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Apocalypse

Maybe it was in a dream
that I saw them come past thundering,
heard their hoofs beating, resounding
one horse after another

white, red, black and grey
and their riders had great power to display
went out to conquer, to overwhelming declare war,
to measure off, to kill
and to annihilate

and these horses are not metaphors
but come as stark naked reality,
displaying the illness in all of humanity

where reason, passion and imagination
cannot come to the rescue,
where man takes what he wants by force,

gathering in huge numbers, to rob to maim,
to claim the land back
as if it has belonged to some long dead relative

declares war on one another, conquering,
robbing mineral wealth
and man lives without any bonds, fornicating
with whomever he wishes

and AIDS spreads and claims its toll,
man is totally out of control,
bend on destroying
and standing at the very abyss.

[Reference: Apocalypse by Charles Madge.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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If Only Wishes Were Horses, Part 2

I dream and dream and dream
And dream and dream and dream,
And keep on crying and praying
For chariots many and huge horses -
Despite the saddening saying:
'If only wishes were horses! '

I dream and dream and dream
And dream and dream and dream,
And keep on wishing and longing
For a new Golgotha without crosses
Despite Reality's preaching:
'If only wishes were horses! '

I dream and dream and dream
And dream and dream and dream,
And keep on knocking at doors and gates
Of 'Destiny Villa' and 'Fort d'Oasis'
Despite what nature promulgates:
'If only wishes were horses! '

poem by Comfort Ndlovu
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At a pan at night

In the dark night I hear horse hoofs
coming on thundering
and there are sparks
bursting from the quartz rocks.

In the sky
there’s a sickle moon
and the hairs
on my arms raise

while blue thunder
fall like shots around me
and I can smell fire and sulphur
on the wind.

For a moment
while a church bell
rings of midnight in the distance,
there’s a horse standing neighing
on its back feet.

Just one look
frightens me past being awake
when another lightning bolt
strikes down next to us
and a horse
with a man without head
passes me at great speed.

In the distance at a ruin
I see an old woman in white
with a shrill voice
cutting through the night.

“Can nothing stop you
Jan van der Meer? ”

[Reference: Die ruiter van skimmelperdpan by A.G. Visser. A legend from the second Anglo-Boer war.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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The Day They Robbed Me Of My Life (In Answer To Don Mattera)

Black people have got power
in this government that rules,
to sing songs of hatred
like kill the Boer, kill the farmer,
kill the white man

and to sit back in comfortable chairs,
while pillage, rape, torture
and robberies takes place
and then when crime is out of control
to be about it totally amazed

Black people have got power
in this government that rules,
to destroy a lifetime’s career,
years of study at university,
years of experience
of doing a person’s utter best
in moments with affirmative action
and turning lives into nothing but dust.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The shattered town

While on military patrol
I saw a broken town, bombed, rocketed,
shot to ruins,

with the few white walls
that was still standing
full of pock marks

where bullets slammed
the remains of where houses once were
lurching, shattered with a few
rusting corrugated plates

and the place was totally deserted
as if ghost are living there
with stark trees standing stripped stark naked,

when suddenly some people appeared
from shelters further to the back
with big white smiles in their black faces.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The book sealed with seven seals

I had a dream that I heard the voices
of uncountable angels, beings
and elders around the throne of the Almighty One
proclaiming that the lamb that was slain is worthy.
Their appearance was blindingly bright,
but the radiance of the Almighty God on His throne
and of His Son was so intense
that it wanted to burn my eyes
and I stood back
and the hour work started to ring off the last strikes.

When the Son of God
who died on the cross
opened the book that only He can,
He took the book
with His nail marked hands
and broke the first seal.
A being spoke with a voice
sounding like thunder: Come and look!
A white horse appeared
and the rider of it had a crown
and a bow en rode out to conquer
and the hour work started to ring off the last strikes.

A second being talking with lightning
that strikes out said: Come look!
When the Lamb broke the second seal
the head of a flaming red horse appeared
and the rider took a big sword,
to cause nobody to have peace
and the hour work started to ring off the last strikes.

