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Gert Strydom, 13 december 2011
To me His presence is a mystery (Collins Sestet)
When havoc and disaster came my way
upon a tranquil sunny summer day
I had blamed God for being absent,
of my accusation He was innocent;
He is present in a world of iniquity
and to me His presence is a mystery.
I looked for God, Him I did not see,
His image, His presence eluded me
but I found His tracks everywhere,
in everything lovely His hand was there;
He is present in a world of iniquity
and to me His presence is a mystery
There was great beauty in a lone thrush
singing all the world to a holy hush,
the pattering rain brought along new birth
while He continually blessed the earth;
He is present in a world of iniquity
and to me His presence is a mystery.
Gert Strydom, 15 december 2011
False Bay (Collins sestet)
(after Matthew Arnold)
Tonight over the sea there are small lights,
Cape Town against Table Mountain lying bright
where it is flat against the evening sky
and in the distance a liner passes by
while the surging spray breaks over False Bay,
forevermore on Africa waves toss and play.
The stream of life did into the sea go
with joy, grace and hope in its ebb and flow
but debris, broken pieces are washed ashore
with pollution caught in the breaking roar
while the surging spray breaks over False Bay,
forevermore on Africa waves toss and play.
Stars sparkle and the light wind furls through your hair
while on the beach we are the only pair
and you swear to be true eternally,
a bright beacon in the darkness we see
while the surging spray breaks over False Bay,
forevermore on Africa waves toss and play.
[Reference: “Dover Beach” by Matthew Arnold.]
Gert Strydom, 16 december 2011
To a Queen (in answer to Alfred Lord Tennyson) (pastiche)
(with apologies to Alfred Lord Tennyson)
Tempered, complicated – O you that bold
send armies from your office to roam the earth
spoiled by charms, power from birth
your deception has been told since the kings of old.
Victoria, - from your royal face,
from your lips to your brow
snobbishness did flow,
without grace, you treated my people base.
And should your weakness, be reported everywhere,
in gossip and jokes in your fallen empire that declines with time
then let this verse, this rhyme
tell of the worthlessness and how without care,
Then – your soldiers made mistakes,
and in a wild march to scorch the earth, women and children did fall
while you sat enthroned behind a palace-wall
while under trampling boots, canon fire the earth shakes –
Take, Madam, these accusations along,
for from your faults my people was buried in dust,
while Englishmen were heathen they could not trust,
your mindlessness, at a time flowed strong,
And as a ruler spoiling blood
you will have a price to pay in the last day!
May children of my nation’s children say:
“She robbed our parents from liberty, property and food.”
“Her court was impure, her life unclean;
God unleash your power against every vile purpose,
let Your eternal judgment in its reckoning close
against Victoria’s descendants, against the queen;”
“And to the men who at her councils met
who knew when to rape, pillage and take
let You of them a example make,
them who bounded freedom, abusing wider yet”
“By shaping unwanted, unjust decree after decree
which made the innocents blood spill
who exercised their own will
and forever cursed Victoria and they will be.”
[References: “To The Queen: Revered, beloved – O you that hold” by Alfred Lord Tennyson. This poem is written in remembrance of the twenty thousand (some figures are as high as thirty five thousand) innocent white Afrikaner women and children that died in British concentration camps in South Africa, after their farms and houses were scorched by the British in the Anglo-Boer war in South Africa, which includes a great grandmother of mine. For a clear picture of these atrocities read my epic poem “Through the eyes of a field coronet” which is based on the eyewitness account of field coronet (Captain) JJ Potgieter.]
Gert Strydom, 16 december 2011
Salmon van As
(after C. Louis Leipoldt)
On a night just as the moon is rising
a British officer comes by horse with a white flag
and the rifle barrels of the Boers follow him,
as they are on guard at the front post.
Evening after evening he comes
and sometimes rides past in a cloud of dust
where he is spying on their positions
and tries to lead them astray with his chattering.
With words that by now they know:
“No nation will win against us.
Surrender tonight,
as you have already lost the war.”
On a hillock Salmon van As is at the front post
and something creaks below him in the trees and bushes
where he is standing with his Mauser rifle at the ready
and he knows of the atrocities of this Englishman
where with a thunder clap he shoots at him.
