A glimpse of God
It’s twilight and there is such serenity, Lord
where I sit at a pond and the water
doesn’t even ripple out,
the eastern sky is still more yellow than orange,
has a soft warm embrace
and I hardly move scared that my presence here
will disturb or destroy the silence
will be blasphemy to your presence
that is still lingering
and the reflection of the rising sun
is a large orange ball on the glittering pool
and the sheer beauty with the wild aloes,
protea flowering trees remind me
of how Eden must have been
and in the slight wind that is now blowing
leaves barely tremble
and this place, this world you are drawing me into
has no threat, no pain or terror
just the grace and splendour of your everlasting love
and the cobalt sky has purity to it, freshness
that is overwhelming.
[Reference: Glimpse of God by Tatamkhulu Afrika.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
Night was coming
Night was coming
with a piercing huge orange sun
breaking through
white and black clouds
in the west.
It found a gap
and the sun was hanging
like a orange ball
above the street
and it was blinding.
Cars passed barely visible
above the orange glare
and some had already
turned their lights on.
The sun dipped down
below some trees
and for a time
it glowed behind them
and soon it would be dark
and the first stars
were already appearing
and a full yellow moon
was rising,
but below bright lights
was already burning
right across the city
in colours of amber
streetlights
green, yellow and red
traffic lights,
blue lights flashing
on police cars
and almost every bright colour
caught on neon signs
while people came and went
to different destinations
some smiling and relaxed,
others in a hurry
and some others
locked in a world of their own.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Reflections In A Country Churchyard (Cavatina Sequence)
At the very foot of some green hillocks
covered in
orange flowering aloes and proteas
some rows begin
in a place of tranquillity and rest;
avoid of sin
my father and some saints await the call
of God's clarion gathering large and small.
Some cypress trees are waving in the breeze,
wild doves wander
cooing in the trees, in some rocks a small
salamander
hides from the heat while grass covers the veldt,
no noise slander
through the aeons the rest of forefathers
while that graveyard them together gathers.
Those people had a true great compassion
for fellow men,
were religious zealots but different,
they did know when
to stand back and be selfless in their love,
to find Eden,
daily in sincerity they walked,
of much greater Godly things they talked.
Strange it may seem today but all their time
and wealth was spent
to follow their Godly master's calling;
sacred, decent
were their lives in their love of Him and man,
each small talent
went only to the Lord's eternal cause
for themselves they did not even pause.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Turning Leaves
Red, red, red
Right ahead,
Yellow, yellow like the sun,
Through the leaves run,
Orange, orange many trees,
Blowing in the breeze,
A few evergreens,
Many autumn scenes,
Walk along a stream,
Seems as a dream,
Add blue and white,
A bird in flight,
Climb to the top,
Seems the forest never stop,
From the tower view,
Only get a clue,
Sunset indigo and violet,
If only for a bit,
Walk among the leaves,
Feel the fall breeze.
poem by Fritzner Erauda
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When the wind started blowing in the afternoon
When the wind started blowing in the afternoon,
some African red-knobbed coots rose in a screaming row,
while the sun hanged over the water red like fire
and the twilight only lasted moments
while they flew past with slapping wings,
when the wind started blowing in the afternoon,
I felt a light breeze blowing against my cheek,
there was serenity and peace that came to me
while the sun hanged over the water red like fire,
there was a kind of bliss in nature
when dappled Egyptian goose also tried to avoid me,
when the wind started blowing in the afternoon,
I was caught by the sheer beauty,
I heard the call of birds cutting through the reeds,
while the sun hanged over the water red like fire
while the sky was darker and no more azure,
while ducks glide magically through the water,
when the wind started blowing in the afternoon,
the sun hanged over the water red like fire.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Fishes' Message, Poet: Sohrab Sepehri
I went to the pond
Hoping to see the reflection of my loneliness in the water
There was no water in the pond.
The fishes were saying:
'"It is not the trees' fault at all.
It was a sultry summer noon,
The bright son of water, sat by the pond's edge
And the eagle of the sun dived down and lifted him up & up in the air.
To hell with our not reaching any oxygen from water.
And the glitter has left our scales all together.
Instead, that big light,
The reflection of that red carnation in the water
Whose heart, if the wind was blowing, would beat behind the layers of neglect,
was our eyes.
It was a window to the confession of paradise.
If you see God in the palpitations of the garden,
Make an effort and tell him that the fishes'' pond is dry.'"
