Afrikaner genetics (in answer to Koos A. Kombuis)
Maybe wild trees grow
the yards of your ancestors,
their worth have become nothing
like stale salt,
their faces are yellow
and most of them are squint,
they walk without words to nowhere
but I have a God that stands with me
and my ancestors,
with brave men that do not disregard their duty
who do not imagine them above others
who had chosen their wives
out of a people that God himself planted
and your insults of my people and me
make me raving mad, worse that just angry.
[Reference: Afrikanergenetika (Afrikaner genetics) by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Forced Song (parody)
(with apology to Koos A. Kombuis)
Like a tart
in hungry weeks,
I yearn to reel
– with a flowering girl-
with pornography
in children’s libraries
my members and I
are stinking rotten
like my god Hitler
that lives with me in Soweto,
like honourable gentlemen
visiting a in ghetto
heavy and bulky,
I am writing in a hurry
even when I bump my head
just as it pleases me.
[Reference: Kwang-gesang (Kwang hymn) by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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By man’s own actions (in answer to Koos A. Kombuis)
By man’s own actions
the world has become dreary
and sly foxes sneak around
among the rubbish dumps
but my people
have a covenant with the almighty God
who mercifully rescues them from distress
and everyone that follows Him is chosen.
By man’s own ingenuity and profit mongering
there are natural disasters waiting,
the unrest of the sea is instigated
while factories fill the air with smoke
and according to the word of God
He is the source from where selfless love comes.
[Reference: 1999½ by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Terrible mathematics (in answer to Koos A. Kombuis.)
By man’s own actions
the world has become dreary
and sly foxes sneak around
among the rubbish dumps
but my people
have a covenant with the almighty God
who mercifully rescues them from distress
and everyone that follows Him is chosen.
By man’s own ingenuity and profit mongering
there are natural disasters waiting,
the unrest of the sea is instigated
while factories fill the air with smoke
and according to the word of God
He is the source from where selfless love comes.
[Reference: 1999½ by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Open letter (parody)
(with apology to Koos A. Kombuis)
Are you still living?
Do you sleep peacefully during the day,
while at the work being totally nuts?
Without being able to do a single stitch?
In the battle you fight
against everything that is orderly or looks white,
in back street
at your whorehouses?
Is there a little bit of dust
in your kitchens or behind your cupboards?
Is your black PA full of emotion?
Do you sit comfortable on the porch?
(Mind it, with too many ignorant people you have got trouble,
that lets a company go down and makes people call on God.)
If you do not care and have wiped
all the murders from your hands
or do really understand
or sell it like a burlesque on television
and without people knowing it are resting
while unholy fire burns in your beds,
you can break eleven commandments
and put guns to the heads of people
while you kick them
against their shoulders saying:
“Good, we will go further,
this is how it’s supposed to be
when some winters come to the white man.
Take everything and invade without mercy
even rob the poor and the drunk,
even insult an envoy of Bill Clinton
while spit runs from your mouths.”
(but be very angry
and killers and thieves without any ambition.)
Do you political role players
really find equity for the injustice and crime that are gnawing?
Can you instigate the masses still further?
(for heaven’s sake)
“Does God not hear our prayers? ”
[Reference: Ope brief aan die body corporate (Open letter to the body corporate) by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Sunday afternoon at the monument (parody)
(with apology to Koos A. Kombuis)
My love and song is totally wrong
not like something out of Afrikaner blood,
my love and song is for everyone
who undress for me, who eat with me
and fold open at a picnic
in the shades of the language monument rock
to my thanks my love and song proclaims me as the boss
it is refused in this country
with smells on the wind
and by laymen on sidewalks
with their prayers
my love and song is for everyone whom I like
but without a church or a law;
just where I am going, without suspicion and totally immoral
– casual and with ceremony -
my love and song is fragrant, like cheese you can smell it from far
and my fingers dance
on my small cellular phone.
[Sondagmiddag by die monument by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Smoke and poker (parody
(with apology to Koos A. Kombuis)
in the lane of the light
we go into the location
and there create family
on beds with blankets without sheets.
[Rook en poker (Smoke and poker) by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Like a light coming in darkness (in answer to Koos A. Kombuis)
Like a light coming in darkness
I am waiting on You my God
to lead me to the right road
languishing for Your words and commandments
and ask that You do not look past
people that mock You openly
and amusingly serve Satan
as if their destiny in life
are in their own hands
and I need You to fill my lamp
and ask for Your forgiving of them too
and forgive the whole lot of them
that do not have a clue of who and what You are
and if it’s possible lead them from the darkness.
[Reference: Kwang-gesang (Kwang song) by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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I’ll Change My Name
I give you thanks all my people
Congratulations,
For helping change my name
Which initials would not be known to our ancestors.
