Three prayers during spring
I. I did not expect this early spring
I did not expect that after this severe winter
that destroyed flowers, grass and plants
that this early
without even rain falling, showering down
spring would come in all this glory
with trees blossoming in bright white and pink colours
plants flowering
unfurling and to be again really living.
I did not expect these blessings,
in life’s early winter
that even though I am constrained,
my career is falling to pieces
and not by my own making
my words, my verses
are coming to their own
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poem by Gert Strydom
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On a windy night (in answer to T.S. Eliot)
I. It’s Midnight
It’s Midnight
and the wind brushes softly though my hair,
there are long drawn out shadows everywhere
under the street lamps and the bright light
is stringed out in white
beacon after beacon leading for some to somewhere
but to me it feels as if they are going nowhere,
as if this dark night
is endless without form or shape
and one lonely shadow is following me
while branches are caught in a macabre dance
and there’s a chill at the nape
of my neck and darkness wherever I see
while I walk as if in a trance.
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poem by Gert Strydom
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Four prayers during the yearly seasons in the Highveld
I. Spring begins
Spring begins in green almond leaves,
in blossoms appearing snow white in a cobalt blue sky
where the sun sits brilliant white, glowing more intense than golden chandeliers,
where flowers appear and bridge the skeleton of every tree
while rain now pours down regularly,
sieves down in every bush and in the lane
with yellow and pink blossoms
appearing daily, puffing out.
Lord, let these times become a tribute
and what was once dead and winnowed
now become joyous, as a hymn of praise to You,
let fruit appear from the blessing that You are showering,
let my weak youth now overflow splendid, intact
in a life grounded on You, let Your light shine through my branches.
[Reference: Vroegherfs (Four prayers during the yearly seasons in the Boland: Early autumn) by N.P. van Wyk Louw]
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poem by Gert Strydom
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The beret must have been a dead give away
To this day I know that
the beret must have been
a dead give away,
and the shoulder flashes
also proclaimed something
of the military unit that I belonged to.
Tired and almost asleep on my feet
after the long military flight
out of the war zone,
the soft rain smelled
fresh and it was cold
where I hiked
the last stint home.
Fourteen days leave
came as a real blessing
and just being away
and back in the states
was really great
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poem by Gert Strydom
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Crying against the wind
I
I saw boys growing up as
Christians,
learning about God,
being taught at school,
to respect
about discipline,
to stretch the mind
and the boys were young and innocent
and for us there were peace.
We slept with unlocked doors,
the police did their job
to the best of their ability,
but the world changed.
II
I saw the effects
of the terrorist bomb
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poem by Gert Strydom
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Lament
When I was but a primary school boy
I would play with a girl
as my mate
and she had freckles
close to her nose
and red hair swishing
in a neat ponytail
and I would blush
when she gave me
a innocent kiss
and my heart
would miss a beat
and we would share our sandwiches
or eat each others
and to me that girl was really neat.
When I got a little older
I was really shy, when a lovely girl
caught my eye
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poem by Gert Strydom
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Beauty Like Hers (Sonnet Corona)
I
Beauty like hers has an unknown quality
as in a radiant mystery that is sublime
as for a while caught in time
even unto life’s finality
with a natural adaptability
as something past reason and rhyme
even apart from spring in its prime
and when she smiles at me it is in humility
and each day there is more glory than before
as if a spirit divine is in her heart
as if this sweetness can last forevermore
like in a masterpiece of art
can stretch even past this life’s shore
as if we will never part.
II
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poem by Gert Strydom
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Young Koekemoer (in reply to A. Brodrick)
Way back in the days
of the old Transvaal republic
in the Marico district lived a young farmer
called Hans Koekemoer, who was a great horseman
and a superb marksman
who crossed many rivers with his roan horse
and owned a Martini Henri rifle
and he was a great lover, skilled and sought by many ladies
and no other guy could compete with him
but one day an impi of Matabele warriors invaded the great Marico
burning down farmsteads, raiding cattle and killing farmers,
women and children
and the farmers were called up on commando
riding out on their horses with guns in their hands
and they fought bravely against that impi.
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poem by Gert Strydom
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Something About The Girl Called Spring (Sonnet Corona)
I
Just after winter you are back enchanting
with unfolding blossoms on hot sunny days
playing your roles in all your beautiful ways
as if every day is a grand setting
with colours and smells alluring, inviting
man, animals and insects to stray
in orchards, gardens and in the veldt to play
wherever you may be wandering
while insects and birds sing sweet melodies,
even the breeze is charming
in the season that you bequeath
that becomes a time of sweet memories
while everywhere life is swarming;
flowers are as fragrant as your breath.
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poem by Gert Strydom
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To someone that I loved
I. The odours of jasmine
The odours of jasmine, gardenia
and lavender sneaks in
through the room’s window
and it smells like a perfumery
while rays upon rays march over the bed
climbing over your arms, body and legs
while we lie stretched out
close to each other,
ignoring the sounds from the street,
where cars rush by,
the barks of the dogs
yelping at passing strangers,
only when you wake up,
I draw the curtains shut
as we feel the coldness of twilight
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poem by Gert Strydom
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