Gert Strydom, 23 september 2014
When you did hang like a scarecrow
on your hair
on cedar branches
caught in your own guilt
and megalomania
a father’s heart was torn,
was cut in two
and although you saw him as a enemy
you never knew the depth
of his love for you.
Gert Strydom, 22 september 2014
How joyfully surprised you made me
on a week day
as tears of happiness did spill and something
strange was at play
when quite suddenly your words and actions did
your thoughts betray
as if you have seen me in a new light,
that day was far past lovely, sunny and bright
Gert Strydom, 22 september 2014
People conceive me as overly assertive,
making a stand in adversity,
the motor-biking, parachuting daredevil,
ex-soldier who is wilful, headstrong
and who will take the government,
or anyone on,
and on defending my poetry,
I have even being told
that I need psychiatric care,
must wait until a car kills me in on the freeway,
a established mayor Afrikaans poet have said
that I am selling my soul
for the wishes of my readers,
that my poetry is extreme poor,
written faster than anyone can type,
and totally without workmanship,
that I have not advanced
beyond high school level yet,
I have been told that I am politically incorrect,
that I am spreading hate speech
while I have been exposing the very truth,
while inside I want peace from adversity,
a chance to live a life in tranquillity,
to earn a fair and decent living,
to have a place like everyone else in the sun,
to write poems in any way that I want to,
to use rhyme or free verse
or any other kind of poetic form,
and I am constantly trying new forms,
am constantly trying to sharpen my skills,
I am constantly trying
to become a better person and poet.
Gert Strydom, 19 september 2014
Long before I had experienced strive,
a force unknown
when I was young in life took my own thoughts,
suddenly grown;
not from sin or a search of fame it came
in words full blown
as a constant companion in my life,
more cruel and dear to me than any wife.
Gert Strydom, 19 september 2014
Very early when I did rise this morning,
I saw the morning star glisten white
and my thoughts went to you
when the twilight was much whiter
and I tried to catch your smell, the heat in the bed for the last time,
but you were gone
and I was trying to resist death
but your presence lingers and nothing turns out right
and when I get your fragrance I realise that you are bound to me.
Gert Strydom, 18 september 2014
In the depths of a grim winter when life
felt desolate
there was a fluttering, a twittering
at the front gate
when chilly the wind rocked the big trees;
I could not wait
to go to look and see what made that sound
and a little weaver sang to all around.
Gert Strydom, 18 september 2014
I wonder if all men long for a girl
who has some stay,
acts at time as a harpy, whore and mate;
as she portray
a woman of utmost consequence,
every day
an angel in her own beauty and wit,
and truly blessed is she that has it.
Gert Strydom, 17 september 2014
From Adam man is surrounded by dust
and each one of us returns to the ground
as if there is a secret crumbling in each cell
we play half blindfolded
until the last sunrise
and so man’s time is counted in insignificance.
From Adam man is surrounded by dust
and each one returns to the ground
while the days come and go much too fast,
we do discover love and are wounded
and time makes us whole and healthy again
and like this is the story of each human being.
From Adam man is surrounded by dust
and each one of us returns to the ground
Gert Strydom, 17 september 2014
Her red inflamed eyes looks bloody
against her pink white scabby face
and almost colourless white hair frizz on her head
with a vein beating nervously against her cheek.
The glance in her eyes goes almost everywhere
but still teeth gleam pearl white in her mouth
and on a old leather leading strap
an impudent dog jerks
as if it wants to jump right in front of my car,
as if it wants to escape from her and life
and where she is passing I hear her sing cheerfully
as if her body is not holding her back
and when I look past the surface
I see in her heart the great longing.
Gert Strydom, 16 september 2014
(after William Blake)
In each city street there are people
who continually come and go
on their way to work, trampling with tired feet
and in some of them the spirits are low
as late in the afternoon they return home,
as slaves to a life that is by destiny set
and just here and there they find something wholesome
but some curse, drink and bet
and so life goes on
with drug peddlers that are selling their wares
and prostitutes patrolling up and down until the crowds are gone
and now and then people offer prayers
and I wonder what God on this earth see,
while people live in iniquity?
[Reference: “London” by William Blake]
Poetry
Prose
Photography
Graphics
Video poems
Postcards
Diary
Books
Handmade
