Gert Strydom, 18 czerwca 2012
When every word falls like a hammer blow
when meaningless things suddenly gets value,
when at times it feels as if you want to avoid me,
when we struggle to trust each other
like a drowning person I want to cling to you,
at times I want to free myself from pain.
When every word falls like a hammer blow
when meaningless things suddenly gets value,
I want to hold on to our love
and when you are in my arms again I want to know
that you love me past all kinds of things
and even if at times we laugh, cry or bungle things,
when every word falls like a hammer blow.
Gert Strydom, 15 czerwca 2012
Frolicking grains of dust are blown away,
are spreading everywhere,
blown away lies violets
in the marsh and veldt
and all kinds of birds
swish on their wings up and down
when the wind runs past skipping.
Gert Strydom, 15 czerwca 2012
When the sun rises in the morning
away in the east it hangs red
and all the trees in this autumn
are already leafless
but there are still flowers flaunting brightly
on the white rose,
with some bees flying around it
where it rocks gently in the light breeze.
Gert Strydom, 15 czerwca 2012
(after T.T. Cloete)
Where it stands drawing liquid from the earth,
through a system of roots, branches and leaves
while it gathers the sun, rain and wind
it forms fruit with a sour-sweet taste
that is symmetrical pressed into a membrane
of which the smell and taste catches you
when it breaks open in your hand as slices
as if a new wonder hangs around it.
[Reference: “Lemoenboom” (Orange tree) by T.T. Cloete.]
Gert Strydom, 14 czerwca 2012
Death shatters lives, breaks relationships
and yet from being small
in the background
my father still lingers
with his arms stretched out
as if protecting,
reasoning with my better self
to retain integrity, to remain
the man of which
he set the example
and in my keenness to write,
my thoughts of God,
even my tastes in food
is somewhat determined
by the man that he was
but in his absence I have developed
a thing to cling,
to each and everything
that has meaning for me,
with the fear of lost
of family, animals and friends.
Gert Strydom, 14 czerwca 2012
My shoes were brought to me on order
from Zimbabwe by a missionary,
a man who sell bibles
and sometimes give them away,
just before Robert Mugabe
did root out the manufacturers and sellers
and the rest of my order went to waste
with another pair of buffalo leather shoes
and a buffalo leather jacket as well.
The black handmade elephant leather shoes
do tread far roads with me,
they try to walk on the tracks
of my deceased father,
try to stand up with integrity
like my late grandmother wanted.
The other day I had them re-soled,
to lay down some more tracks
and the elephant leather
might last a life time
and I wonder how the future
folds open before them?
Gert Strydom, 14 czerwca 2012
Dad, memories do fade
when I look at your photograph
and the time that is now far long ago,
I can now hardly go back to.
The small bits of memory
do not always want to unfold,
as if you are just segments in my thoughts.
Sometimes your strong voice
do again become clear in me
but the deep emptiness remains,
as if nothing can again fill it.
Still in a way
you keep talking to me,
as if you are still present,
are still right here with me,
as if in a moment
you will come through the door
but Dad, it is now forty-three years
that I am missing you,
as if I have lost you somewhere
and still I am waiting on the day
that your grave will break open
when the Father of fathers will come
to reach out His hand to you.
Gert Strydom, 14 czerwca 2012
My father lived for God, family, friends
and for his country,
just before his death, as a lay preacher
he gave a sermon in pain while trembling,
he was formidable, the kind of man
to emulate,
his word was true, more concrete than steel,
integrity did radiate from him.
[Reference: “Ballade van die patriot” (ballad of the patriot) by T.T. Cloete.]
Gert Strydom, 13 czerwca 2012
When I think of wonderland
I do not think of Alice, the tin man
or even the cowardly lion,
not even Marilyn Monroe
or a glittering place
sublimely beautiful in a city somewhere
but about the here and now
happiness springing out
of a pretty loving girl
who wants to keep me company
and in whose eyes I see fantasies
who makes this world
a great place for me.
Gert Strydom, 13 czerwca 2012
How many times I did see
how you stopped your dress
from blowing up,
for many probably a cliché
but still you stay to me
a lovely lady
where you now lie on a bed
with hair done yellow-gold,
with your right arm stretched above your head
with eyes half-open,
lips begging rose-red for a kiss
you can like a princess
do bewitching things
to any normal guy
and you look like a fairy-princess, a summer child.
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