The wind was going to visit the plane tree,
I was going to visit God.
poem by Mehraneh Hosseini
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Autumn Fair
You long to see bright Autumn days,
With colorful leaves on yonder trees
In tones of yellow, orange and red
Before Nature's annual freeze.
The colors will burst in every direction,
The tree boughs no longer are green,
Nuts dropping to the leaf strewn ground
Where large, orange pumpkins now are seen.
You long want to see the hues of an Autumn Fair
And the bright sun rising above the distant hill.
You long feel the coolness on your cheeks,
to hear the wind's steady shrill.
Autumn waves her magic wand,
The aroma of leaves you will consume,
The enchanting days of summer are gone,
The land is overwhelmed by Nature's perfume.
There are memories of other Autumn days
That your heart will recall as you ponder,
The gigantic trees and the dropping leaves
As they gave you a special moment of wonder.
But now - you sit before a window
Watching the soft and steady precipitation,
Far from the picturesque Autumn days -
Snow accumulating without any hesitation.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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In sheer beauty my mistress’ eyes exceeds the sun (in answer to William Shakespeare)
In sheer beauty my mistress’ eyes exceeds the sun,
her lips is more pretty than it’s rising,
her breasts are tender and pure, each one
with a pink fragility, rose tipped, quite amazing
and no wires or even wheat or corn is apt to the hue
of her fair hair, or as tender as its strings
and her breath, her odour outshines that of her retinue
and in its freshness reminding me of new awakenings
and some coy innocence is in the blush on her cheeks
when alluring she is passionate and ready for my delight
and almost hungrily, reaches seeks
for my company, my body as a lily of the night:
spreading her petals, unfolding, drawing me into her embrace
in sheer magic, using almost divine grace.
[Reference: Sonnet 130 My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun by William Shakespeare.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The blossoming
I thank you Lord
that you by grace blessed me
to let my slender flowers grow
flooding over in bell like strings
in internodes, joints of roses
not peach, purple or pink
like others of my kind
but in a pure white colouring
with odourless buds opening
and some ridicule, hold my words,
my verses of rhyme and free form in parody
but my flowering is from your hand
and I can understand that they are thinking
of flowers like roses, irises, geraniums
which are tempered against the elements
bringing forth fragrant odours
that perfumes the air
but in your shade and care I am blossoming.
[Reference: The blossoming by Tatamkhulu Afrika.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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An Orange Painting! ! !
An orange photograph
painted on the sky
a canvas far and high
my thought then flies
as wind it blows
to a day many years ago
I was a boy, a child
dreams were big and wild
it was a usual evening
I lied on the grass daydreaming
I saw the sky was empty
no twilight I perceived
Then I raised my hand
to the sky my fingers went
I drew a line on the sky
so lengthy and so high
I depicted conscientiously
the twilight I'd like to see
As my point finger moved
an orange color bloomed
An orange twilight was formed,
an empty sky was gone.
Long from that day I age already
older today I might have been
It's been nine years passed
I don't even recall where it was
Years have passed from that day,
many things change too,
If many have changed,
I might have changed too.
But when today I see the twilight,
a familiar thought flashes bright
and a question appears to me,
so warmly and so vividly
'Is the orange color in the sky today,
is the same twilight I've drawn that day? '
poem by Kite Remedy
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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
and join in body and soul.
II. On the porch we watch the setting sun
On the porch we watch the setting sun,
while sweet St. Anna wine
sparkles in our glasses
and there’s an intimacy,
a type of tranquillity
in the experience of early evening
while lights shine yellow and white in the distance,
the bottom of the clouds is almost ruby-red,
the black are already darkening some clouds,
while other remains snowy-white
the darkness catches us
with a full yellow moon
and like naughty children
we sneak into our house,
we sneak into our own bedroom
while joy foams like champagne
we are very intimately together
melting into one body
and while your hand later
still caress my back like a butterfly
barely touching here and there
I realise that you are the best part of me,
with your soft sweet lips
barely touching my cheek,
your hot breath against my body.
III. While the night is being born
While the night is being born,
the darkness sneaks into our house,
sneaks into our bedroom,
a sudden breeze begins blowing
far off against the horizon
near to the Magaliesberg mountains
blue-white streaks of thunder
flashes like canon fire
while we can smell
the scent of rain, of wet earth
on the breeze that is blowing stronger,
tossing the small potato trees to and thro
your face is full of terror
in the light of a lightning bolt
falling just outside of the window
and your eyes look big and white
while I cuddle you close to me
and your arms enfold, wrap around me drawing
me still closer and suddenly
the night is chilly
while big drops of rain pound down,
splashing until the rain pours like a torrent
and we find comfort in each other
melting with passion into one another.