Some black men run back to the British camp
to tell the story of the shot,
where a red headed major stamps his feet in anger
and swears to God to take revenge.
Convinced of his own innocence Salmon van As
stays openly on his own farm,
where he goes on with his life in Heidelberg
and just after the peace of Vereniging,
when it fits the British,
they insist on his arrest.
He is brought before a military court
where he is not given any chance to defend himself,
as probably he would have succeeded in his own defence
and the British officer says his final say.
At daylight the Lee Metford rifles of the British soldiers fire
and like Gideon Scheepers there’s a Boer that falls,
a Boer citizen is murdered by the British
and in the cliff a thorn tree on his grave still tells that story.
[Reference: “Salmon van As” by C. Louis Leipoldt.]
Gert Strydom, 22 december 2011
About a daisy (Balassi stanza)
She picked a white daisy,
drew off petals easy,
said he loves me or does not
watched the white flower,
scared to get it over,
wondered what she had got,
her tears gleamed like dew
and the answer she knew,
picked flowers for a pot.
Gert Strydom, 22 december 2011
Marigolds (Novelinee)
Like the morning glory you worship the sun
opening golden fold upon golden fold
following it from the time the day begun
as if that starry thing you do behold
longing for its shining white hot rays
as if watching while it is moving on
opening sunny day upon sunny day
and closing just as soon as it is gone
as if its love to you is the only one.
Gert Strydom, 27 december 2011
When in history, stories and poems I read (Sonnet Corona)
(after William Shakespeare)
I
When in history, stories and poems I read
about the greatest, the most fair persons
with the remarkable lives they did lead,
of knights guarding ladies for some reasons
then in you my lovely darling princess,
I see in everything, even your brow
more beauty than pens of old did express
and in the lovely looks that are yours now
is such exceeding glorious, awesome grace,
that all declarations prefigure you
up to this very moment in time and space,
are just substitutes trying to hold true,
to you the world is waiting as if ready,
arise - walk into my arms, my lady.
II
Arise - walk into my arms, my lady,
rise up my beloved true companion
the hot bright summer sun is already
falling with a love filled emotion
on the pure white leaves of the lilies,
the finches are already twittering
the wind is passing quick like young fillies
and outside the entire world is stirring.
Rise up my sweetest white lovely rose
and awake to the blessed bright morning,
arise from you tranquil kind of repose
and experience the greatness of spring,
of everything that’s good, great and living,
hear the joyous songs, the alluring feeling.
III
Hear the joyous songs, the alluring feeling,
from what is held as a true loveliness,
others have just some features been stealing;
your looks, grace, personality do not digress.
Not doom or the evil works of destiny
can control each and every coming thing,
can totally control either you or me,
or the pure fountain from where all things spring.
Neither is my love for you controlled by
events, people or situations that impact on it
as I have many kinds of choices that lie
in my two hands, that changes bit by bit.
In all kinds of things I want to be true,
may my lines only express love to you.
IV
May my lines only express love to you,
tell no lies and not lack in sincerity
and whatever I now say and I do
become deeper and carry more integrity.
As constantly my love grows intense
and with time it becomes much clearer
that at no one else’s pain or expense,
that you are now becoming much dearer
than that what you used to be to me
and although I thought that no other love
could ever be more sincere and free
more intense, or could still more improve,
our love is better than only moments ago
while it still have hours, days and years to grow.
V
While it still have hours, days and years to grow
to our love, may these words be our monument,
may it in sincerity forever glow
may it stay, when everything else is spent.
These words are left by me as did others
but all of my sincere feelings for you
must not contain anything that bothers
as they are full of integrity and true
and we might only be like the moth and flame
attracted to light and differences
but the feelings still do remain the same,
which I do profane as does the consequences
and still I am just trying to stay true,
even in rout I keep honouring you.
VI
Even in rout I keep honouring you,
I who have nothing, but sincerity,
I must be able to find something true,
in the extreme darkness that surrounds me.
When I see the lights of heaven glancing
through your lovely clear sun filled eyes,
when you are smiling so all-embracing
I am not bothered by any cloudy skies.
