At Springs
I am trying to get a job
at Springs
and wonder why people live here
away from Johannesburg
and Pretoria
and what fountains
spring out at this place
and all that I find
is rotten smells
rising from the Blesbok river
where sewerage is flowing in freely.
The town lies stretched out
up to Brakpan
and has two internet cafés
that I know about
and a computer shop
where the people
know less about computers than I
and my animals
may not come into the house
and I must explain why
they are barking at the gate.
One of my cats
Lurks in the a storm water drain
against the road
and I am tired and fed up
with lifting concrete blocks
with a crowbar
to free the Persian cat
on his cries for help.
The mines are stripped bare
and at places there are pans
with poison
that has accumulated there for years
and at times there are friendly neighbours
with whom I talk
and virtually every second day
the weather is overcast
with falling rain
and thunderbolts
hitting outside around my animals
but mother’s garden
is a real idyllic spot
with hollyhocks bursting out pink
over fallen trees
in a rock garden,
geraniums of all colours
growing very rampant,
flame lilies blooming orange,
morning glories coming up anywhere
and a much larger vegetable garden
than I could plant in Pretoria
and over the yard
the Creator spreads His hand
and there are new flowers
sprouting almost every day
and I am astonished
at how easy
things grow here
and how high
the plants are suddenly
and the yard is so big
that the animals
almost play in a field
and it’s actually past lovely
to stay for a time
with my mother
as she loves me very much.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
It is Spring Time
It is Spring Time
It is spring time.
I can smell it in the air.
I can smell the flowers.
I can smell the grass.
I can touch the grass.
I can touch and taste the vegetable growing in the garden.
The weather is changing.
The weather is warming up.
The trees are blossoming.
The flowers are blossoming.
It is spring time.
Easter has passed.
Beltane has passed.
Spring and May is here.
This is the time to tend to your garden and planted some flowers.
Some people pray to God to protect their garden.
Some people pray to Mother Nature for protect.
I do both and I thank God for this planet.
It is Spring Time.
The animals and bugs come out to play.
The frogs jump around the pond.
The wildflower comes out.
The sky is clean and blue.
The sun is shining.
The horses are running free.
The sunflowers are growing.
When seasons the earth also changes it is a beautiful way.
Nature is every where.
It is spring time.
There is rain and storm.
The trees have leaves and it arms.
The trees are ancient.
An apple falls down from the trees.
This is what thinks spring time is for me.
Spring time is beautiful.
Spring time is when nature is beautiful.
It is spring time.
Spring time is here.
The rabbits come out, and hop round.
The bees are collection honey for us.
The tulips are blossoming.
The roses are blossoming, and looking so beautiful.
The lavender is purple and bright.
Spring time is a time to celebrate.
Spring time is a time to clean our environment.
It is spring time.
Spring time is a time when rain falls.
Spring time is the time when the seasons changes.
Spring time is when the plants grow.
Spring time is my favorite season.
Spring time is the time to be happy.
It is spring time.
poem by Crystal Chown
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Everything is going to be wet
Every day rain falls down
from the overcast grey sky
and lightning bolts
flash blue white
like the fingers
of the gods
caressing the earth
while the leaves of autumn
cover every tree
in auburn, yellow and brown.
Green leaves on the stems
of big pink hollyhocks
here and there
dip up and down
when hit by drops of rain
as if suddenly coming alive
and it’s going to be
a wet winter
and probably
not all that chilly
with rain falling
out of season.
The grass is green
and everything but trees
are growing
as if it’s still spring.
and flowers bloom
on geraniums, roses, hollyhocks,
lilies, irises and petunias
in colours ranging
from white, orange, yellow,
violet to red and blue
and without covering
everything is going
to be wet.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I am from Pretoria
Notwithstanding the way
that the country and world goes,
I still want to stand for many years
in the streets with purple-blue
Jacaranda trees.
Let my friends go and live
in London, New York,
Amsterdam and Sydney
but in Pretoria I earn my keep
and no other city
calls me away from my fatherland
since only Pretoria
is right for me.
