who now is dead
who did crave
for peace and tranquillity but went to war instead?
That soldiers without stain
are the knaves of fools
and at their whim are slain
by politicians who like kings live and rule
to whom a soldier is just another toy;
at breakfast, the meal was filled with joy.
VI
At breakfast, the meal was filled with joy
your tender and warm caress,
the touch on your breast was sheer tenderness
and the war was far-gone, far off life a ploy
and you looked pretty dressed in green corduroy
as if with your eyes, your lips you could bless
could turn the outside world into nothingness
until the telegram came like reality’s envoy
and in the bush at the front
I was beyond your smile, you sweet grace,
like a mere primed machine
and I was beyond your loving face,
the commander’s voice had the usual affront;
what last notes at deaths did ring?
VII
What last notes at their deaths did ring,
when in war they met enemy armour,
but for the whistling
of bullets, rockets and shells that favour
some with shattering, exploding oblivion
and steel shredded like paper,
where they were caught, without salvation
and to the government they were just number after number
and not real living men, living human beings,
who were trapped in a Ratel armour-car like rats caged in
and it was only one more of those things,
when the destruction of the enemy did begin
and their game was played; those men will never be back,
like the destruction in the white and black.
Gert Strydom, 14 june 2013
The last winter chill is in the cold wind
and yet it’s the very first day of spring
with seedlings awakening from their deep sleep,
with fruit trees covered with their own buds
and as the weather goes the rain does fall
with the sweet smell of new life everywhere
and the sparrows, swallows, doves and weavers
are twittering as they frolic around
while the bees buzz from flower to flower
as fast as they open to the bright sun.
Gert Strydom, 13 june 2013
I
This earth, climate, country in 2013
where I have been placed by destiny
by birth as a man among men
is not mine and this isn’t mutiny,
but I would rather have the place
where my ancestors dwelt
with the veldt being almost endless space
when before the almighty God the whole nation knelt
as simple sincere people of their word
that followed a work ethic with respect
where sex was enticing, not spurt
out as the offering of a Manichean sect
but still the sky at times is hued blue,
love at least at times is true.
II
Love at least at times is true,
on the first of May it was a holiday
and I could not be with you,
while autumn leaves at my feet lay
and trees were being stripped,
I could smell the decay
of the city, the whole country on a road trip
as if we had gone without delay
back in time, as if we had stepped into
a third world life,
that sticks to you like glue,
where only criminals and the rich can survive
and undisturbed we life our lives; go work and school,
like the circling swell in a whirlpool
III
Like the circling swell in a whirlpool,
is my country’s love to me
and like a simple fool.
I am smitten with her as if there isn’t any
other that can be true,
as if I am inseparable from her
I dance on sheer cliffs gazing at the blue,
beyond the edge that I see there
and I know in cause due
destruction will come from her hands,
from her and her whole retinue
with horrific demands
and still I call upon the Lord and his angelic host,
when I think of all I have lost.
IV
When I think of all I have lost,
at the hands of my fellow countrymen,
try and count the cost
brought on me by mere men
with the weight, the severity dealt to me,
even if oppression, dispossession is running rife,
yet in a way I am still free
in my daily living and strive
to be happy and I will keep calling it home,
believing that in His time the Lord God will restore,
even if all over it I will have to roam
and He will make everything better than before
and to me this place is still heartfelt;
give me a country with the open veldt.
V
Give me a country with the open veldt
that stretches out onto the blue sky,
where falcons and eagles fly,
where in ages past my forefathers knelt
before the almighty Lord and had beheld
the salvation from his hand and as time passes by
His blessings still lie
on their descendants and who with heartfelt
humility walk in the steps of their fathers
and live in dignity
where words and deeds do persuade
and no ruler and all his followers
will strip honourable men from their integrity
but how surely did the vision fade.
VI
But how surely did the vision fade
of a new bright republic without decay
and with hatred unfair laws were made,
bringing new oppression into play
with corruption and inadequacy killing merit,
sweeping all hopes of making a living away,
as not to permit
the white minority to also have a day
but at the heart of all of this lay
the need to take by force
to make the Afrikaner pay
and to possessions and property the divorce
and form the corruption and oppression I want to be free;
my world, my life and time will never be.
VII
My world, my life and time will never be
as it had been before
and never will I again see
the sheer innocence, the passions of youth will be no more
as I pass my prime,
out of my sight
this whole earth will fade sometime
as my last energies past and I go into the night,
the things that I adore
will be swept from me
but then never more
will I dwell in a world of iniquity,
away will be then
this earth, climate, country in 2013.
Gert Strydom, 13 june 2013
I
On some clear days clouds gather dark,
bringing water showers
blotting out the sun, holding energy that spark
letting water sieve, pelt down on trees, bushes and flowers.
It wields the flail
of shattering lightning
lashing out with hail
destroying and smiting
and even a secret weapon belongs to it to yield
when sinister a tornado tunnels down
on town blocks, residential areas and any field
and with mighty strong winds things are blown
away, shattered into pieces and men run away in fright,
the clouds are dark as the night.