A third being let thunder reverberate
come and look!
When the Son of man
reached His hand to the third seal
there was a pitch-black horse
and the rider took a scale in his hand
and a mighty voice said:
a measure of wheat for a coin
three measures of barley for a coin
and do not harm
the oil and wine
and the hour work started to ring off the last strikes.

A fourth being’s voice carried blue thunder sparks
when he said: come look!
When the Son that is God
opened the fourth seal there was a grey horse
and the rider was death and he rode away,
to kill a forth of the earth
and the weapons that he carried
were a sword, famine, incurable diseases
and ravaging animals
and the hour work started to ring off the last strikes.

Four riders past
and I wondered
what will be left of the world
and the people on it?

When the Messiah opened the fifth seal
the souls of the holy ones
under the altar,
who died for His word
as witnesses of Jesus Christ
with a mighty voice called out:
how long holy and true Ruler
before You judge our blood
on the people on earth?
To them was said
to wait a while more,
for others to fill their numbers
and the hour work started to ring off the last strikes.

When Christ opened the sixth seal
places on earth started shaking,
the sun was dark
and disappeared for a time,
the moon was red like blood
and the stars fell from the sky
and draw bright lines
as far as they fell
and I knew that I
was living in the last days
and the hour work started to ring off the last strikes.

l’Envoi
Today I wonder where I stand
in all of these things,
while shots of war
are roaring
and everyone lives only for himself,
and the might of God
falls on the earth
and the hour of His anger
almost touch the horizon
and the hour work has only minutes left.

[Reference: Revelation 5: 13-6: 17.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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Here I am, a man that is world-weary (in answer to T.S. Eliot)

Here I am, a man that is world-weary,
in a month without rain
and passion and the pain
are still aflame and burning in me.

At the gates of death, destruction and desolation
I did in my youth trod
fired a rifle, a canon and whatever gun in angry shot
and then had a obligation

to be true to my country, to be true to you
but now I am getting weary
while life is slowly getting eerie
as if it’s coming to an end, as if I have lost the glue

that has hold my body and my spirit together
and whatever waits in the new day
is coming from the hand of the new government to bother
my fellow countrymen and I and still God do I obey.

We live in times of signs and wonders
in the technological new age,
but my fellow men is at rage
as if they are getting orders

that is swaddled in darkness
to maim, to rob and kill
driving every white man to the edge of the abyss
as if it is to them an immense thrill

III
but still there are many blessings
flowing from the hand of God
that I, this poor sod
of a human being see every day in my awakening

and with careful hands
we try to build a future
but I feel like an old horse led to the pasture
in a place of pitiless lands

and from shoelaces we build
try and produce something great
as if we are masters of some or other guild
knowing that time is running out and we cannot wait

in a world where this knowledge
is not comprehended by everyone
where the world of yesterday is totally gone,
we try to earn a living and to live on standing at the edge

V
of a darkening abyss
and with courage, without any fear
we see the new morning drawing near
as if it is

the age and time that a whole nation has waited on
and while the battle begins we comprehend that the fighting
is not left to us alone and that it’s spreading
from the very hand of God, that His armies are marching on

and the thousand thoughts and small deliberations
will not lead us to victory
nor any arms we take up in our iniquity
as we are only mere men in His mighty considerations

with love and understanding and in truth
we have to wait on His salvation
coming to our wrecked nation
and every one even the youth

VII

have got to comprehend
that the battle will in due time
draw to an end
that in this world of hardship and crime,

salvation will be coming from a power supreme and divine
and that His righteousness is overpowering
even in impossible situations still conquering
and that His covenant stays through time without any decline.

[Reference: Gerontion by T.S. Eliot.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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Do I Have Writers Block?

It's a question one can only answer themselves.
I write as it's pleasure for me and relieves stress and tension.
But I have no due date a publisher has set.
To force the words.
I think is quite absurd.
But then again it is not my bread and butter.
A lively hood slipping from ones own finger tips.
Keys are pressed and still all their is more emptiness.
A dark abyss does exist in the monetary gains of a passion.
A blockage of a drain that wants to keep emptying.
A plunger that has no force left at all.
The rubber has worn right off the handle.
And each time you try to use it just collapses with huge splash.
A shock to the possibility to limits reached.
The question isn't can you do it once more.
But what was your reason for doing it in the first place?
Does it still exist in the present pretense?
For a purpose without reason isn't really a purpose at all.
A guidance to ones gentle fall.
With skinned knees maybe you can get back up.
And ride that horse once more.