I’ll change my mother tongue and modify my Alma-matter
I’ll change my voice so you would no longer recognize my songs
I’ll cut all the favorable crops in the farm and plant in it new ones
Just like the frog, I’ll bathe in waters
In order to differ from the toad.
All because I’ll change my name
Which initials would not be known to our ancestors.
I write this to you all my people
That ignorance deserted me from my own land
And I’ll come back no more
I gave it in worlds that you could understand
In parables I left it with others that they would also understand
And tell the ancestors that
I’ll change my name which initials would not be known to them
Tell me if the ancestors are still alive,
Lying there and see you helped me change my name
Tell me if they have lost their eyes and years
That they can’t see and hear
If so, then my people, you those
Whose fire woods have reached your head load
Go and tell them, I say
I’ll change my name which initials would not be known to them.
Once men could now see and hear
That I’ll change my name;
Today that I’m felt with the muse of poetry
In my shabby cloths
I gave it out in words and parables
That you helped me change my name.
Thanks,
Thank you all my people
Congratulations,
Tell them and more handsome rewards from heavens
If not too far from you
Just because you helped me change my name
Which initials would not be known to our ancestors
But still, I’ll change my name.
copyright (c) Sep.2006 E. Korsi Senyo Kumedzina
poem by Korsi Senyo
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If people fabricate situations (in answer to Koos A. Kombuis)
If people fabricate situations
where you want to fit in
the culture, values and norms
(like in the voortrekkers or army)
of the Afrikaner
as if we are people
in whom everything is noted to book
who destroy ourselves
to fit into the system
you are totally lost
and maybe it’s in your own spirit
where the fear bites, bites
as if you yourself do not fulfil
do not know God, honour our serve Him
and systematically is busy destroying yourself
where you believe that Johnny has not died
from a overdose of drugs
and are just lying unconscious and you yourself
are existing half lifeless
as if you are standing at the forefront
of a new revolution
while really you are perishing like Johnny.
[References: voortrekkers: A youth organization like the boy scouts. Calvyn op hitte (Calvin on heat) by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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For too long I am waiting (in answer to Koos A. Kombuis)
For too long I am waiting
caught in a anthill,
that people call an apartment,
where everyone lives for himself
as if the others do not exist
and music bleats right through the night,
people of another race shamelessly
cavort, whore and drink.
For too long criminals stare at me on the street,
Zimbabweans, Tanzanians and people
from right across Africa sniggers
as if my music system, DVD player and TV
in the lounge belongs to them
and hit with lashing tongues
in French and Portuguese
which here is totally foreign
and I have got to look if an AK-47
is pointing at me
when I drive with my car from the garage.
For too long I receive foolish electronic mails
and SMS’s on my computer and cellular phone
from a certain political party,
as if these people in a way
have an interest in my jobless situation
while in parliament
they do not oppose affirmative action
and my last cents left my purse.
I despise the rubbish
on the front papers of newspapers
and do not want to know
how the president’s seventh wife looks like
while my whole country
is falling to pieces bit by bit
and the Afrikaner is systematically mauled
with poverty waiting
and like a total idiot
is totally unaware of it
until catastrophe hits him.
Knights swear at others on the road
and have relationships with each other’s wives
while they live only for the here and now
and Philistines from right across Africa
surge in millions
and overnight become citizens
with greater and better rights
and to nowhere else
they are going to drive me out
even if they write abusive names
and who now what
in graffiti writing
while every morning, afternoon and night
I lift my eyes to the almighty God.
[Reference: Psalm 150 (b) by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Some people are your relatives but others are your ancestors, and you choose the ones you want to have as ancestors. You create yourself out of those values.
quote by Ralph Ellison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We did not own this country (in answer to Mathews Phosa)
We did not own this country
the Lord gave it to our ancestors
and when they stepped ashore here,
hordes came from eMbo out of the north
and the country also did not belong to them.
Let you see us as intruders,
you yourself are intruders,
a multitude of people out of the tribes
of Zulu, Xhosa, Swazi en Pondo
came from the big lakes under leadership
of chief Dklamini and later chief Nguni.
Our ancestors made a sacred covenant with God
to be able to survive
and still this relationship is held high
as forever God remains the same
and the people that now governs
do not represent me, are proclaiming laws
that are oppressing my Afrikaner people and me,
making me a third rate citizen
and I did not surrender this country
even less have left it
or have neglected any civil duties
and I am waiting on the salvation
coming out of the hand
of the almighty God.