I am from Pretoria,
a place where princes stay
and if you go to Pretoria
you will find many Afrikaner princes there.
In Pretoria noble Afrikaners are everywhere
and they build their lives
in the right way
and like their ancestors,
still cling to the hand
of the Almighty God.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Hanging Garden
Creatures kissing in the rain
Shapeless in the dark again
In the hanging garden
Please don't speak
In the hanging garden
No one sleeps
In the hanging garden
In the hanging garden
Catching haloes on the moon
Gives my hands the shapes of angels
In the heat of the night
The animals scream
In the heat of the night
Walking into a dream . . .
Fall fall fall fall
Into the walls
Jump jump out of time
Fall fall fall fall
Out of the sky
Cover my face as the animals cry
In the hanging garden
In the hanging garden
Creatures kissing in the rain
Shapeless in the dark again
In a hanging garden
Change the past
In a hanging garden
Wearing furs
And masks
Fall fall fall fall
Into the walls
Jump jump out of time
Fall fall fall fall
Out of the sky
Cover my face as the animals die
In the hanging garden
As the animals die
Cover my face as the animals die
In the hanging garden
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Meteorology
The small golden spaniel
first told me whining
and then barking
at the French windows
about the coming rain storm
and as always she was right
as ‘n bit later
I hear thunder flashes
falling far away
and suddenly the air
was overcast with black clouds.
Early she already wanted
her food and fresh water
and went to lie
on her dry hot bed
When the first drops started to fall
there were thunderbolts
falling outside in the yard
but still the black and white cat
was caught somewhere in the rain.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Garden in my inner square
I planted a vegetable garden
in the inner square opposite a mural
and next to it there are flowers that only in the morning hour
spread their cups and spiral up against every side,
where it finds a holding place and grow hillock on hillock
over every thing with purple flowers that only last a short time.
I planted a vegetable garden
in the inner square opposite a mural,
where mountains tooth out blue in the background
and field after field of purple lavender bushes stand at the front
and there’s a shop owner sending his servants on bicycles around
and at the bottom in fruitful red sand
a vegetable garden was planted by me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The car of Johnny staying at home
The car of Johnny staying at home
takes the garden route
and the old green wheelbarrow creaks
while I fill it up
with weeds.
I pull a lever
and like magic sprinklers appear
in the garden
and the two cats
run moaning out of the water,
before the dogs
rollick barking in it.
I am angry with the Indian Miners, rats,
insects and snails
that eats holes out of my ripe tomatoes
and even wreck the spinach
before they are even ripe
and I wonder if I am farming
for myself and my darling
or the wild animals
and who really are going to eat the fruit?
There are sparrows and doves
in the branches of the pepper tree
that are peering and waiting
for me to throw out some seed
and it’s getting white hot
while the sun
rises higher in the sky
and I enjoy
dark red roses, purple irises
and orange, white and pink
geraniums that are all flowering.
poem by Gert Strydom
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My Trees
The tree has branches so full of life’s teaching,
Anyone stays inside this house of wood.
My trees are in my garden of roses,
They are full of beauty, my garden tries hard
To learn and grow like humans and animals.
Your knowledge survives, my garden lives on
As it deserves to, my harder gardening is a concept.
Trees increase us in numbers, plants normally learn
Outright, their infinity is greater than ours.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Our Marriage Is Our Garden
Our marriage is our garden.
I want our garden to be beautiful.
With lush green grass,
With fragrant and colourful flowers.
A place of solace.
A place of peace.
A place of love.
Our garden must be watered.
Not watered too much.
As that would saturate the ground.
Not watered too little.
As that would leave the plants wilted.
And our grass barren.
But regularly.
So the flowers can stand tall
It must be weeded.
It must be maintained.
It must be loved.
We will plant seeds in our garden.
For new life makes any garden more beautiful and diverse.
We can harvest the fruit trees, but our harvest is limited
If we eat all the fruit too quick,
Then we must wait until the next harvest to eat again.
