After Ventersdorp,4 April 2010
In storm language the wind talks
blind full of thunder
that draws blue lines
over the tar road
and the Jacarandas wriggle,
washing on balconies are jerked
and now angry
the wind howls and cries
and I see lightning bolts
slamming down near the Union Buildings.
Rows of maize fields greet me
where the knobs stand green
and there’s no peace
coming from the greeting
and in vain is waited on the murdered farmer
and somewhere there are cattle bellowing
but not for long anymore
as the slaughterers
are sharpening their Panga-blades
and have already violated the farmer
his wife and daughter,
have stolen what they can
and nobody can stop the plunder and pillage
of the country
as a swarm of locust are descending.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
Farmer's Daughter
I do come from miles away,
Ain't got no place to stay.
Glad to help you plow your fields,
Farmer's daughter.
Might be just a couple of days,
Clean up, rest, and be on my way.
Thank you, madam, much obliged,
Farmer's daughter.
So long, got to leave your land.
Many thanks, it was might grand.
I do hope to see you again,
Farmer's Daughter.
Farmer's Daughter.
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The farmer
The farmer isn’t dead
the earth that he adores, still remembers him
where his wife is raped,
his toddler daughter also
where his house is burnt to ruin
still stand smoking after the mad plunder
he lies half burnt, with his face distorted
and who will ever bring justice here?
The farmer lifts his fists against the wind
stand blinded against the horizon
searches perplexed for answers that are still missing
tries to find judgement from the Almighty One
And the wind turns dust from the red ground,
the earth is also badly wounded.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Let the scoundrels return
Like a lightning bolt
coming out of a blue sky
there are bombs falling
in a field where maze
stand green and ripe in neat rows
and craters are left and the field is on fire.
A few more bombs fall exploding
between cattle grazing in the field
and some are blasted to pieces
and the cows in terror forget about their milk.
The farmer is woken from his afternoon nap
and grabs his hunting rifle.
“We hit the wrong target”
the flight leader confirms
and the farmer waits with a gun in hand
on the planes to return and says:
“let the scoundress return.”
poem by Gert Strydom
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Under A Merciless Sun
Under a sun that burns merciless hot,
the wild wind and unrestrained weather
the farmer kneels humble before God
ploughs his fields, takes seed in both his hands
see the twirling wind from a distance,
then prays again sincerely to the Lord,
before he plants the seeds, ask for blessings
when his tractor pulls red dust from the field.
Big drops pour down for days without an end,
time and again the farmer thanks his God,
with a fresh smell coming from the wet earth
overnight all of the wild grass is green,
it’s dripping wet as far as he can see;
the farmer lives connected to God.
poem by Gert Strydom
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With blazing, electric blue thunder
(after Pablo Neruda)
With blazing, electric blue thunder
the morning is alive in this summer.
The wind tosses the threatening clouds like washing
torn from the line, waving goodbye without hands.
The mouthless harsh voice of the wind
howls right through our blissful silence.
Thunder bolts rock exploding in bright white light
while the wind rips leaves, branches and trees
as if in remembrance of long gone battles and wars
while it tosses squalls of pattering buckets of rain
sounding like the roar of a havoc orchestra
from the very gates of destruction, right from hell
while big oak trees sway as if only twigs,
some topple torn right out from their roots
and against me storm tossed in passion you are laying,
coming weightless full of fiery blazing desire,
with tender sweet lips that are kissing bringing bliss
and outside the wind roars as if its power is endless.
[Reference: “Es La Mañana Llena” “The Morning Is Full” by Pablo Neruda.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Yonder Thunder
There comes a time in everyone’s life,
just before an approaching storm.
They hear the yonder thunder,
with a warning for them there.
Some of us ignore it;
do what we must do.
Then throw caution to the wind,
to let it blow its scorn.
We stand to look at the thunder,
of the approaching storm.
The sky goes black, the wind howls,
with angry voices there.
We stand tall against the sky,
ready to face the coming foe.
Are we brave or stupid,
or don’t we really know?
The storm passes overhead,
and then the dust settles down.
Are we still standing tall,
or are we cowering on the ground?
We all ask this question,
at the yonder thunder’s call.
Can we face our truths,
or will we be among those cowering on the ground?
13 May 2007
poem by David Harris
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The Young Farmer
The young farmer is not dead
the earth that loves him, still remembers him,
where his young wife was raped by barbarians
and his small toddler daughter as well
where his farm house has been burned down to rubble
and is still smoking after the mad plundering
he lies half scorched, his face distorted
and who will be able to bring some justice here?
The farmer lifts his fists against the wind,
stand against the horizon somewhat blinded,
searches perplexed for missing answers
tries to find a judgement form God
and the wind turns dust up from the red ground,
even the earth is wounded.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Home invasion in Springs
Masked like the black criminals
that robs you of your car
and just there and there promises you death,
they arrived
with a mini bus taxi on the farm,
drove right through the farm gate
and at the front door
jumped out of the kombi
with five steps intruded into the house
to bring death to the farmer,
to rape the wife
and daughter.