When I was but still extremely young,
I walked through the veldt many a mile,
the loveliest sight did to the sky belong
while I was lost in its hot sunshine smile,
I was seeing the world through childlike eyes,
when I was sincere, stripped from lies.
VII
When I was sincere, stripped from lies;
I was wondering what to find in darkness
that is just as clear as the bright blue skies,
that is honourable, free from wickedness?
When most of my days are quickly rushing past
will you then as now, still truly love me,
in old age, when any day can be my last?
Will you still be happy, laugh joyously,
be here to keep me with sweet company
when I am broken by destiny in contrast
to the young man that I used to be,
when all of the good things in life do pass?
Will I then still feel your body’s true heat,
when in history, stories and poems I read?
Gert Strydom, 28 december 2011
Anemone (Balassi stanza)
Like big white and red eyes
opening under the skies
growing from a russet stalk
fragilely flowering
early in the new spring
when some people laugh and talk
they hardly ever see
your bright blooms hanging free
while chatting past they do walk.
Gert Strydom, 2 january 2012
At Headquarters
It’s a evening in the week and the bar is packed,
while rain sieves down from a pitch black sky
with white lightning flashes streaking down
every now and then sounding as a growling monster.
Two half drunk yuppies raise their draughts
clinking the mugs before knocking each other around
bruising each other’s arms with a couple of blows
and going to the counter to fetch some more beer.
A couple of musclemen circle the pool table
shooting the billiard balls into the pockets
and one curses when he misses
and it’s the turn of one of the others.
A couple of girl’s are playing
at the gambling machines inserting coins
and pulling levers and when one hits a jackpot
the lot of them are cheering, sounding like choir.
There are puddles of water at the door
and the yellow and green neon light flashes outside
while a black and white cat sneaks around
among the parked cars
undisturbed by the human laughter,
the ruckus of partying people
and it finds shelter against a wall
when the rains starts pouring down again.
Gert Strydom, 2 january 2012
Damocles
I am contended with being the courtier
of great Dionysius,
ruler of Syracuse
and with my solitude
and the glory of God and king
hunger, war, poverty
and natural catastrophe
has avoided me
but when talking out of turn
of the joy, grandeur and luxury
that my Sire enjoys
he invited me as an honoured guest
to a great party
and a banquet table was set
with the best food
that any man could desire
and charming beautiful maids
were serving, as if I were the king
and something strange was happening.
My eye caught a light reflected
on the silver wine cup
and when I looked up
a piercing sharp sword
swayed on the slight breeze
hanging on a single horsehair
above my head
and then I knew dread.
Gert Strydom, 12 january 2012
In far too many numbers they rise (in answer to Maya Angelou)
There are many facts in history
of people both ignorant and wise;
at times I look with incredulity
at how people multiply to rise
having as many children as they can do,
with diarrhoea, living in gloom,
with blown up bellies where food run through,
living in the very red-brown dirt in doom
without a look of hope in their eyes
where president-for-life dictators govern
with an iron rod, not hearing weakened cries,
while for civilization, for food they yearn;
where platinum, gold and copper mines
are sold to the Chinese, are from the country apart,
while parts of Africa goes into total decline
and to make a living is extremely hard.
Does this poem of mine offend you?
Unfortunately I do not deal in lies,
unfortunately these facts are very true
and to some people it’s no surprise
as AIDS, poverty, pestilence runs as a black tide
that comes in unstoppable waves of pain
form which very few of the poorest people can hide,
as far too many deaths happen again and again
and from this destruction very few get clear
while for something better they constantly crave
as their daily lives are always lived in fear,
as far too many go to a very early grave.
Still people multiply to rise under blue harsh skies
in far too many numbers, to never be free,
from lives that many of them do despise,
from lives lived in constant poverty.
[Reference: “Still I Rise” by Maya Angelou.]
Gert Strydom, 16 january 2012
God have pity (roundel)
In the winter wind, death is at the window,
to the homeless its is very unkind
while its blowing blizzards of snow.
In the winter wind
it gathers whatever it can freezing find;
God have pity on them whom it blows,
even on animals that man has left behind,
when no humanity does somewhere glow,
when no bonds does men to each other bind
and unheard tears do only freezing flow
in the winter wind.