IV. The alarm clock wakes me
The alarm clock wakes me
while it’s still twilight
and with the falling rain
the early morning is still dark
as if the night is lingering.
Outside the large jacaranda trees
wave in the storm wind
dropping purple-blue flowers
like a shower of confetti
and the street gleams
while cars drive past splashing
water in a spray
and we have to get ready
for the new day
and quite lazily you stretch out,
drawing me back to bed,
drawing me close to you,
drawing me into your warmth
while our lips, bodies and limbs
intertwine to become one.
V. We agree to meet for lunch
We agree to meet for lunch
in a restaurant just off church street
on a autumn day
on the twentieth of May
and you are smiling,
lifting a glass of red champagne,
when so near that we can feel the wind of it
a tremendous explosion erupts shattering,
shattering the innocent people in Church Street
with deadly sharp pieces of glass and concrete
and I pull you down to the ground
as we take cover behind the small table
where we were eating,
the air is suddenly full
with the sound of people
screaming in pain and terror
and as we rush out,
going into Church Street
and there’s blood and guts everywhere
with terrified, screaming, mutilated
and wounded people
where ever we look
and you cry in relieve of escape,
in sheer terror and shock
and the world has gone amok.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Early spring
Lord God, can we ask for your presence,
for a sign of your grace
and let your rain, sun and wind contribute
to the wonder of the coming summer
in the decoration of colours from your hand
and let grass, leaves and flowers now appear
and where it is rather dry,
hear my lament.
Lord God, can we ask for your presence,
for birds to whistle in tree branches,
singing songs about the growth that you bring
in the decoration of colours from your hand
that all flowers that this spring brings
becomes a sign, that you still guard us against evil
and let your rain, sun and wind contribute
to new life that appears,
let even my own conceit die, that my life
sing songs about the growth that you bring
and let me act to your will
and remove all inequity, all damage.
Lord God, can we ask for your presence,
that I always keep my eyes on you elevated high,
that the mistakes of my youth disappear
and remove my inequity, that my life
can become aimed to where you lead, bringing your love across
that I glitter like a light, a star in your Pleiades
let your rain, sun and wind contribute
that my life can shine bright for you,
and others can see your character in me,
that the mistakes of my youth disappear
that every word and deed from me represents your great love
to the whole of humanity, my children and wife.
Lord God, can we ask for your presence,
and let your rain, sun and wind contribute
that everyone can know what a wonderful God I serve,
to the wonder of the coming summer,
and others can see your character in me,
and let grass, leaves and flowers now appear.
[Reference: Vroegherfs (Early Autumn) by NP van Wyk Louw.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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If I Had a Paintbrush
If I had a paintbrush, I'd paint my world orange.
Orange for the Destruction and Purity of Fire;
For the Power of the Sun;
For the Patience and Innocence of a Child;
For the careful Balance between the Material and Spiritual;
For the Happiness and Goodness in the World;
For Light and the Truth.
Orange for Life.
And among all the millions of shades of orange,
I would paint a splash of light green.
Green for Hope.
poem by Zoe Guillory
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Mothers' Love
It rips at the soul the way only a mothers love could do.
The freshness of it is yet of the autumn dew.
Trees start to turn the colors of reds, yellows and orange.
And then is the sadness in which it comes. the first brown leaf being crumbled up and blowing away.
It becomes dirt and creates something new.
A little baby sprout is growing from it.
It carries but the very features she has.
One day too, she'll become like the freshness of the autumn dew.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Late autumn
The yellow veldt, the skeleton chestnut trees
specs of orange-red aloes in the kopje
are near to the old white house
and in the late afternoon shades draw long lines
while I walk up to the house on the red-brown dirt road
and most of the flowers in the garden are stripped bare
but a few irises are flowering yellow,
purple and cream brown
and the sky is dull blue and the early evening cold
is already on the wind that is rustling everything
and after years I open the garden gate
are coming back to my childhood home
stripped from illusions,
and I am bare from the childhood innocence
but full of hope
and looking through a mature man’s eyes.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Sun's yellow
Sun, s yellow grow,
yellow seedlings green;
Unless present the sun
photosynthesis not seen.
