Latest items:
Gert Strydom, 6 march 2013
Prayer
(after Ernst van Heerden)
Paint every single word
like Your flowers
that grows wild in the veldt,
let my poems sound
like the Messiah of Handel,
like angels singing about your glory,
translate my words,
so that others can see the world
through my eyes, can feel what I do experience,
safeguard me against criminals
that constantly sneaks around, against murderers
that destroys without a conscience
deliver me from a government which is set for only its own interests,
from creditors, door-to-door salesmen,
vagrants, friends who do not know me in the bitter years,
forgive me for the sin
that I commit knowing and unknowing,
for the way that I sometimes act with my fellow-men
and please do give me Your insight and Your light
which brings truth to darkness,
a circle of friends which goes wider and wider
let Your hand fold around me like a fortress.
[Reference: Bede (Prayer) by Ernst van Heerden.]
Gert Strydom, 8 march 2013
For a while the autumn sun hovered
For a while the autumn sun
hovered like a fire ball
in the night sky
and the last
of summer’s heat
was still here.
Like leaves on a huge tree
the stars appeared on by one
filling the night sky
and amber lights started to glow
in the street and the evening’s serenity
unfolded like a big blanket
spreading out with the night.
Crickets started to shriek
and frogs started croaking
and a bright yellow moon
lit up the sky
and this night
there is only you and I
and its wonderful to be together.
Gert Strydom, 17 may 2013
Shaking like a immature child
Outside a swarm of doves peck yellow maize,
my heart gallops
along the dusty roads
of the lower town
and shaking like a immature child I am searching
where cars come to a halt
for you who are rolling away like a large marble
and when we are apart I do feel unsettled.
Gert Strydom, 19 march 2013
The moon rose like a pirate
The moon rose like a pirate
with one bloody eye
and far away in the sky
a star shell glittered the light of day.
Like ghosts with only minute lights burning
our armoured cars crept
into the death dark night
until someone spotted a enemy tank
and then some more
and gun after gun flashed alive
sending their messengers
into the dark.
Gert Strydom, 17 may 2013
You suddenly walked into my life
During my whole life, for many years,
I have been waiting on you
and then suddenly you walked into my life.
I do remember
that it was unexpected when I noticed you
and now suddenly
I do swear before the heaven and hell
that our love is much more than just a game.
Gert Strydom, 21 may 2013
Vision
Unfortunately visions are sometimes false
and still Michael stands against Lucifer
and like everyone knows
everything is measured up
in the battle between light and darkness
and still Gabriel is the envoy of God,
while Lucifer remains the dragon, the snake,
the angel that had fallen to the other side,
the one who wants to drag the whole world along with him.
Let people believe falsely
that Lucifer is the light bearer
and the redeemer of the world
and that he brings knowledge
and that people will become gods.
Let the son of the dawn believe
that he can resist any fire,
that he can win against an omnipotent God
and let people unknowingly
pray to the sun and moon
while my God sits in judgement
and will be bringing a fire
that even devours demons.
Still His love is unlimited
and stretches out wider than His whole universe
while forever His words remain true,
as my God is the only true light
that brings brightness
in a world that is apostate and dark.
Gert Strydom, 25 april 2013
On a sunny summer Sunday (villanelle)
(after Kris Kristofferson)
On a sunny summer Sunday
when there is nowhere that I do belong
life seems lonelier than on any other day
and while other people are happy and gay
it’s just another day that comes along.
On a sunny summer Sunday
while outside the kids do gambol and play,
for some kind of companionship I do constantly long,
(life seems lonelier than on any other day)
and I have lost my faith somewhere along the way,
while hour after hour the lonesomeness gets strong
On a sunny summer Sunday
none of my heartaches and memories does go away
and on the street I am only one among the throng,
(life seems lonelier than on any other day),
all of my thoughts do yesterday portray
and something tells me that I have gone too far wrong,
On a sunny summer Sunday
life seems lonelier than on any other day.
[Reference: “Sunday morning coming down” by Kris Kristofferson.]
Gert Strydom, 24 april 2013
Remind me
Remind me about how it once was
when we were newly in love,
about how neatly our lives fitted into each other’s
before the time when the hurting did begin.
Tell me about all the old stories and tales
that with time still does linger with me,
about fairies, dwarfs and angels
and a God that endlessly does love,
about dreams of travelling to distant countries
and some things you can even fabricate
before everything that is precious
is lost with the approach of time
and sometimes in this old world I feel as if I am lost
when my heart is constantly full of pain.