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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But how long will this peace last

The night that peace comes
torches are launched into the sky
like stars
to glide hanging to the ground
and as far as I look
I see fireworks near and far,
but how long will this peace last?

Nelson Mandela walks out of jail
and there are people cheering
and dancing from joy
and some think
that now they are totally free,
but how long will this peace last?

His rainbow nation disappears
into the naught
and although the sun still shines
work are reserved for some
and people begin to leave the country
while others from all over Africa stream in
and South Africans are jobless,
but how long will this peace last?

There are incapable people getting positions
and the country goes years back
and murder and killings
are totally out of control
and the police are powerless
to stop it,
but how long will this peace last?

The government takes legal firearms in
while crime spreads wider
and the state are trying to control lives
more and more
and corruption, fraud, rape,
murder and robbery
happens every day,
but how long will this peace last?

l’Envoi
The slaughter of black on white
and robbery are urged on
and reverse racism
talked good
and the country is in chaos
with incapables controlling it
and the dilapidation nobody can stop
but how long will this peace last
before the country
gets another hell of a war?

poem by Gert Strydom
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Nightly visitor

While I dreamed last night
I suddenly awaked
and through the window in the moon
saw a grey horse snort at the fountain
and fire glowed in that animal’s eyes.

A woman that’s really beautiful
and white, rigid and merciless
glided out of the saddle
and around me every thing was deadly silent
and the look in her dark eyes
cut right through me
without any life.

I still wanted to ask her
how she got to stand so suddenly
next to me, but she already walked
right through the walls and were gone.

l’Envoi
Next door where the wasted away woman
that had AIDS lived
I heard half chocked
a last rattling cough,
before horse hoofs
hit sparks out of the tar road
and the white women
rode away in haste.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Black & White Television

I looked in the mirror then
Saw my face in a dream.
With eyes sharp as diamonds
Blessed with clear vision.
Things were not as they seemed.
Black and white television
Stared back from the wall.
Is that my life?
Am I here at all?
Down in the high road, see
Motor cavalcades glide
Past shopwindow dressers
Desperately covering
All the parts they can hide.
Black and white television
Stares at me again.
Is that their lives?
Even dummies pretend.
The truth is so hard to deny.
The answer is here.
The screen never lies.
Black and white television.
Its the right television.
Show me its all a dream tonight.
The boys on the corner sulk
In their suzuki haze.
In primary colours
(each year more startling)
But they still fade to grey
On black and white television.
Its sweeping the land.
Is that your life?
Do you understand?
The truth is so hard to deny.
The answer is here.
The screen never lies.
Black and white television.
Back the right television.
Black and white television.
Hard to fight television.
Show me its all a dream tonight.

song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Land Of Make Believe

Relaxing back, we dream of things
imagining they could happen some way,
a meeting taking place
in a romantic rendezvous,
falling in love with the most wonderful person of all.
Going where our imagination takes us
in our world of make believe.

Journeying away from reality,
lying on a sandy beach
where the palm trees sway,
watching the blue sparkling waters
roll lazily to the shore.
Feeling the finer things in life given to us in one go.
Some call it a pipe dream
but in reality it is our imagination set free and let go
in our world of make believe.

In reality, our lives are tied
by invisible strings that bind us.
In our imagination we are set free
from any restraints to come and go as we please,
to make ourselves that perfect world,
our heaven on earth
in our land of make believe.

28 March 2009

poem by David Harris
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Shades of Grey

Black is the color of the night
Grey is the shadow of you I sight
White is the shirt you wear
Black is your suit I declare

White is the wall you lean against
Grey is our path I sensed
Black is the memory I lost
Black is the road we never crossed

Grey is the prospect of the day
Grey is the taxi driving away
Black is the truth to never find you
Black is everything I can't undo

Black is my room without light
White is my color of hope in spite
Grey is the circle around my heart
Black is the truth like a work of art

poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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Kept In The Dark