Gert Strydom, 17 january 2012
Of winged things (Corona of wreathed quatrains)
I. A yellow weaver
Time and again I see it fluttering
a small thing on the gate of the driveway
each day stretching, shaking its tiny wings,
while it sings, it’s as if I see it play
to portray a game that just weavers knows,
as the breeze blows it is twittering,
with feathers shining, quickly out it throws
in a own show paws and beak and its wing;
delighting with feathers yellow and sleek
somewhat meek I see it with colours shining,
with dogs wining giving me a small peek,
in the week I hear a pretty bird sing.
II. A black-collard barbet
During the week I hear a pretty bird sing
joy it brings to my old stuffy study
joy of being free, right where it’s sitting,
it sings as if it is singing only to me
very sublimely it visits me daily
in pure glee with a voice quite startling,
it sings from early light happy and gaily,
in beauty the notes keeps on ringing,
something happens and one day it is gone,
it moves on and I watch until darkness;
missing its kindness, I am the only one,
on a stone it’s out in the wilderness.
III. A thrush
To bless it is out in the wilderness
displaying goodness far from its own nest
singing at its best in pure happiness
without distress far away from the rest;
very modest I came upon a thrush
in the bush blessing me totally profound,
I did it found, in the veldt, deep into the brush,
in a holy hush I heard the loveliest sound
of unbound glory somewhere on a branch,
nothing could enhance its beauty on the eye
it was shy as on it I did then glance;
by mere chance, I heard a jubilant cry.
IV. A singing falcon
As I passed by, I heard a jubilant cry,
I felt as if I was very unworthy
in serenity it was ringing from the sky,
where high up it did fly and came to me.
Quite free I saw a forlorn bird trembling
a shadowing spectre against the blue,
reflecting its hue, it was again singing;
on a wing notes of its clear voice were true.
The sound did subdue, it was wavering,
becoming a small thing by its own choice,
it had poise with the high hill answering;
in spring in nature I heard a quiet voice.
V. A bush shrike
Not by choice I heard a very quiet voice,
a voice that was soft but still quite sublime
in its sheer prime outdoing all human noise,
turquoise the sky glowed at that time
like a perfect rhyme when least expecting it,
it did fit in its presence filled with joy,
without ploy it sang a song bit by bit
high notes it hit as a Godly envoy,
like a hidden decoy it was singing clearly,
it spoke to me, sang directly to the heart,
from the start it caught me very early,
bringing tranquillity in its joyful art.
VI. A raven
Apart from my life of some joyful art
in it did dart with a gleaming black coat
croaking like a goat, but looking quite smart,
it did depart with a sudden screeching note,
it was remote in the beyond that pleases him
getting dim past the old church’s weather vane,
like a stain, but my eyes began to swim
my sight was slim like a dirty window pane,
I felt inane and at its chosen height
almost out of sight against the blue sky,
it went by in its strong travelling flight,
it might draw me, fluttering it does fly.
VII A butterfly
When it is dry, fluttering it does fly,
to catch it I try, as it searches nectar,
near and far using its curios eye,
as a spy or like a wandering star
going over tar and inspecting tenderly
quite free acting with care, acting with grace
it does amaze finding a medley,
a sanctuary as it goes from place to place
it’s not commonplace, it’s without anxiety
that I see a lovely bright fragile thing,
thriving on a special variety
with almost piety I see it fluttering.
Gert Strydom, 17 january 2012
With every sunny day coming in this summer
With every sunny day coming in this summer,
with each flower it’s as if God himself is here,
I find knowledge hidden between the flowers,
as something of Him, I became aware of Him,
there is rest with the sun in the blue sky,
I am not anxious; weavers are playing in the branches,
some are speckled, my life becomes serene,
in the outside air, even near the precipice
I feel healthy, as if He is bringing hope or life,
where birds are singing and every day is full of promises,
is full of love, with His love
that pierces everything, even the secrets of life.
Gert Strydom, 19 january 2012
From the holy fire that should never die (rondine)
From the holy fire that should never die
men were send to sabotage, maim and kill
to poison, plant landmines with a deadly skill
until flaming rockets fell out of the sky,
rising up did burning wood and ashes fly
that made the glowing embers move and spill
from the holy fire.