If we don't pick the fruit when it is right, it will spoil.
Our harvest is for our family.
If I eat all the fruit myself, then they will starve.
If we eat too much we will get sick.
If we eat what we are supposed to, then we will be healthy.
If we do not monitor the fruit,
Then someone might eat more than their share.
If we do not stand guard in our garden,
A thief might come into the garden to steal our fruit.
The fruit for our family.
For their garden must be barren and their crops have spoiled.
Our garden will stand the test of all seasons.
As all gardens do.
Another garden will also experience the same seasons.
Just at different times.
All gardens face rain.
All gardens get sun.
It is the rain that nourishes the garden and helps it's life to grow.
But our garden must be maintained regularly.
Only artificial things require no maintenance.
The artificial has no life.
It is fake, it is plastic.
Our garden needs to be real.
So life may grow and continue to grow.
So one day our children can enjoy a garden of their own.
For them and their children.
May their garden be overflowing with life and love.
And be the most beautiful garden in the world.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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You’re in another country called Cape Town
I peer at a city
while the rain is pouring down
and see blue-white thunder
falling from the sky
while dark clouds are milling up high
blown by storm winds
and the smell of rain
rises fresh from the earth
and my thoughts loiter
and I know where I am
and you’re in far off Cape Town
and I in my Pretoria.
Below me I see the zoo
and a city stretched out
in clear squares,
great buildings among statues
and gardens,
and on a hill
the sacred place of a nation
and you’re in far off Cape Town
and I in my Pretoria.
The houses in the suburb
are build for the summer heat
with verandas and big rooms,
with yellowwood floors,
with fans in the ceilings
and yards as big as parks
and trees with purple blue blossoms
lining every street
and you’re in far off Cape Town
and I in my Pretoria.
I hear a crowd roaring
in the stadium near to the university
for their rugby team to win
and everywhere blue flags are waving
and some faces are painted blue
and some heads have caps
with horns thrusting into the air
and you’re in far off Cape Town
and I in my Pretoria.
On the other side of the mountain
avocado and some tropical trees grow
and here I stand in the hero’s acre
among the fallen great
and to Andries Pretorius
I offer my salute
and in church square
my eyes stare
at the statue of uncle Paul
who still faces north
now turning green
and you’re in another country called Cape Town
and I in my Pretoria.
[Reference: To -. Composed at Rotterdam by Thomas Hood.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Yes I Can
so they say that a man
cant live in this world
if he's wearing his heart on his sleeve
i can
and they say that a man
cant understand
what a woman needs when she cries
i can
i can
and i can see you standing
in the yard
tending the rosas in your garden
the sun is shining
through your cotton dress
and i will freeze this moment
here in time
i could live forever
in your garden
oh, yes
yes i can
the fool dosent know
what he's missin the most
its a ______ and a place to be in
here i am
how would i know
i could give up the ghost
and still hold all your dreams in my hand
here i am
here i am
and i can see you standing
in the yard
tending the rosas in your garden
the wind is blowing
through your golden hair
and i will freeze this moment
here in time
i could live forever
in your garden
oh, yes
yes i can
and i can see her standing
in the yard
tending the rosas in your garden
the sun is shining
through your cotton dress
and i will freeze this moment
here in time
i could live forever
in your garden
oh, yes
yes i can
and i can be your man
yes i can
song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Animals
I know what I need I need you
I cant see nothin else all I can see is you
I dont care what they say about my state of mind
I know whats good for me and you are just my kind
We are animals we are animals we are animals we are animals
I know what I want I want you
Shed your cloths forget your codes
You know this is nothing new
I smell your scent I taste your sweat
I feel this passion too
Lets trust our senses not our minds
Lets break all the rules
We are animals we are animals
We are animals we are animals
We are animals
We are animals
Come with me run with me leave this world behind
Come to me come with me I know that we will find
We are animals we are animals
We are animals we are animals
We are animals
We are animals
(m.charlton)
Copyright 1989 elgin music
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the Garden, With My Father
It is spring.