Black days for humanity
Suffer the pain, the futility
Select few with immunity
Not the case for the majority
Eyes that pierce the world restrained
Healthy will to reveal contained
Questions search for truth remains
What is it you wanna see?
What is it you wanna hear?
Control is all that it can be
Control is what we all should fear
What is it to be?
Is it life or authenticity?
Black is truth or is it white?
Kept in the dark, cannot see the light
Words of power start to infect
Must see through must disconnect
Word of truth we all elect
If truth is dead then resurrect
Green is all that they can see
Their only link with reality
Who controls the monopoly?
Exploitation done professionally
What is it you wanna see?
What is it you wanna hear?
Control is all that it can be
Control is what we all should fear
What is it to be?
Is it life or authenticity?
Black is truth or is it white?
Kept in the dark, cannot see the light

song performed by by Xentrix
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kept In The Dark

song performed by by Xentrix
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The farmer and his wife (Sestina)

A girl was lying down flat on her back
with a straw hat at eye height over hair,
she was sun-struck, curling and fair
with a rain cloud ominous and black
drifting in a blue sky and a small track
meandering past and it needed some repair.

Some of your makeup is in need of repair,
there’s a guitar bag slung over your back
where you walk pass the girl at the dirt track
with the strong wind frizzling through your hair
and the sky is already turning black
but the evening up to now is fair.

Slowly you walk past the local fair
with some of the stalls needing repair,
the guitar you are carrying is black
and you walk straight on, do not look back
at the whistles of some men with long hair
while home you take a narrow long track.

Watching our horses on the racetrack
you are really sexy and very fair,
our horses do parade with shining hair
you notice that the stands need some repair
and I am standing somewhat at your back
while you are dressed prettily in black.

The highway is like a ribbon that is black
where it meets the old overgrown farm track,
there are huge blue-gum trees some way back
and you agree that the price of the Lucerne is fair
where some cows graze at the pen, needing repair,
swishing with tails to drive flies from their hair.

I pull my fingers slowly through my hair
and there are streaks of grey in the black,
but the cattle are only doing fair
while my love is coming with the field’s track
that must constantly be kept in repair
and I hear her singing over my back.

There were torn out hair a long time back,
when I met my darling and she was fair,
at a fight at a track, I was in need of repair.

poem by Gert Strydom
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He Is A Trier

He once was a man who owned greyhounds going back a few decades ago
But for them he was all the poorer the dogs that he owned were too slow
And now he has shares in a racehorse but for that he's not a wealthier man
The race horse though well bred is quite ordinary as they say one more also ran
With greyhounds and horses he has had it this horse he does swear is his last
Venture in the greyhound or horse racing business these things he will put to his past
Any spare cash he has he'll invest in stocks and bonds with a far greater chance of success
It is due to greyhounds and horses that he is in a financial mess
He has erred twice but never again greyhounds and horses are now in his past
The horse has never run a place the greyhounds just could not run fast
Dabbling in the stock market his newest business venture trading on stocks and shares he will try
Fortune favours the brave some will tell you this time luck him may not deny
But never more greyhounds or horses for his mistakes he has had to pay
But credit him he is a trier and good times for him may not be far away.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Those Who Are Less Fortunate Then You

Consolidation.
The gathering of a nation.
Make us one.
Make us whole.
Destroy this void.
With armies sent to destroy.
Under political control.

Creating a martial law.
Protesters are silenced with the sounds gun fire.
Lethal force has been authorized.
And blood pours and pools right under our feet.
Their is no going back.
Their is no retreat.
That flag marks the day of defeat.

Consolidation.
The gathering of a nation.
Make us one.
Make us whole.
Destroy this void.
With armies sent to destroy.
Under political control.

Monsters with innocent faces.
The poison in this water has become so tasteless.
Does this mean it won't kill?
The fight for the freedom of the defenseless.
Let our crys be heard.
Let them hear us all over the world.

Consolidation.
The gathering of a nation.
Make us one.
Make us whole.
Destroy this void.
With armies sent to destroy.
Under political control.

Divide us into groups of races, religions, classes and other discrimination's.
It doesn't change that we are all made of this flesh.
With hearts that all beat the same.
We all bleed the same.
No matter the cage we're imprisoned in.
This won't change.

Consolidation.
The gathering of a nation.
Make us one.
Make us whole.
Destroy this void.
With armies sent to destroy.
Under political control.