Armed soldiers were not just driving by,
armoured cars came roaring over the hill,
screaming death until everything was still
burnt out did the last old white embers lie,
from the holy fire.
Gert Strydom, 20 january 2012
When I love my worlds starts to stagger
When I love my worlds starts to stagger,
when your depths enclose me shuddering
then I want to go deeper, do not want to escape,
when I love my worlds starts to stagger
when your depths enclose me shuddering
all other things suddenly want to fade,
when I suddenly dare to enter a new universe,
when your depths enclose me shuddering
all other things suddenly want to fade,
I do not worry about persons drowning,
if meteorites fall upon the earth,
all other things suddenly want to fade,
I do not worry about persons drowning,
when I love my worlds starts to stagger
I find myself in another outside world
I do not worry about persons drowning,
when I love my worlds starts to stagger
when your depths enclose me shuddering
then I want to go deeper, do not want to escape,
when I love my worlds starts to stagger.
Gert Strydom, 25 january 2012
Thunder (cinquain)
Thunder;
blue-white energy
flashing downward sizzling,
frightens everyone of blazing
flashes.
Gert Strydom, 30 january 2012
On an army of rebelling mercenaries (rondel) (in answer to A.E. Housman)
Those rebels wanting heaven to be falling,
who before Michael and his forces fled;
had a demonic, destructive calling
and by there wages are worse than dead;
on earth their actions are still appalling
as they only bring some sorrow and dread.
Those rebels wanting heaven to be falling
who before Michael and his forces fled,
are trying almost everything to be stalling
as their corruption and evil they spread;
the high heaven they are still recalling
as to utter destruction they do head;
those rebels wanting heaven to be falling.
[Reference: “Epitaph on an Army of Mercenaries” by A. E. Housman.]
Gert Strydom, 31 january 2012
Hovering I saw a redbreast and a wren (roundelay)
Hovering I saw a redbreast and a wren,
who were both very scared of men
and to me both birds had some lovely charm,
as innocents to which I meant no harm.
Fluttering some cooing wild doves came down
making my small garden their very own
some pecked bread or landed on my arm,
as innocents to which I meant no harm.
Pecking some hoopoes landed in my yard
and the two of them was never apart,
fleeing in their scared heart throbbing alarm
as innocents to which I meant no harm.
Gert Strydom, 1 february 2012
On military leave during war (cavatina)
Stepping out of the train life seems quite strange;
another track
brings more happy shouting busy people;
to turn right back
to how life had once been is impossible,
under attack
he feels a stranger to his loving wife
as if he is dead while he is alive.
Gert Strydom, 2 february 2012
I know the harsh wilderness (roundelay)
I know the harsh wilderness, the wild veldt,
the craggy hillocks I had at times beheld,
the wide open scorching cobalt-blue sky
but the tranquillity I cannot deny.
There are some aloes growing in the crags
their orange-red flowers waving like flags,
like old spots of blood dotted on the eye
but the tranquillity I cannot deny.
Sugar-bush and medlar in spring does flower,
while grass jumps knee-high after each shower,
up in the air falcons and eagles do fly
but the tranquillity I cannot deny.
Time has not influence on this rugged land
where high cliffs are between the grass and sand,
I had seen rock-rabbits run at a single cry
but the tranquillity I cannot deny.
Gert Strydom, 3 february 2012
How do I love you? (cavatina)
(after Elizabeth Barrett Browning)
In every day’s longing, in the sheer need
of how life is,
when feelings are totally out of sight,
in each sweet kiss,
in my childish kind of lingering faith,
you bring me bliss
and to the depths of my soul I love you
in everything that is good, noble and true.
[Reference: “How Do I Love Thee?” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.]
Gert Strydom, 7 february 2012
My redeemer, advocate and father (cavatina)
My redeemer, advocate and father
and my true friend
walks every day through trouble at my side.
When I am spend,
He gives me the power to persevere
right to the end;
His power nothing can ever remove
and in Him are all my faith, joy and love.
Gert Strydom, 8 february 2012
While that night was darker than anything (cavatina sequence)
(after Edwin Arlington Robinson)
Where shadows were creeping over the wall
in twilight skies
there I waited at her favourite spot
dusk caught my eyes
while in the garden I did remember
a paradise,
intensely I wished her to come,
I really wished for her to be home
but who can break that devastating spell
of utter death
from the place of eternal lifeless rest,
had she bequeath
a lingering presence I wondered;
I felt her breath,
but it only could have been the breeze stirring
while that night was darker than anything.