As in my garden, I stand.
In the garden -
My father is there;
... though long since gone...
He IS there.
I tend to the weeds,
The veggies and flowers...
He is there.
I never understood him
(as I should have, could have) ...
Until now,
Here, in the garden.
Where I, like he, work the soil.
I've come just recently
(these last few years)
To enjoy and love my garden so.
- I am not as surprised afterall, as I would have thought,
To find him here.
Here, in the garden.
He loved his garden very much.......
I - at that early age of restless youth - had no use
For such slow moving things.
But now, I see, and myself move, at a much slower pace.
Therefore, it is him I am here and now able to see,
In the garden.
Watching it all grow, so peacefully.
It is somewhat sad, that now,
When I can no longer tell him,
I understand.
For I have come to find... I love the garden too,
Just as much as he;
And we both always will.
My father - standing in the garden -
I now know.
After all these long years.
And I've missed him so;
But, how wonderful to find,
He IS here...
In the garden, our garden,
Always, with me.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Away into the wide world
My golden ginger yellow eyed cat
went away
and it’s three days
that he’s already gone.
I wonder where
he is wandering
and miss
his praying eyes
and the gifts
that he brings to me.
It’s as if his white and black friend
knows something,
but not how
to express it
and at times
jumps from a tree
and comes to call me
and I cannot
find Musso anywhere.
It’s for him another thing
to have to move
and for the first time
to be locked out
and not being allowed
in the house
but choices I do not have
in connection with this
but to have
my animals still
or to say forever goodbye.
With the first rain
the dog Sasja
is wet at the window
and Musso
is busy
splashing water from his fur
and in my heart
and in my soul
there is a knife
that cuts right through me
while I hear
them moaning and wailing
and sometimes,
I also want
to go away into the wide world.
Still I pray for him
and do not want him
to suffer somewhere
and I wish
to have him back again.
[Note: I found him this afternoon (after writing the poem) in the storm water drain next to the road, from where he couldn’t get out. He replied when I called him and I had to lift and move concrete blocks with a crowbar to get him out.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Hanging Garden
Creature kissing in the rain
Shapeless in the dark again
In the hanging garden
Please dont speak
In th hanging garden
No one sleeps
Catching haloes on the moon
Gives my hands the shapes of angles
In the heat of the night
The animals scream
In the heat of the night
Walking into a dream...
Fall fall fall fall
Into the walls
Jump jump out of time
Fall fall fall fall
Out of the sky
Cover my face as the animals cry
Creatures kissing in the rain
Shapeless in the dark
In a hanging garden
Change the past
In a hanging garden
Wearing furs
And masks
Fall fall fall fall
Into the walls
Jump jump out of time
Fall fall fall fall
Out of the sky
Cover my face as the animals die
In the hanging garden
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Carnations in the garden
There are carnations in the garden
in colours of ruby red,
pure white and blossom pink
and some pink with deep purple inside
and others purple-blue.
I smell the sweet fresh flowers
and look at colours
hue as if by magic
into each other.
Some grow in flowering pots,
some are planted in flowerbeds,
others even in the rock garden
and the flowers at places are mixed
to catch the eye
and everywhere there’s care
and a lot of love
that went into the tending of it.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Comes From God
Love comes to us from God
The day we was born until the end
We all need love, we want love
We have to have love
Look at the new born baby
How the mother looks at it
See the tears that flow
She forgot the pain
When she looked at the baby
For the first time
Look around at all the animals
How the mother or father
Protects their young at all costs
If we don't have love
Or grow up with parents
Who don't love us
We feel we are to blame
Are we are not good enough
We search for love in all the wrong places
We pick people we know are wrong for us
We find someone who at least pretends to love us
Sometimes we get with people who abuse us
We don't leave because we think we can't do it on our own
A child needs love to grow
To be a better person
To show love and respect
Without love we are lonely souls
Always looking wondering if we will ever find
Someone to love us
Then sometimes we wonder
Am I worth it?
Do they really love me?
