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Poetry

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

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Gert Strydom, 8 february 2013

In a way I know you well

In a way I know you well
and in a way I do not know you at all
while things that is great and small
does tales of your personality tell.

and with you I do experience bliss,
and never knew that it could be like this
as if every touch has a own sanctity
as if there is something special in each kiss.

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Gert Strydom, 7 february 2013

Patient

Will an ambulance come and fetch him today,
to take him away to the hospital
where everything is different and smells of iodine
where they will radiate him once more?
Will he free from the treatment of radium
see the sun splash through an open window,
will he be allowed to eat a piece of stake
that was prepared medium, to his taste,
before his health does totally fail,
will he have the chance to notice weavers on the branches outside
with someone serving him tea or coffee?
Or will his wife’s voice clap like thunder
when he nears the end of his life
and force him to the cancer ward?

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Gert Strydom, 7 february 2013

To silence

At a hospital bed there are people praying
while they sit on hard benches like those that are harassed
and a pleasant little girl lies unconscious and soundless,
with her face behind a white mask of pain.

There are drops flowing into an intravenous apparatus, drop upon drop,
a monitor measuring her heartbeat constantly
and this picture I cannot forget,
as I see her frolicking past in my thoughts

with blue eyes that laugh full of joy,
like a ray of sun on each new morning,
as a picture of energy
and now she has gone to silence as if death is waiting.

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Gert Strydom, 7 february 2013

Hospitals

I am amazed
that a hospital
stays a place of hope and despair,
where people come into life
and come to the end of their lives,
where they kiss each other
in pure joy
or where tears of regret, of pain
stream unstoppable down cheeks
and still it stays a place of hope
that life will again come right,
as if doctors have a kind of capability
as if the hand of God
at times are resting on hospitals
and as if He is always somewhere present.

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Gert Strydom, 5 february 2013

Today I stood at my father’s grave in the rain

Today I stood at my father’s grave
in the rain,
took a few photographs
and still it was difficult
and strange to say goodbye
and like always
I would have wanted it different.

From my childhood days
I cannot let animals
and people go
and the loss wrings through me.

He’s is already buried for forty three years
and still I miss him
and cannot get answers to reason why
destiny knocks some people down
and let other be.

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Gert Strydom, 5 february 2013

Today I saw an old man

Today I saw an old man
who is dear to me
and whose thoughts
age tried to wipe out
and he looked at me
trying to comprehend.

There was still
some intelligence in his eyes
and finally when he realized
who I am
his heart reached out
and his hand was still warm.

My heart could have broken
a thousand times
while I saw the damage
that Alzheimer’s had done,
but there was a smile
on his face
before we left
and his mind
wasn’t totally gone

and I saw the struggle in him
against forgetting
trying to reach beyond
what life would let him
and still trying
to be himself
and heard him pray
believing that God still helps.

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Gert Strydom, 4 february 2013

Behind your green-brown eyes

Behind your green-brown eyes
intense secrets do hide
where at first light
next to each other we lie whispering.

Outside doves
coo, woo and flutter
while a church-bell
calls out the time

when the sun loving like us
gives its last caress to the earth
and the moon’s soft satin
which is swallowed by the darkness of the night

becomes a memory of tonight
where it already hangs naked.

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Gert Strydom, 4 february 2013

Rapture

The sun barely comes through the curtains
kicked-out shoes lie skew
next to our big bed.
Your soft blouse, denim skirt,
brassiere and panties
are nearby, spread all over the floor
and on the bed you are stretched out and naked.

Rapture goes through me
while your eyes burn into mine,
when your breasts draw my eyes
and their pink nipples
are upright;
your Moondrops perfume
reach out to me
when your arms draw me down
into your soft heat
and between us passion does flame.

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Gert Strydom, 4 february 2013

You turn my heart into a muddle

You turn my heart into a muddle
while time passes us like an eternity
when your green-brown eyes stare into my soul

and I wonder why you do love me
and outside there is drops of rain, the wind is dancing,
while time passes us like an eternity

and daily I am blinded,
am caught in the beauty and love that you have
and outside there is drops of rain, the wind is dancing,

but here in the room the sheets are twisted around us like a net
and I am aware of my feelings for you,
am caught in the beauty and love that you have

and as if nobody and nothing can extinguish it
there is something much more and greater than love between us
and I am aware of my feelings for you,

while my heart at times are beating for you.
You turn my heart into a muddle,
there is something much more and greater than love between us
when your green-brown eyes stare into my soul.

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Gert Strydom, 1 february 2013

Like a the tree-toed demon

(after Johan Johl)

With his first crow
he announces the morning
watching he is searching
for the first rays of light
with a tense body and feathers spread out.

When the sun rises bright and radiant
it splashes over his neck and body
and right there he becomes cocky,
is ready to fight

like a tree toed devil,
to avert anyone with kicks from his hens
as if the sun has contaminated his head
while he has a view
of the white flaming ball in his eye
and he crows again,
pulls himself erect
where he stands hot in the morning,
as a cheeky cock

In the afternoon he walks boldly
up and down the yard,
pecks here and there
even scratches in the dust
which blows in the wind
before he spreads his wings
to catch the heat of the sun in them
and he leaves his tracks everywhere,
is ready with his striking and treading kick
for them that he does despise
while he waits on dusk
and crows loudly again
orders anyone to stay out of his yard.

[Reference: “Hanepoot op die middaguur” (Cock’s paw during the afternoon hour) by Johann Johl.]