The farmer heard the crash
at the gate,
he realized that it was big trouble
heard them in their own language command
to kill, while shot upon shot
was ringing from the front porch
and he though about the obliteration
of his whole family.
His wife was too far away
in the lounge busy with sewing
and he heard his daughter rushing screaming
to her mother
turned about hurried to the gun safe
and got hold of a pump action shotgun
with LG cartridges
and rushed down the hallway.
In the lounge four black criminals
aimed pistols at his daughter and wife
told them to strip themselves bare
and when they did not want to
one said to the others in his language
to kill them
while the farmer was sneaking
closer at the back of the lounge suite.
Just one glance from the farmer
made his wife and daughter fall to the ground
two shots came from the shotgun
lifting two of the gangsters right from their feet
and the other two started shooting
into the ceiling
and the wall of the lounge
and when the farmer fired again
they fled in fear to the outside
turning around to fire at the farmer
and another one dropped in his tracks,
the other ran wounded into the cornfield.
At the start the police, wanted to arrest
the farmer for the murder of the robbers,
but there was more than enough evidence
that it was self-defence,
even the farm workers
were witnesses
about the shooting, threat
of the robbers
and by his actions
the farmer saved himself, his wife and daughter
and the labourers praised him
as a kind and a just man
but at the church
some members regarded the farmer
as a mass killer
who had determined the fate of others with a shotgun.
poem by Gert Strydom
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My God witnesses every thing
My God witnesses every thing,
the woman crying at night
about the child that she doesn’t get,
the robbers sneaking around in the day
driving away with stolen cars,
the poor living in shacks
who have to live on a paupers wage,
the farmer working in his fields
who goes home at dusk,
the barbarians that assault him later
and kill him with panga blades
and there’s nothing that passes by my Lord
and on His time His justice follows,
His salvation and wondrous deeds unfold
and every day He sets the way
that every one of us go on.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Lightning Strikes Twice
(murray, harris)
I feel the breeze on my face in expectance
Not very long before the storm reaches here
Off in the distance the lightning is flashing again
Feel something strong as the power draws near
Is it the rolling of thunder that scares you
Is it the crashing of clouds that hold fear
But all I know as I sit in a corner alone
It takes me back to my childhood again
And as I wait and I look for an answer
To all the things going round in my head
I ask myself could it be a disaster and when
Its maybe threatening to happen again
As the ominous light draws near
Theres a lone dog howls in the park
All the people hurry inside
As a lightning flash lights dark
The storm is nearly here
Only God will know
Youre sitting alone you watch
As the wind is blowing treetops
And the swaying rustling leaves
Plenty of time to perceive
As you wait for rain to fall
Only God knows
The whole sky glows
Maybe lightning strikes twice
Maybe lightning strikes twice
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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They came in the middle of the night (in reply to Daniel P. Kunene)
They came in the middle of the night
in a huge crowd, almost like a lynching gang
the type who previously had torched,
burned their own alive
and in their hands were panga-blades,
spades, crowbars, pistols
and AK-47 sub-machineguns
and then there were the younger ones
who carried assegai spears and knives
and they were there to destroy home and hearth
to wipe the white farmer from the earth
singing: “a bullet for a white”
and had formed up like a ancient impi
in full might
and they assaulting the farmer, his children and wife
while shouting:
“Amandla! Amandla! Ngawethu! ”
and took law into their own hands,
robbed, tried to rape, to kill
while receiving an inhuman thrill from it.
[Reference: Do Not Ask Me by Daniel P. Kunene.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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No Valentine
He waited.
He waited...
But waited too long.
It was unexpected-
The debris was everywhere-
His hope.
He cried till he laughed...
Lonely laughter-
Roses wilted.
His sanity wilted.
His love wilted...
Wind howls...
Rain mourns...
Thunder moans from grief...
Lightning shows sadness...
The sight of heart-shaped balloons,
Teddy bears, chocolate boxes,
Fresh roses-
He leaped off into peace of mind.
poem by Eon Ezkiel
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While the storm outside is quieting down [2]
While the storm outside is quieting down
the last lightning bolts falls slamming
sounding like canon shots,
you are busy peeling an orange
and from fright you hand stops still
while we listen to the voice of the God.
While the storm outside is quieting down
the last lightning bolts falls slamming,
I polish the my pair of glasses,
you are again peeling in thin orange strips
that folds around your hand when you remember something
as if something has walked over your grave you are shuddering
while the storm outside is quieting down.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Farmer And The Stray Dog
the farmer arrives
bringing with him his
viand and rice
places it in the corner
of his hut,
the stray dog
gets in through its
sense of smell
and finds its catch
the farmer's
viand and rice
the catch is taken
far away
the farmer
is not angry for soon
a woman with a long
black hair arrives
bringing him
his broiled fish
and newly cooked rice
the woman is not
his wife
and there they are
under the shade of
the mango tree
the stray dog watches
as this story unfolds
to the final chapter
inside the hut
on such a very dark night
the dog is clever
and it knows the ending
the farmer is not angry
for dogs. mind you,
never tell.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This Wind
This wind it howls, this wind it moans,
A mournful eerie sound.