I was however still yearning for her,
for a sweet kiss,
as without her my life felt really lost,
her I did miss,
did not know which way to go from right here;
in how life is
love still was fresh and was still lingering
as if greater than any other thing.
[Reference: “Luke Havergal” by Edwin Arlington Robinson.]
Gert Strydom, 8 february 2012
As a pretty butterfly that flutters (cavatina sequence)
As a pretty butterfly that flutters
along she came,
rapidly always running up and down;
nothing could tame
that childish sweet happy rushing spirit;
her lovely name
is not heard anymore as she is gone,
from life into death she has moved on.
Some soothing summer sunshine must be lost,
she does not pass,
no small shadow falls or lingers at times;
outside the grass
is quite soft where her small feet once did tread,
like clear bright glass
the sky is clear without a single fleck;
from her I cannot my sad thoughts direct.
Gert Strydom, 9 february 2012
The decimation of the 47th Cuban / FAPLA Brigade (cavatina)
That night thunder flash after thunder flash
roared blood red,
I could smell scorched flesh, saw the havoc
of the burnt dead,
while the armoured car’s gun hammered;
Cubans had fled,
left their pristine battle tanks to run away,
while we fought through the night into the day.
Gert Strydom, 10 february 2012
Early summer
The year is full of the hot blue sky,
every spring flower has become fruit,
when the maturity of the summer appears
and gone is all the strife and pain.
There are joyful birds wherever I go,
giant oaks are decked in leaves in the lane
while the sun shines bright until the late afternoon
and gone is all the strife and pain.
When summer rain comes down fruitful,
days become illustrious,
while love shines on your face
and gone is all the strife and pain;
when God keeps my country in his palm,
when a time of neighbourly love unfolds,
when every thing that brings discord slowly disappears
and gone is all the strife and pain.
Gert Strydom, 14 february 2012
When making love (cavatina)
This is the time where feelings become real
were we do know
the full impact of love and nothingness,
where we let go
in our existing of every thing,
where first quite slow
the moment stretches to eternity,
where we grasp love intimate and fully.
Gert Strydom, 20 february 2012
Forgive me God
(after Solomon Ibn Gabirol)
Forgive me God and set me free from punishment,
forgive my sins that are so numerous.
Remember me, for the sake of Your love
and even where Your decree has been set,
forgive and see my longing for You.
Wash away my sins as human frailty,
and lead me back to Your company.
[Reference: “His Ilness” by Solomon Ibn Gabirol.]
Gert Strydom, 22 february 2012
A day with a new morn (luc-bat)
The wind whispers in rage
while with time I do age each day
when mere fate havoc play,
and I was on my way; was wet
the day that we had met,
my life was already set by grace
with a smile on your face,
we went to a new place for fun,
the day did just begun,
was hot with the bright sun, was fair
with colour in your hair,
a thing was in the air and gone,
like a sweet kind of tone
that had just moved on a page.
Latest comments:
14 july 2025
jeśli tylko
włoski pod słońce :))
14 july 2025
Weronika
Chociaż drży dłoń.
14 july 2025
wiesiek
super
13 july 2025
zimują w domu, a latem "ogródkują :)
12 july 2025
AS
genialny wiersz; ukłony i serdeczne pozdrowienia
9 july 2025
violetta
Tak, tylko winko bezalkoholowe:)
9 july 2025
Belamonte/Senograsta
wisi, to był ten sam gagatek, chyba się opamiętał,
8 july 2025
jak ma na imie?
8 july 2025
jeden z nas
8 july 2025
nie da się
8 july 2025
Czego, piwa?:)
8 july 2025
Halki nie są aż takie cienkie:)
14 july 2025
wiesiek
14 july 2025
Jaga
13 july 2025
wiesiek
12 july 2025
wiesiek
12 july 2025
wiesiek
10 july 2025
wiesiek
9 july 2025
wiesiek
8 july 2025
wiesiek
7 july 2025
jeśli tylko
5 july 2025
jeśli tylko