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Poetry

	Gert Strydom
	PROFILE About me Friends (13) Poetry (1888) Prose (37) Photography (5)

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Gert Strydom, 3 may 2013

Outside the window something moves suddenly (in answer to Johannes Prins)

Outside the window something moves suddenly,
the door is closed
locked tightly with a safety-gate,
a own calls out
when for moments I keep my breath in
but it’s nothing, gosh,
I have only been startled by the cat, I think,
but someone is sudden in this room.

[Reference: “terug bed toe” (back to bed) by Johannes Prins.]

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Gert Strydom, 2 may 2013

When days are somewhat torn

When days are somewhat torn
to bits and pieces
during this spring,
when the first fruit
are still green on the branches

then I do know
that a lovely summer
is waiting on us
and each new day

is filled with the smells
that comes from the orchard,
filled with the round fruits
that with time does become ripe

and there is a piece of Eden
right here among us.

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Gert Strydom, 2 may 2013

When I walk around in the lovely garden

When I walk around in the lovely garden
and discover places as if it’s an adventure,
when I sit in the shadow of a tree,
when I observe new flowers

as if it’s the first time
that I behold the beauty of them
then I wonder about how glorious
Eden must have been

where animals without fear dog tame came nearer
and I wonder if there had been a kind of Godly glory
in every living thing and in every flower?

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Gert Strydom, 2 may 2013

A place far away from this dark age

(after Lina Spies)

The pink nose of my ginger coloured Persian cat is flat
and he has got whiskers are like antenna
and he watches the weavers
where they splash in their drinking bowl

and softly sneaks nearer
to where the little flock of birds are gathered
before he jumps in with teeth and claws
aimed at every flying thing.

Weavers twitter, sparrows chatter and some doves fly up
while dangerously he rocks up and down on their drinking bowl,
and splashes himself with water
as he has got a weaver in his mouth

while others try to attack him
as they dive down, turn and hang above his head
and the birds make shrill and agitated sounds
as if he is not able to catch them as well

It is then that I am really sorry for the birds
and his natural behaviour troubles me
when that cat brings his gift to me
and I do wonder about a world where everything is free,

where everything has got a own peaceful life
and no birds scream in agony,
where the boy and the lamb wanders with the lion
and it’s a place far away from this Dark Age.

[Reference: “Hemel” “Heaven” by Lina Spies.]

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Gert Strydom, 29 april 2013

One hell of a ride

With ears huge like satellite dishes
Johnny worked at the roadhouse
and it was a place where you could drive in
to get your take away food
and when he noticed a green V6 Cortina
nobody was in the car and the engine was running.

In a moment Johnny got into the car,
shifted it into gear and the tires screamed wildly
while he raced down Voortrekker Road
and there was fear and emptiness on his stomach
when a lorry suddenly swerved in before the Cortina
and the plate at the backside of the truck gleamed

and there was just on big bang,
when everything turned into darkness,
when the engine of that Ford crumbled
and Johnny’s destiny had been set between heaven and hell
and this is how it’s with humanity
where no one really knows what waits on the other side.

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Gert Strydom, 29 april 2013

A Grave situation

When I walked away from the Marders Hotel
the world seemed to be stumbling towards me
and I couldn’t tell the time,
the air was fresh and cold
and as if my feet were totally free from my body,

the traffic lights
and cars were drifting out of the night
and I gripped on a lamppost to get hold of myself,
waved a taxi down that came along
and the driver was short like a dwarf or an elf

and I paid him for a trip to get home,
but he took me to hell and gone,
it felt as if we were going to Rome
and somewhere along the way

we stopped and he went for a wee
and he told me to wait,
disappeared through a iron gate
and after a time I got out to see,

but though that probably he was far away
and though that I heard a distant scream
struggling right through a cemetery
thinking that everything is just a strange dream

but I did not take closer scrutiny
at what was in front of me
and slipped and fell into a open hole
with a loud thud with my face in the mud

and immediately I was sober,
seeing someone moving towards me,
slipping and falling on some wed clods
I said: “damned, Lord God,
who the hell is this?”

