Gert Strydom, 26 november 2013
While the night takes of her nightdress,
spreads her stars out blue-white and naked
and prepares herself for the caress
of the coming sun
I see the wind pulling
on your blonde curls of hair,
catch your fragrance
like lavender on the evening wind
and your lips
are pomegranate-red in the moonlight
that spreads her golden cloak
and you are prettier than just beautiful
and a mere moment does linger
when you walk right into my arms.
Gert Strydom, 26 november 2013
You are a part of me
and I carry you along
every night and day
and even the yellow sun
reminds me that you are the one
and no fate or religion
or any kind of destiny
can convince me
to let you go
as you are the breath, the blood,
the synapses that binds me
and you are in every thing, every part
of my beating heart.
Gert Strydom, 25 november 2013
I stand just outside the Pick-a-Pay
and have got no money to buy
some bread and milk
and the smell of hot bread
hangs in the air.
It’s a humid, cloudy hot Sabbath day,
however the sun is scorching
while for a few Rand
and sometimes cents
I am looking after cars,
are minding them from being stolen
and suddenly a Higher Being decides
that I need a shower bath
and the clouds open
causing streams of water
to run down my clothes
while I flee to the shelter
of the roof
and I wonder who does control everything,
the weather, and the destiny of people
when suddenly it stops raining
and steam rises
as vapour from the tarred road
and a man presses a hundred Rand into my hand
and say: “take this friend”
and I am astonished
on the kindness of some people
and in the distance
a lightning bolt flashes down to below
and I shiver where I am standing in the sun
and I buy bread and milk,
already prepared chicken,
the newspaper
and ride like a prince
with my bicycle back
to the shack
where my wife and children
are waiting hungry.
Gert Strydom, 25 november 2013
Sometimes it feels, it really looks
as if you are unaware of my existence,
maybe busy with more pressing things
than me a simple human being
yet in the waking morning, the first light of day
(and I have not got to pray
to be aware of this)
it’s as if you are in the world around me,
not in a great serenity, but touching
even other smaller things
like bees and birds and blooming flowers,
sending rain showers at the appropriate time
and I do pray
please help me,
please guide and open the way
with each passing day.
[Reference: To The One Upstairs by Charles Simic.]
Gert Strydom, 22 november 2013
He comes from the sea as a spectre
with seaweeds hanging on him
and rides his horse
that its hoofs crash like thunder
until he stops to climb down
and looks at the wide world,
are astounded for moments
and the horse snorts, sniffs in the wind,
wants to return to the sea again.
It’s clear that everything now is different
and he notices a ship sailing past,
hears factories droning in the distance
and smell the age-old fog of the sea.
[Poet’s note: After fearlessly riding into the storm swept sea to rescue several people from a sinking ship (De Jonge Thomas) on 1 June 1773, Wolraad Woltemade had perished in the great waves.]
Gert Strydom, 22 november 2013
Beyond Table Bay far within the blue deep
man and horse waits
while their bones lie in sacred bravery
at the sea’s gates
still lunging to and thro in the great swell
their forceful traits
are burnt into the hearts of small children
and of many South African countrymen.
[Poet’s note: After fearlessly riding into the storm swept sea to rescue several people from a sinking ship (De Jonge Thomas) on 1 June 1773, Wolraad Woltemade had perished in the great waves.]
Gert Strydom, 22 november 2013
Beyond Table Bay far within the blue deep
man and horse waits
while their bones lie in sacred bravery
at the sea’s gates
still lunging to and thro in the great swell
their forceful traits
are burnt into the hearts of small children
and of many South African countrymen.
[Poet’s note: After fearlessly riding into the storm swept sea to rescue several people from a sinking ship (De Jonge Thomas) on 1 June 1773, Wolraad Woltemade had perished in the great waves.]
Gert Strydom, 21 november 2013
At times to me you are lovely,
yet solemn and somewhat serene
sometimes with expressesions I have never seen
as you in love daily do regard me
while at times love feels like slavery
and your beauty and sheer loveliness
is sometimes somewhat hard in words to express
as I am caught and never want to be free.
Gert Strydom, 21 november 2013
My darling has got tiger-eyes that sometimes glisten
as if a golden colour is hidden deep in the brown,
as if the darkness of them
holds a hidden kind of light
and so my darling’s eyes do glisten
gold as the sun
that hangs in an open blue sky
as if with the heat of them
she wants to cover my skin.
Sometimes I want to be lost in the depths of her eyes,
sometimes I want to be soulless,
want to forget myself totally
and only want to know of our love.
Gert Strydom, 20 november 2013
Till eternity in and out waves sweep,
in sheer terror
at times storm tossed the strong breakers roar,
without error
the marks of low and high water is set,
joy and horror
her shining, flowing, living waters bring
while she exists without any feeling.
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