[References: “Bulala Bathakathi” and “ons het ons land verlaat” (we left the country / land) by Mathews Phosa. (The poet Mathews Phosa is the premier of the Orange Free State province) ]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The people made worse off by slavery were those who were enslaved. Their descendants would have been worse off today if born in Africa instead of America. Put differently, the terrible fate of their ancestors benefitted them.
quote by Thomas Sowell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unbelievers
Calling all you non-achievers
We are as one and we make a stand
Our wishes of no direction
Repay (?) the same till we reach the end
I imagine all these people
Running up to shake our hands
As we walk along we could be famous
We walk along we could be famous
Yellow buses, streams of caravans
Winding the highway like a snake
Pity all those unbelievers
Busy in life till they make the grey [break]
I imagine ancient places
Sunbeat in some endless heat as
We walk along we could be famous
We walk along we could be dreamers
We walk along we could be strangers
We walk along we could be dangerous
I imagine all these places
I imagine all these things as
We walk along we could be famous
We walk along we could be invisible
We walk along we could be strangers
We walk along we could be dangerous
We walk along we could be famous
We walk along we could be invisible
We walk along we could be strangers
We walk along we could be dangerous...
song performed by by Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Want To Be A Good Forefather!
Praise be to our forefathers who toiled hard,
On the soaked infested soil to flatten and build,
The dreams of what they thought specifically apt,
to their children of their children to relax and rest.
Visionaries were our ancestors, who have planned,
The neutral policies to benefit the people to thrive,
What thought they needed, that were appropriate,
to have a happy family with money and sweat.
People have luxury as they have had the adventurous ancestors,
People lead prosperous life at the intelligence of their elders,
People have the voice to speak and force others to listen,
As they have had the adaptable forefathers who have the vision.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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The approaching day of judgement (in answer to Koos A. Kombuis)
Make a big mockery and laugh
about the approaching day of judgement
as if the destiny of man is a myth,
when the almighty God comes at His time in power
people will beg mountains to fall on them,
when his dire thunders flash everywhere
and graves open,
you will stand before the creator of the universe.
[Rook en oker (Smoke and ochre) by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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You Tell Me Of Your Australian History
You tell me of your Australian history your ancestors were British and Irish pioneers
But your history in this Land is not an old history just two centuries and twenty years
And in time that may seem quite a long span though the combined life spans of three people nothing more
Your ancestors hardly were Aussies they came here from a distant shore.
The first Australians have lived in this Country for longer than most care to know
Their ancestors came here from Asia more than sixty thousand years ago
They are indigenous to this Country all others have links to elsewhere
Yet they still struggle for recognition and that to me seems quite unfair.
Dispossessed by the Northern invaders they never did get back their Land
And that they are now ruled by white people I find that hard to understand
You talk of the history of this Land as if it were only two hundred years old
But then suppose the history of the ancient Dreamtime by white people will never be told.
I was not even born in this Country which makes you more Aussie than I
And though I'm not Nationalistic or Patriotic my heritage I won''t deny
You talk of your pioneering ancestors but why talk of Human history at all
If the history of the first Australians you do not see fit to recall.
You tell me of your pioneering ancestors but one fact you tend to ignore
That they were not born in this Country they came here from a foreign shore
You''d swear by you the Human history of this Land was only two centuries old
But the true history of this great Country by your type will never be told
poem by Francis Duggan
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Today You Guys Are Just Going To Have To Wait
At times I feel,
I provoke the ghosts...
Of my ancestors.
Especially when I know,
I am not at my best!
And rest I'd rather get.
Than to impress with those gifts,
From which I did get,
As a result of my ancestors blood and sweat.
Never did I wish,
To sit...
In the taking for granted,
Of those I represent and miss.
But I do admit,
A feeling I provoke...
The wishes of my ancestors.
Those ghosts within me that make visits.
Awaiting impatiently to do...
Not what I want.
But what they insist!
'Today you guys are just going to have to wait,
And sit.
I am tired.
I need rest.
And rest I am going to get! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Many voices sing a song (in answer to HA Fagan)
Many voices sing a song
that asks the blessing of God
over the whole territory,
the continent of Africa
and there are millions standing there
everyone settled in one continent
Zulu, Xhosa and every Shangane
as if planted by Your own hand,
but where is the place of the Afrikaner,
where the Afrikaner can also flower?
Of the white woman and man
that comes from this earth?
We are down trodden, everyone expelled,
Boers, that You Yourself cause to sprout here.
[Reference: ‘Nkosi Sikelel’ i-Afrika by HA Fagan.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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My Ancestors Still Speaks
Hear the Negros from my ancestors to the generation of young Blacks
Americans proudly say: Our black is united together around the world,
different ethnic backgrounds together we are one.
Our black stands strong through the evil of racism and diversity
Our black is bold
Our black is free
Our black lives on
My ancestors still speaks.
poem by Anasha Greham
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