The strange little man gave a short hiss,
trying to gauge the situation
with eyes huge as saucers
in a fearful tone said:

“Satan, leave my body alone”
and without any goodbyes
with a big leap he was gone
and in that grave, I was the only one.

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Gert Strydom, 26 april 2013

It feels as if this summer can last forever

It’s the last part of summer
and the day is hot and bright,
cloudless with a perfect clear blue sky
after days of drenching rain
while I can smell the fragrances
of frying tomato, green and red peppers,
spring onions, chili and some pasta
from the kitchen
while the radio on the table
plays a song by Eros Ramazzotti.

She talks about hot summers
inTuscany,Normandy
and about theRivierainFrance
of which the song reminds her.

I ask her if she had holidayed there
or if she still want to go to visit
and she tells me that she is dreaming
about a holiday along the French coast
and of visitingItaly, about wandering
in fields full of lavender
and of painting theEiffelTower
andParisafter dark.

The sun is still scorching outside
and on the walls pots full of gardenias flower
as if it’s the beginning of spring
while a swarm of sparrows, weavers
and some doves peck up the seed
that was scattered for them on the grass
and I can feel her soft body against mine
as she embraces me from behind
and when I turn around to kiss her
the moment lingers
and it feels as if this summer
can last forever.

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Gert Strydom, 26 april 2013

I truly know that you do love me

The paintings of a jar of roses,
with a touch of Picasso,
the sunflowers like those of Van Gogh
some cosmos that looks almost waxen in a pot
are on the walls of our bedroom
and red roses in a glass vase
brave it through the last days of summer
while some are withering
and have dropped a few of their petals.

The lamp above the bed draws lines
against the wall and the ceiling
while another burns in the long corridor
while our clothes and underwear lay scattered
like some of the leaves outside
next to the bed.

The curtains are drawn open,
and bushes of roses, some shrubs,
a tree or two and flowers on long stems
cordon the street off
and the night smells of falling rain,
of the promise of new life
when you lay right against me
and I truly know that you do love me

and a tremendous lightning bolt slams down
in the front of the garden
and explodes in blue-white thunder
and we can smell the scorched earth,
can smell electricity
while in the backyard
the two dogs howl and cry
in fear and terror
and outside the whole world can fall apart
but here it’s only you and me.

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Gert Strydom, 25 april 2013

Idyll

Sometimes there were days when the sun
hang hot in the summer afternoon
while carefree we could lay next to each other
with the fragrances of jasmine, gardenia
and lavender swishing in on the hot wind.

Sometimes there were days where we could hear
turtle-doves cooing in the great old acacia tree,
how the wind chimes on the porch
jollily played the refrain of the wind
when we lay together and looked at each other.

Sometimes there were days that your fingers
were in mine pressing my hand on your breast
while your auburn hair (sometimes naturally blond) were spread over my chest,
while you looked with the fire of passion moments long at me
before gently for an eternity we melted into each other.

Sometimes there were days when thunderbolts came down outside,
when scared the dogs fled into the house
when we could smell the rain
could see how the wild wind goes jerking through the rose trees
but over us a peaceful rainbow kept hanging.

Tranquillity, a deeper kind of rest was everywhere
and the garden was beautiful like Eden,
the noise of the city was somewhere far away
and when you loved me with all of your love
moments and days were happy, good and right.

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Gert Strydom, 25 april 2013

At night when the day puts on its dark cloak

At night when the day puts on its dark cloak
and blackness covers the heavenly blue
then there is a place that we want to make our own,
a place where you reach with your hand to mine

where you love me past time and sense and sensibility
and somehow it’s a place of shelter
where the madness of life does grow faint,
where an own piece of Eden begins.