This wind gathers fallen autumnal leaves,
Just to dash them to the ground.
This wind makes fools of washing lines,
On its travels throughout the nation.
This wind plays with all the locomotives,
Huddled at St.Pancras railway station.
This wind buffets and shakes the aeroplanes,
As they seek a calmer, foreign sky.
This wind will grow tired soon enough,
Then it will surely die.
Wind Stopper
When the wind blows I have failed
So upon my head it shall hail
For I don't deserve such a title
If I can't stop something so vital.
My name is the Wind Stopper
and Wind I must stop
I have saved a town once or twice
but I have failed when a girl flew her kite.
You may not think that wind is bad
But you haven't seen the tings I have
A vicious storm can take a life
Is it worth living without your wife?
I once had a wife
but she was taken from me
A huge wind storm had taken her life
So I stop wind, now you see.
poem by Austin Alfano
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The Flying Dutchman
The blue water stretches
as far as visibility allows to see
and there’s fog
rising white before the storm
out of the water.
The dusk becomes grey
and the sea from blue to dark black
while the night
darker than ink, as only companion
folds over the old ancient ship.
It’s Van der Decken standing as tiller man
behind the big wheel
and forever he steers the ship
on the journey that she goes.
Always cursing
his loud voice thunders
like lightning falling around him
for sailors to tend the sails right
and sails are hoisted crunching, groaning and trembling
with strong ropes
and the ship jumps
over the smashing waves.
Like a phantom
the Flying Dutchman appears
with white sails like a wraith
over the horizon
where it sails before a storm with speed.
The ship becomes lager
as the storm wind
brings her closer
and you hear her creak
against the power of the wind.
There’s thunder bolts blinding suddenly
and sea birds flies screeching
out in front of her,
while Van der Decken’s skeleton
drills his men powerless
to set the sails right
that is vibrating against the wind.
“How long still Lord, ”
echoes against the sea and sky,
without a answer
ever coming
and suddenly the ship is gone
as if it disappeared in the naught.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Taxes On The Farmer Feeds Us All
(traditional, adapted by ry cooder)
(d) - (a) - (e)
(a) we worked through spring and winter, through (d) summer and through (a) fall
But the mortgage worked the hardest and the (e) steadiest of us all
It (a) worked on nights and sundays, it (d) worked each holiday
(e) settled down among us and it never went (a) away
The farmer comes to town with his wagon broken down
The farmer is the man who feeds us all
If you only look and see I know you will agree
That the farmer is the man who feeds us all
(a) the farmer is the man, the farmer is the man
He buys on his credit until (e) fall
Then they (a) take him by the hand
And they (d) lead him from his land
And the (e) merchant is the man who gets it (a) all
The farmer is the man, the farmer is the man
He lives on his credit until fall
With the interest rates so high
Its a wonder he dont die
But the taxes on the farmer feeds us all
Well, the banker says hes broke and the merchant stops and smoke
But they forget that its the farmer that feeds them all
It would put them to the test if the farmer took a rest
And theyd know that its the farmer that feeds them all
The farmer is the man, the farmer is the man
Lives on his credit until fall
Well, his pants are wearing thin
His condition, its a sin
cause the taxes on the farmer feeds us all
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Me & The Farmer
Me and the farmer get on fine
Through stormy weather and bottles of wine
If I pull my weight hell treat me well
But if Im late hell give me hell
And thought its all hard work no play
Farmer is a happy crook
Jesus hates him everyday
cause jesus gave and farmer took
{wont he let you go? } probably no
{wont he let you go? } probably no
{why does he treat you so? } I just dont know
{why does he treat you so? } I just dont know
Me and the farmer like brother, like sister
Getting on like hand and blister
Me and the farmer
Hes chpped down shppe, planted trees
And helped the countryside to breathe
Ripped up fields, bullied flocks
And workded his workers right around the clock
It may seem strange but hed admit
Intentions arent exactlly true
And through God loves his wife a bit
He hates the farmer through and through
{wont he let you go? } probably no
{wont he let you go? } probably no
{why does he treat you so? } I just dont know
{why does he treat you so? } I just dont know
Me and the farmer like brother, like sister
Getting on like hand and blister
Me and the farmer
All things bright and beautiful
All creatures gr3eat and small
All weve got is london zoo
cause farmer owns them all
song performed by by Housemartins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Excited Winds
As the wind blows
I almost know
I can feel the thrill
Without one kill
As the wind talks
I start to walk
No one understands
A man with no hands
As the wind yowls
It sounds like howls
Like women in need of money
Or craving for some honey
As the wind weeps
I get the creeps
It sounds like cries
When someone dies
poem by Cherra Redd
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