Kemp Owyne

As a small child her mother died
that sorrowed her in her heart,
when her father married again
a wicked cruel lady

and almost like a slave
she beckoned to the woman’s call
and did every task
big or small, she did them all

until one moonless night
the women send her father to bed,
and in darkness without any light
said strange things casting a spell

and carried little Isabel
to a cliff above the sea
and in glee cursed her sorrowfully
until Kemp Owyne
who lived in a far of city

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poem by Gert Strydom
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A three double session on a Sunday in Cape Town (parody)

(with apologies to Koos A. Kombuis)

I

My heart wants to sleep tonight
with dull tiredness
and my wavy tool
is having trouble.

Everything is squandered, degenerates
from the girl at the red traffic light
till the platonic smiles
of the two dolls in the guest room.
If my winds would just stop turning!
I would with earthquakes stir their salad!
from the Cape Town women on the waterfront
everywhere there are neon lights flashing
messages that I am celibate
and full of expectation.
Al my gates are closed.

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poem by Gert Strydom
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A Financial Manager in the new South Africa

The sun has risen like a large red ripe orange
and I can almost smell its ripeness
on the early morning air
and I am driving my brand new red BMW
with its leather seats,
dark windows, flaring South African flags
and large L-sign,
slowly through the old dilapidated pickups,
the old Jetta’s and ten year old cars
of the white folks
who are going to work
like a herd of cows.

BEE is a really great thing
and gave me the opportunity
to be promoted from filing clerk
to financial manger
and now my cousin
who was formerly a tea lady
is the personnel manager

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poem by Gert Strydom
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Seventh Heaven (triolets)

The moon hangs almost solitary
shining like a searchlight
while it reflects on the sea
The moon hangs almost solitary
triggers a memory
before the blackness of the fall of night,
the moon hangs almost solitary
shining like a searchlight

reminding me of the way
which things between us once used to be,
before you went away,
reminding me of the way
we used to kiss and play,
emotions come quite suddenly,
reminding me of the way
which things between us once used to be.

One we were in spirit and body.
Two persons falling for one another,

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poem by Gert Strydom
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Ghost from the war

A military base close to the border
that divides our country from that of the enemy,
a tent through which the wild wind
at gale force strength blows red sand,
pressed into a war by politicians
who decide about the destiny of men.

A trench where enemy soldiers,
women and children lie shot dead,
ripped apart by hand grenades
and mortar bombs
and from the outside
it looks like patriotism, national interest
for which you do service
but on the inside you are caught
by destiny
where other people like gods
take decisions that have an impact on you.

Dead are the innocent,

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poem by Gert Strydom
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I Had Been To This Sea Sometime Before (Catena Rondo)

I had been to this sea sometime before
where water stretch out beyond from the bay,
it had been on a tranquil summer day,
I had been to this sea sometime before

where water stretch out beyond from the bay,
the surge swells before it crushing breaks
while a tiny boat rocks upon the wake
where water stretch out beyond from the bay,

the surge swells before it crushing breaks
with some shells and sand swept out everywhere
before deeper in the water we both dare,
the surge swells before it crushing breaks

with some shells and sand swept out everywhere
while you smile in a way that I adore
we hear the thundering on a distant shore
with some shells and sand swept out everywhere

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poem by Gert Strydom
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The stuffed men

I

We are the men stuffed with what
society needs us to be
and when the government draws the strings
we jump; we obey against our own will,
we are the stuffed men who were taught
lethal skills to be turned on and off
like mere machines
to be unleashed against a enemy
consisting out of other men
and our lives, our own humanity
to the government is totally meaningless.

II

We were shaped and formed
and forced into military training camps
into a stark cohesion
where the individual soul perishes

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poem by Gert Strydom
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Do You Believe In: Jesus Christ Or The Cosmic Christ?

Easter is a time where we celebrate
the crucifixion of Jesus Christ
who is God Himself who died for our sins,
where we celebrate His resurrection
from death, where we proclaim
that through no other name,
no other person, there is salvation
from the penalty of sin
which the Bible explicitly states as death,

but at this very time there is an attack
on the Godhood of Jesus Christ,
where Afrikaans and English churches
in South Africa, churches throughout
the entire world,
are starting to follow the teachings
that Jesus was but a mere human being.

Where it is argued that God the Father
is guilty of child abuse,

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poem by Gert Strydom
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The visit

You were residing in Anne Fisher house
and I in Salisbury
at the private university
lying at the foot
of Helderberg mountain.

I bought a box of chocolates
early one night
at a Café in Somerset West
and they even wrapped it
and while the sun
was still high in the sky
I went to visit you.

The student on duty
called you
over the microphone
and suddenly you looked shy
but was quite happy
to see me.

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poem by Gert Strydom
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Memories of Eighty-Five

I. ‘A macramé plant hangs close to her bed

A macramé plant hangs close to her bed
on the eiderdown she lays stretched out,
at times as in deep thought or prayer
when the swimming pool draws you through the window
with dull blue water covering it,
inside lays burned brown a sun goddess
and her eyes swallow me alive
when she understands, knows me for whom I am,
loving me with passion from the start,
loving me through light and darkness.

II. The summer sun hangs white and hot over the sea

The summer sun hangs white and hot over the sea,
the sand is white and soft where the sea washes out
her smile and conversations carries me off
when I am caught in her beauty

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poem by Gert Strydom
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