Gert Strydom, 10 september 2015
I thought that words
would draw you closer to me,
but words set us apart literary
in the real sense
and forever you and I
will never be coming together with words.
Words although magic
are always reaching out
to someone else,
as if you see
each and every poem
as competing against yours
and never do we bond
by the skill of words
and even the words written to you
carry their messages
but do not really hit the mark
as if I am only giving blank pages
with absent messages
and my writing more and more
does create less for you.
Gert Strydom, 10 september 2015
When I read in a great poem
that humanity lies beyond
the borders of life and culture
I saw the poet hope
as if peace
would suddenly come down from heaven
and I did wonder if it was possible
to remove the animal from man
who rather wants to tread down,
vituperate and steal?
I did become to realise
that the people in whom
the in dwelling of God does lack
are filled with darkness
and like barbarians they do believe
that violence is the last resort
and still it did not take the bullet
out of every firearm,
and still it did fail
to make anything else of the Panga blade
than a deadly killing thing
and the reality of the unknown robber
who sneaked around with a knife in the back of my yard,
my two cars that were stolen,
the loss of my work,
and affirmative action
does still threaten my life,
does force me down upon my knees
to pray to the omnipotent God.
[Reference: “Woorde” (Words) by Vincent Oliphant.]
Gert Strydom, 10 september 2015
When I heard the learned professor
lecturing in mathematics,
talking about parabolas,
about calculating some interesting things
like division approaching zero
and the limit applying to it
I saw you, your breasts
and my thoughts were led astray
trying to calculate the circumference,
the curves and shape of your breasts
and I was truly blessed
when you blushed and smiled back at me
and I thought about your perfect body,
a thing that only the creator God
had the ability to calculate and to construct.
Gert Strydom, 9 september 2015
(after Toon van den Heever)
In the summer sun the great colossus rises
where paltry yet gigantic he still stands
with his eyes looking northwards
and his gaze sweeps right through veldt and bush.
Still he struggles on without being swayed
and his whole being is fierce and always true
as if nothing can stop that keen eyes
and his gaze sweeps right through veldt and bush
to find liberty whatever it does cost,
beyond him lies death that could not break a people,
it’s the hope of a free existence that is looking
and his gaze sweeps right through veldt and bush.
In the summer sun the great colossus rises
and his gaze sweeps right through veldt and bush.
[Reference: “Die beeld van oom Paul” (The statutue of uncle Paul) by Toon van den Heever. Poet’s note: The ANC Youth league is trying to remove this very statue.]
Gert Strydom, 8 september 2015
(after N. P. van Wyk Louw)
Twilight, twilight
what are you bringing?
I wonder
while the rays of the sun do circle out wider.
There is a new excitement in me
as today is open and I feel free
as if life does hold new promises and possibilities
and maybe it’s the day that you will come.
[Reference: “Rooidag” (Dawn) by N.P. Van Wyk Louw.]
Gert Strydom, 7 september 2015
The day is unwilling to break open,
as slices like a orange,
unwilling to let me bite
into its centre, in to its deep core
and time finds wings,
passing ever passing
without me accomplishing
the things that I set out to do
to which I sometimes set my heart to
and I can hardly tell the distinction
between heaven and hell,
between good and bad
as emotions are on a rollercoaster
under the spell, attraction
of falling in love
where it is judged to be inappropriate
and happiness eludes, escapes me,
as well as beauty,
or what I find beautiful and lovely
and am I now harkening to small petty blessings
and have to be content with little things
as if the things that gives meaning to life
are reserved for someone else
and the sky, the veldt the world
of my own heart yearns for more
besides motion, hue and actions
that responsibilities draw,
I yearn for you, for your love
and the blessing of your tender caress.
[Reference: “The Glory” by Edward Thomas.]
Gert Strydom, 7 september 2015
Where he walks happily in the garden
he watches a gecko big-eyed,
the entire world lies open before him,
his attention is attracted by ‘n big koi-fish
that watches him with large eyes from the pond,
he watches a gecko big-eyed
and he tries to touch the fish and the water is cool
while he catches a small frog
that watches him with large eyes from the pond,
he presses the small animal against his cheek
and it jumps from his hands
while he catches a small frog
and the fishes are circling the pond
when he picks up another frog
and it jumps from his hands
and he is splashed dripping wet.
Where he walks happily in the garden
when he picks up another frog
the entire world lies open before him.
Gert Strydom, 4 september 2015
When I am walking down Voortrekker road to buy a new car
I come upon an old man lying on the sidewalk
and he has been stripped of all of his possessions,
he groans and can barely say a word
and I do notice that he is from another race.
I come upon an old man lying on the sidewalk,
his glasses have been slapped from his face and his possessions are missing.
The new car is shining where it waits
and I do notice that he is from another race,
the pastor from the local church hoots drives past and is waving at me,
the poor man is barely aware of what is going on in the bad state that he is.
The new car is shining where it waits
but he lays wounded badly and is bleeding and knocked cold.
An elder drives slowly past a wounded man but suddenly speeds up,
the poor man is barely aware of what is going on in the bad state that he is
and humanity forces me to take care of the badly wounded man.
When I am walking down Voortrekker road to buy a new car
an elder drives slowly past a wounded man but suddenly speeds up
and he has been stripped of all of his possessions.
Gert Strydom, 3 september 2015
In the distance a church bell rings off the midnight hour
and where the night tries to fold her cloak around the city
I am lonely driving a motorcar
and streetlights, neon signs and traffic lights light up the roadway
but there is no darkness and everywhere around me its twilight grey,
a high apartment building is on fire
with fire-engines with flashing red lights that are rush to it
while a crowd of onlookers are watching the scene with interest
and here and there a couple that lives in it stands astonished
when in the distance the chimneys at a petroleum structure flame blue-white,
and I see the bright white fire of melting ovens
when I am tired and far pass fatigued
while I am busy driving back to my home in one of the suburbs
and now do not trust the tilting landscape, lights that rush pass
and nowhere there is a place of rest to be found.
Gert Strydom, 2 september 2015
She walks to the porch
and she carries a basket full of pomegranates from the orchard
while the brown dog is running all around her,
at the step to the porch her husband greets her without a word
and a pomegranate falls so hard that the pips scatter
and she carries a basket full of pomegranates from the orchard,
she steps into the red juice that sticky blots the floor,
she barely hears his damn it
and a pomegranate falls so hard that the pips scatter,
and he says that she is incompetent and clumsy
but her gaze is on the road,
she barely hears his damn it
and she hopes that a shining new car will on a day take her away
and docile she bends to pick up the remains of the two fruit
but her gaze is on the road,
where she is setting her scope into the distance.
She walks to the porch
and docile she bends to pick up the remains of the two fruit
while the brown dog is running all around her.
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