Gert Strydom, 30 may 2013
On some South African Afrikaans published poets (Catena Rondo)
(after Roy Campbell)
They praise there own elitist workmanship
then write a poem over and over again
until only their tinkered out words remain,
they praise there own elitist workmanship
then write a poem over and over again,
struggle along for more than sixty times,
abandon all love and poetics that rhymes,
then write a poem over and over again
struggle along for more than sixty times,
they despise a poet whose words do flow
while they struggle to complete every row,
struggle along for more than sixty times
they despise a poet whose words do flow
says that he types faster than they can write
does not even know the very day from night;
they despise a poet whose words do flow
says that he types faster than they can write
while the very words of other poets they copy,
are sheltered, from the rest of humanity,
says that he types faster than they can write
while the very words of other poets they copy,
they are fishes swimming in the tiniest pond,
are scared of the great world lying beyond;
while the very words of other poets they copy
they are fishes swimming in the tiniest pond,
their work is without any kind of profundity
and sometimes on them I have a kind of pity,
they are fishes swimming in the tiniest pond,
their work is without any kind of profundity,
they praise there own elitist workmanship,
they want others them as gods to worship,
their work is without any kind of profundity,
they praise there own elitist workmanship
then write a poem over and over again
until only their tinkered out words remain,
they praise there own elitist workmanship.
[References: “On some South African novelists” and “On the same” by Roy Campbell.]
Gert Strydom, 13 may 2013
The light of day you are to me
The light of day you are to me
and sometimes to eternity
our love goes strong
as if together we do constantly belong
and I try to love as well as I can,
with the feelings of a man
as perfect as the Lord can let it be
even when we live in a world of inequity.
Gert Strydom, 10 june 2013
Out of the times of remembering
Out of the times of remembering
I will paint a word-painting of you
that tells the world how wonderful you are
that where others do despise me you are still trusting in me
when you do love my in my most wrenched times
and for this reason I will begin with everything that is beautiful,
with the depth and loveliness of our love
and nothing that will derogate or fabricate
will be in my words,
not even my own pain and fear,
only your sacrifices and how you build your own life around me
and only the most beautiful things from your spirit and soul
and that which really does matter will be in my words,
and the depths of your humanity I will paint.
Gert Strydom, 10 june 2013
Last night I could have sworn that I heard your name
Last night I could have sworn that I heard your name
in a song that the wind was singing
as past me in a cool breeze it came
and some of the branches of the trees were swinging
and it was as if it was softly whispering at times
of happy things, of other different climes
about the places where it had gone
and the wind blew on and on
and kept on blowing right into the new morn
Gert Strydom, 20 june 2013
If we could bend the hour-work back
If we could bend the hour-work back
could make events, deeds and words undone
then this could perhaps have been a better world
and everything would have been timeless and reversible
and heartache and pain would have been able to be bended right
and it would have been possible to create a heaven on earth
but we are caught to the thing
that makes everything older,
that bends our lives
to be trivial and but mortal.
Gert Strydom, 5 april 2013
A bush of roses
So beautiful in the hand of a man in love
matchless in a vase, on the suit of a bridegroom
when a message of love is conveyed
and later they are given in mourning
when the coffin descends into the grave
or are withered, dried out, crumbling
when a bush of rose have no more meaning
and with the fragrance and colour fading
roses go straight to the rubbish bin.
Gert Strydom, 4 april 2013
Old man on a bicycle
Out of the mist and rain along the old road
down the slope of a small mountain pass
an old man rides with his bicycle to town
with a plastic bag in which bottles tingle
each time that he treads on the pedal
while the sun breaks through
the clouds every now and then,
comes over the edge
of the Outeniquq Mountains.
Gert Strydom, 28 june 2013
A nightmare or what? (Sonnetina Tre)
Sometimes dreams are awful and not nice
and beings that are not human or of man
linger wherever they can
and they bring fear when they do not entice
and fill our dreams with the most awful things
as they are present doing their evil throughout the night
and in the darkness I had struggled up to the daylight
saw a sinister being with black folded wings
while time and again I bid the devil back to hell
as I was frightened in my body’s fragile shell
Gert Strydom, 4 july 2013
This morning
This morning like every other one
you touch here and there in your preparations
and outside a myriad of sparrows fly past
when you put on the light and sleepy I open my eyes.
After a hot bath you comb your long hair
and you blush your cheeks and your lips get a bit of red
and in your bath water the tiredness of my body disappears
and to me even without makeup you are lovely.
Gert Strydom, 19 march 2013
He came from a fissure
He came from a fissure
in the brick wall,
a small creature
with a open mouth
and forked tongue,
moving its eyelids
and scales gleaming
in the early morning air.
His blue head caught my eye
where he laid in the sun
as if trying to catch the first
hot rays
and when I grabbed for him
I was left
with the twisting tail in my hand
and the rock-lizard disappeared
back from where he came.
Gert Strydom, 8 february 2013
When you stop your last kiss
When you stop your last kiss,
while we spend moments in bliss
trembling will our hands be
at moments such as this.