Do they really care?
We cry, plead, and bargain with God
If only you will send me someone
If we wait and do what God says
He will send us the right one
The one he wants us with
God got me writing poems
I never thought I would write poems
God is love
He will supply our every need
If we listen and do his will
If he takes care of the flowers and trees
The animals
Don't you think he will take care of us
Believe and you will see what love does
When it comes from God
He does send love.
poem by Angel Plant
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My Shadow
Things I have left behind
Within an effort to move forward,
Counting every minute, every second-
Reliving my life through every hour, day and year-
The night time sky is falling before my own eyes
Blocking the pathway before me, blinding me-
I cannot foresee a future-The rain that fell every time
I tried to venture outward,
Rain that transformed to tears
When all hope had ostensibly disappeared.
Things I have left behind-
Places where I had been locked inside,
Having lost grounds with all that is real-
Perhaps a few roses in a cracked vase by my bedside,
A mother that did not care and a father that did not believe-
When through my own eyes my world had fallen to pieces.
I left behind many people-
People I did not trust and it was then that I knew
I had to rebuild my foundation,
To build a future for myself that would be mine and mine alone-
Things I have left behind are now
Gone and gone forever-all that is left is time-
Time to move on and to bury the past in my back yard and
Search for hope, a purpose and a new reality.
These things I have left behind are sinking into the ground-
Now I can foresee a future- the flame on my candle is burning
Guiding me as I run forward into a garden of blossoming trees and
A paved pathway upon which to run forward- and a cloudless sky
Where I can lift my wings, once broken and are healing, and fly-
Fly high above looking down below at my newfound veracity-
I know if I were to take a look behind-
All I could see would be a shadow upon a sidewalk-
A shadow of my past and everybody knows that shadows don't last forever, and
All else that I have left behind is gone forever,
Looking forward at the allure of the springtime and
I see clearly now- there is no more rain and as I look above me
I can see trees seemingly touching the sun against a deep blue sky-
I can see clearly now because my eyes are open wide and
There are no tears to cry today and when I glance behind me-
All I see is a shadow- that shadow of my past, vanishing in the late spring's breeze-
poem by Claudia Krizay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reminiscence
A rose reminiscent of my father's garden
I found growing by a pathway outside my home- as well as
Another just lying upon the sidewalk-
I collected them and brought them home and
Placed them in a vase my mother always loved.
My mother and father always loved the springtime and
On this rainy Saturday afternoon,
I find it hard to believe they have been gone for twenty years.
My mother's spirit was as delicate as the petals on these roses-
My father's, as strong as their thorny stems that upheld them and
My own spirit, by them, always misunderstood.
Flowers are blossoming everywhere-
Daffodils and wild violets growing every place I look and
Cherry blossoms and dogwood seemly decorating the trees-
Bring back the fonder memories of my mother and my father-while
The rain and the sky so gray and overcast
Bring back memories of the sadness of being misunderstood.
It has been nearly forty years that
I had made my own special world in which to live and
In this world flowers grew not only just in the springtime months-
But all year around and in every place.
The real world was then, to me, a place I never lived in or comprehended, and
As long as I kept my mind alive inside the world of my imagination-
At that time, I believed that I had not a thing to fear.
Roses reminiscent of my father's garden,
Placed in the vase my mother so loved-
Upon this rainy Saturday day in March, evokes a few tears in my eyes and
Just for the moment I think of the laughter and good times we had together-
These thoughts are interrupted by memories of all of the anger, sadness,
Mistrust and disbelief that now overshadow memories of
These few pleasurable moments we not so often shared, and
I take these roses from the vase that sits alone upon the table,
Open my picture window and throw them to the rain, and
As my tears cease to fall and dry away- I say goodbye to all unhappy memories-and
As thoughts of my self-made world disappear,
I am thankful that I have a life in this world here alive, and while
I watch the rose petals flutter about in a gentle spring like breeze-
I leave thoughts of discontented past times behind me and
I realize that I have just been set free.
poem by Claudia Krizay
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