Green leaves change to
yellow in autumn;
Longer goes for rest
shorter present the sun.
Leaves paint landscape
in sun, s presence;
Chlorophyll goes green,
carotenoids orange.
Intensity of the sun
lot to bear on weather;
Land, s wetness goes
human sweats in summer.
(C) S. D. Tiwari
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Spring is....... by Lawrence Brophy
One lovely plant blowing across the beach
Two old ants walking across the grass
Three sweet fish jumping over the water
Four nice frogs leaping under a blooming flower
Five crazy ducks swimming in the pool
Six black bats flying towards the animals
Seven yellow flowers swaying to the music of the wind
Eight large people sleeping near the pond
Nine perfect lambs bounding past the leaves
Ten mad bumblebees flying at the beach
poem by Ejiro Okoro
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A Fire-sky
The sunset was like a fire-sky
That truly lit up my world
Clouds were orange and yellow
Like a paintbrush making swirls
The beauty was overwhelming
But a little bit frightening as well
It raged as though with fury
As it all began to swell
The colors were also reflected
In the lake where trees surround
It was quiet as I stood mesmerized
There was barely a single sound
I saw some fellows out fishing
Their bodies in semi-dark
Nothing looked quite real
The lake looked cold and stark
I doubt that I will ever see
A sunset just like this again
The entire sky so unimaginable
In a shocking kind of blend!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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Autumn Leaves Changing Colors
As summer ends and autumn comes
Days get shorter, misty and cold
And in this spectacular season
Nature's beauty graciously unfold
Trees get ready to slow down
And in autumn take some rest
And show amazing colors of love
That are all at their best
Green fades away quickly
And yellow and orange appear
To show off their vibrant hues
And warmup their surrounding dear
Sunlight and cool nights of autumn
Help leaves to turn orangish red
And combine all things smoothly
To add magic in season's lovely bed
And all this shedding and replacement
Of leaves continue throughout the year
And trees only shed leaves in autumn
To prepare for another winter dear
This is God's spectacular display
Of beautiful colors of the fall
During which many changes occur
Including yellow, orange and red of all.
***Inspired by the changing colors of autumn in Canada.
poem by Seema Chowdhury
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Morning Splendour
Sunrise like fire,
bleeding pink, orange, yellow
into the sky and
onto the buildings below.
Rapids of cloud run with colour,
chasing the anonymous dark emptiness of night,
engulfing it almost imperceptibly.
Trees become silhouettes against the light.
Soon the beauty will fade to ordinary,
dispersed across the vast expanse above. Yet
it will gather again on the other side,
collecting yellow, orange, pink as the sun sets.
poem by Jean Renwick
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The Life I Live
It has been said that blue is the color of the sky although others may say
Blue is an emotion when someone is close to tears-
Sad, melancholy and disheartened-
I look upwards toward the sky on a sunny day when
I don’t feel sad and blue.
Green is the color of the leaves upon the trees, although
I have heard others say they are jealous- green or envious-
I enjoy the trees, especially in the summertime,
Blown about in a gentle and cooling breeze-
The same leaves turn yellow, gold and orange in the autumn and
Fire blazes a bright red in color-
It is the fire of my spirit that burns
When anger plagues my troubled mind-
Rain falls and puts out the fires but
The rage inside of me is a shade of red that will not be tamed.
I look upward towards the sky on a sunny day,
As the leaves upon the trees rustle in the wind-
I pray for the rain to fall to quench the fury that burns my soul-
I don’t feel melancholy blue or jealous-green-
I have days when I enjoy the colors of the autumn foliage-
But the color red of rage defines the life I live.
Today I glance upward toward the blue sky and the leaves upon the trees-
Today I feel sad and blue and close to tears because
Of the pain that the fire inside of me that is always burning-
If the sun and the trees could laugh and send me good vibrations perhaps
They would cheer me and I could capture the colors blue, green, orange and yellow-
And perhaps even red as being bold and beautiful-
And with these colors I could paint a rainbow upon my horizon and
There would be no reason for anger to smolder my heart again-
I could laugh with the sun at the splendor of the rainbow against the sky of cobalt blue- And glad to say that raging fire of resentment
Is behind me now and I never feel sad and blue because
I have repainted my world with colors of joy, happiness and eagerness
To live my new life beneath that rainbow of contentment.-
Claudia Krizay
poem by Claudia Krizay
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