In the depths of your eyes I will see
a type of sweet tranquillity
and I do wonder if moments can be
again like this for you and me?
Gert Strydom, 22 february 2013
If everything that I do dream
If everything that I do dream
blows away to be nothing
then life devours me
and against destiny I am half-blinded;
in my body, soul and spirit a man
but in my heart I stay a child
that still does hope and trust on Your salvation
while I do try to keep myself on the right way.
Gert Strydom, 21 february 2013
Daily the sands of time to the end do run
Daily the sands of time to the end do run
as was destined, designed when the world begun,
lightning bolts flash down with the pouring rain
while we continually live in a world of pain
and we grow older as each day passes by
while out of our reach eternity does fly.
We live and love and reach to God above
or in rebellion some do constantly rove,
we struggle for what is right and pure light,
while others wander on ways of the night
while almost eternally the battle rages on
and in our lives the conflict is not done
between good and evil and truth and lie
until the very day whereupon we die.
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?
Gert Strydom, 1 august 2013
In that night
In that night we learned
what pain and joy is
and silently we lay in each other’s arms
in the darkness,
until the new day burnt the bright blue open
we were missing
as if we did exist in every moment
and were caught and trapped in each other.
Gert Strydom, 20 february 2013
The bit of time (Rondelet)
The bit of time
that together we both do spend,
the bit of time
still have some reason and some rhyme
as our love lasts and do not end,
it is godsend and it does bend
the bit of time.
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.
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.
Gert Strydom, 1 march 2013
Totally alone on Clifton’s beach
Late at night while darkness was everywhere
the horn of a ship bellowed far away
in a sad sound that hanged on the waves
and now in the early morning we walk
totally alone on Clifton’s beach,
find here and there beautiful shells,
see waves curl and break,
hear some seagulls screeching
while water splashes foaming over our feet
where like children we draw our names in hearts
on the wet sand and we notice
the ocean were it stretches into endlessness,
when the streaming water
washes away every sign of our presence,
as we splash and go laughing, teasing much deeper
and under the hot sun that hangs on a cobalt sky
we are lingering for long moments,
are caught in our own world
and I wonder how to make this moment last forever
as it’s almost matchless
when our lips do find each others
and you embrace me with your hair
blown wildly by the wind,
while the sun blinds us.
Gert Strydom, 18 february 2013
Give big power
If like Roy Campbell
I could let thunder
flame red out of my words
and with truth
striking like a cobra
could paralyse the guilty ones
no baboon would have to salute
the rising moon
or Shaka would not have to rise
from the dead,
as my words would show direction
with magical power of their own.
Let every thing that I write
not only struck the mark,
but be the conscience
of this country
and stay behind
as a part of me
and let the ones that read my poems
be swept along
into a own world
and give big power
to the words that I leave behind,
that with time
my words become exceptional.
{References: Far be the bookish muses! and To a pet cobra by Roy Campbell.]
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.
Gert Strydom, 12 february 2013
How do I wish to go home (Wordsworth sonnet)
How do I constantly wish to go home
to a place where some green meadows greet me,
where cattle, horses and sheep roam carefree
under the wide heaven’s bluest kind of dome.
The fresh country air has an own welcome
where man can still see small signs of his God
and near to Him come, constantly daily trod;
far from the city, to senses I will come
daily see His works in the green cornfields
in the many bright flowers that blossom,
peacefully experience crops that yields
to bounty and live totally wholesome,
walk daily in patches of some wild flowers
see living effects of the rain showers.
Latest comments:
16 may 2024
violetta
Może w lipcu będę miała takie wakacje:)
16 may 2024
jeśli tylko
słońce w płynie..
15 may 2024
Weronika
Za jeszcze jeden rejs!
14 may 2024
Mam takie oko :)
14 may 2024
Jaga
Zwierzęta upodobniły się do koloru otoczenia
14 may 2024
To naturalny suchy i pustynny klimat. I tam są
14 may 2024
Klimat taki, że nie był i raczej nie będzie,
12 may 2024
Melancthe
Kajzerki są przereklamowane ;)
11 may 2024
kb
wielki wypas - był albo może będzie. kto wie...
11 may 2024
sama prawda z tym myśleniem i psoceniem ale
11 may 2024
zastanowiło mnie czy owe cenienie kajzerek wynika
11 may 2024
skomponowane kolorystycznie..
17 may 2024
Satish Verma
16 may 2024
wiesiek
16 may 2024
Satish Verma
15 may 2024
wiesiek
15 may 2024
Jaga
15 may 2024
Satish Verma
14 may 2024
Satish Verma
13 may 2024
Satish Verma
11 may 2024
Satish Verma
10 may 2024
Jaga