II
The clouds are dark as the night
shining through in open patches at places
and some are brighter and white
while lightning smashes down in blue-white blazes
as the sky opens it sluices
pouring down with wild bolts of blue-white thunder,
pouring down gathered juices
falling with creeping feelers, ready to plunder
splitting trees, setting the veldt alight
and man and beast is desolate
with some trying to flee in fright
struggling to survive, past fear, past hope, past hate
and hail and rain pelts down as if they want to kill,
there’s rain falling upon the hill.
III
There’s rain falling upon the hill
and maybe it will splatter down tomorrow
and the evening wind has got a chill,
as if it’s weeping with sorrow.
In my days of tender youth
I have seen the blue sky
while I lived under my mother’s roof
have felt the sun; have seen birds fly
and now I watch the sun setting,
and it seems like never ending rain
as if this endless whetting
will be back tomorrow again
and it streams down flower petals,
drops of rain sparkles like crystals.
IV
Drops of rain sparkles like crystals
before the rain begins again, splattering down
with the sun shining as if in nuptials
confetti from the sky is wetting every gown
and there’s chaos around me
with a accident in the traffic,
on the slippery street people hurry
with another car colliding on the slick
wet streaming road
shuddering from the impact
with a crunching note
and a driver is blaming it on a Godly act
there’s no such thing says cosmonauts that went pass the moon;
slowly moves the foggy breath of noon.
V
Slowly moves the foggy breath of noon
over the ice peaked hill
and the long shadows tell that it will be night soon
with the winter’s icy chill
creeping in and the day dying in darkness
arriving on the town totally soundless
with the sun not seen in weeks
and rain still sieving down in its eagerness
and suddenly outside lights flicker on
like beacons in a sea of rain and fog
and inside I live in a world of my own
and outside there’s the insistent croaking of a bullfrog
outside the light shimmer,
at the end of this summer.
VI
At the end of this summer
when autumn start to set in
and the chilliness of winter begin,
I still feel like a newcomer
in a world displaying its glory and the former
heat of days is washed away by streams of rain falling
as it did when things were mellow in spring
and everywhere strings of gossamer
hangs shining on leaves, on branches and trees
but with time my body starts protesting
displaying the signs of age, somewhat morbid like the sky,
the rotting leaves in the woods smell like lees,
the feats of when I was young are not inviting;
nothing outside is dry.
VII
Nothing outside is dry,
as if the soaking wet is creeping in to the entire
wide world and I have time to admire
your paintings, until late, to lie.
This is the time when you and I
cuddle together around a hot blazing fire
while the trees, plants and grass expire,
rain sieves down from a cloudy Cape sky,
where I lie in your embrace
with kisses raining down
and outside some dogs bark,
I am watching your eyes, your face,
while you are chasing away every frown;
on some clear days clouds gather dark.
Gert Strydom, 12 june 2013
It was on a cold winter day
that I had met you and that night
in a dream your image were leading the way
to somewhere where there was a bright light
and like children together we did play
and did frolic and laugh and dance to our delight.
It was in my own soul a delight
to visit you on the very next day
to be sure of my feelings in the broad day light
as my heart did follow its own way
and was longing from the previous night
and I wondered if to you it was only another game to play?
But to triumph in the game of life I had to play,
even if sometimes in playing there was no kind of delight
while time passed too quickly between night and day
and I found my self during dusk’s fading light;
saw the evening star finding its way
on a lovely moon filled night.
Fireflies did gleam from dusk to dark night
while an orchestra did over the radio play
while we watched each other in a kind of delight
were away from the inquisitive eyes watching during the day
and it was very romantic in the starry light
while in the garden to the front gate we did find the way.
I was in a kind of trance almost asleep along the way
and back to my house watched the shadows of the night
and in my mind was nothing but this day,
nothing but memories of a first kiss and its delight,
memories of how your fingers did in mine play
and to me another motorist flashed a light.
In my heart burnt a secret new light
and you had taken me from my well trodden way.
I thought of only you right through the night,
though of the games that all humans with each other play
and my thoughts of you had no pain and only delight
while you were in every breath until the brake of day.
I still love you from that day and you are my bright shining light
the one that leads me through the night along my heart’s way
and still we do kiss and play and have in bliss a kind of delight.
© Gert Strydom
Gert Strydom, 11 june 2013
During the days of winter
geraniums, roses and snapdragons
are flowering
and even the begonias
which are sheltered on some shelves
make their flower cups
and there is an unexpected beauty
to our perennial garden
as if forever some flowers are blooming
while the hoopoe, some doves,
weavers and sparrows
are continually visiting
and there is laughter in your eyes
and a kind of expectation
while you plant new seedlings.
Gert Strydom, 11 june 2013
In this cold winter
the evening wind cuts merciless
right through clothes
and in the early morning
ripe lies like fallen snow
and covers the lawn
and every flower bud
but still the doves coo
their song of romance,
still a flock of wavers and sparrows
twitter their thanks
as they peck on bread crumbs and seeds
and your hand is hot in mine
and together our bed
is a cosy and lovely place.
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