All we ask for, all we want, all we seek is the right to be as we are.
Is our very existence so wrong?
That no haven or shelter shall be given to those who less fortunate then you, then you, then you?

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Usama Bin Laden

Hated by a great part of humanity
and blessed by maybe more
and his desperate deeds
that pulled people out of live,
a super country couldn’t stop.

Miserable to his soul
that a super power used him and his people
as pawns in a power struggle
and later left them like rubbish on a dump,
he made that power
pay a sacrifice for her deeds.

True to his religion
and steadfast to what he believe,
nobody and nothing
could stop him in his decisions
and ultimate mission.

What looked to others
like insanity,
he achieved
and struck unexpected
out of a wide blue sky.

Thousands of bombs
rain down from the air
and nobody can stop
the anger of a perplexed super power,
where her soldiers
with overpowering force and weaponry
kill their enemy and the innocent
and sow havoc in Arabic countries.

Even Saddam Hussein
had to pay a price,
but huge wealth and almost
unstoppable intelligence sources
Cannot find Usama,
while the raging dragon
destroys blindly.

If you look at his character
as a person
and take Bin Laden out of the war,
he has integrity and grace
and he stays dedicated
to his god and people
and are willing to sacrifice everything
to get a sort of justice.

For some Adolf Hitler was great
and Stalin a hero
and still it can change nothing
to the impact,
of their and Bin Ladin’s deeds
as mass killers
that nobody can make undone.

Like many before him,
he’s one man’s terrorist
and another’s freedom fighter
and the things that his followers do
puts blood on his hands
and their deeds shout
to the highest heavens.

I wonder what the warnings
that he gives to his enemy
really mean and if again,
death bells
will toll in that Western land?

Maybe New York, Los Angeles,
San Francisco, Boston
or Washington
will burn like candles
in the sky
and it will let Nagasaki and Hiroshima
look like a childs game.

It’s just sorry
that the innocent pay the highest price,
while politicians, the bosses of the CIA
and people that control
the lives of others,
stays untouched
and others gets the punishment for it
and Usama still remains free.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Back To Back

They came at dawn into the morning light
Black shadows riding on the mist
Prepered for battle, swords were shining bright
Filled with anger and harm
Came to kill not to charm
The sound of metal screaming in the air
The time has come were justice rules
The endless victims looking up in fear
Now, who are the fools
Oh, here they come, riders of the sun
And they will fightback to back
Theyre fighting hard, their way to victory
Dead bodies lying on the ground
They are the soldiers of eternity
And their swords spinning around
Oh, here they come, riders of the sun
And they will fightback to back
Kill with power, ready to ride, lets go
They got it all, theyll never fall
But they will fight
The night is falling, light will disappear
A magic silence fills the place
Could read the warning, shining crystal clear
Now they were lost for the chase
Oh, here they come, riders of the sun
And they will fightback to back
No, no, no ,no

song performed by by Hammerfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Horse Is No Different From Another

You can lead a horse to the water.
But you can not force that horse to drink.

'I've heard that before.
But that particular horse being forced,
Is already accustomed to the water.
And lives on a reservoir.
When the feeding done on oats and grains,
As well as organically grown carrots...
When it wishes,
Is common.

Why did you select that horse,
When there are a multitude of them...
Dieing from thirst and have not eaten? '

Well...
I really didn't think anyone would notice.
To me,
One horse is no different from another.

'And maybe that is why,
You find yourself in such a predicament.'

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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En.Citatepedia®.ro

Apocalypse

Related quotes

If Only Wishes Were Horses, Part 2

At a pan at night

The Day They Robbed Me Of My Life (In Answer To Don Mattera)

The shattered town

The book sealed with seven seals

Here I am, a man that is world-weary (in answer to T.S. Eliot)

Do I Have Writers Block?

But how long will this peace last

Nightly visitor

Black & White Television

Our Land Of Make Believe

Shades of Grey

Kept In The Dark

Kept In The Dark

The farmer and his wife (Sestina)

He Is A Trier

Those Who Are Less Fortunate Then You

Usama Bin Laden

Back To Back

One Horse Is No Different From Another

En.Citatepedia^®.ro