En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Beyond the days of yore

Gerrie went past the days of yore
to a world where trees
are gigantic in size
where the small farm dam is so big
that it has fish in it
and you are sure to get lost
at the big dam up in the mountain.

On his own he tried to row with the boat
over the small dam
but muddy water flowed in faster,
than he could get away from the shore
and then with difficulty
he had to draw the boat out of the water.

He found a dark brown crab
larger than his hand
and caught it from the top
and opened the small lid
between the pinchers
and small crabs came out from it.

There weren’t other children
to play with Gerrie
and he took the road
all the way through the hillocks
to the big dam

but when he was crossing the main road
Gardiël was passing
with the green John Deere tractor
and stopped and loaded him on the trailer
where Gerrie was standing looking out
at the grating and the wind blew
his hair apart
and at the Lucerne field
a guinea fowl hen
with a lot of chicks were passing
and it sounded as if she was screaming bankrupt

and Gerrie knew that they were poor
but not as much as that
and was wondering
from where she was getting her information?

At the stable he helped Thomas
to clean the milking machines
and saw him blowing out blue smoke fumes
after he rolled a cigarette
from a packet of orange-yellow BB-tobacco

and Thomas told about the tokkelossie
that at night
sneaks around as a ugly cannibal dwarf
catching naughty children
and disobedient wives

but Gerrie wasn’t afraid
of this nonsense
and if that creature maybe came
it would get an iron marble from his catapult

and later Thomas smiled broad
while the tractor drove away
and waved at Gerrie
until he faded away
becoming smaller than a dwarf.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The veldt is all around me

The veldt is all around me
and I am beyond enemy lines
camouflaged, clothed in
military uniform, wearing tracking boots,
with the soles almost like
running shoes,
with a weapon in my hands

viewing, taking reconnaissance
of enemy soldiers, driving by
on pickups, in cars without roofs
in trucks waving guns
in the air and sometimes
firing as they pass by

and suddenly a young boy
is beside me
clothed in a blue short sleeved shirt
and grey short pants
looking like school uniform
but being too young for school
and walking barefoot
right next to me.

Wherever I run from bush to bush,
catwalk, leopard crawl
and hide behind bushes
getting nearer to enemy positions
he stays at my side like a shadow
running, walking and standing openly

and it annoys me
and that he keeps talking to me
as he can draw attention to us
and I say:

“Gerrie, come and lie down.
Hide behind this bushes. Stop talking.
You will draw the enemy to us.”

Unconcerned like walking in the veldt
in my young days, and being ignored
by the natives passing by
the boy looks at me
shaking his head and asks:

“Why are the enemy shooting in the air
while they drive past?
Why do they sometimes
rob their own people? ”

Realizing that it’s my own thoughts
and I look at the child again
and see my younger self
with childish innocence
accompanying me.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Red BMX Bicycle

There was a small boy
In the countryside
Who had a small red BMX bicycle
Kept in the store besides the herbicides
Every evening like a cycle
He would ride down the dusty road
The sun a yellow ball
on the west side
Glittering under the sun`s rays
Was that small
RED BMX BICYCLE
There was a smaller boy
In the countryside
Who had nothing…
Totally nothing
He was a friend to the small boy
Every evening like a cycle
He would wait by the dusty road
To have a chance
On the small red BMX bicycle
His face would be all smiles
Even after falling off that
RED BMX BICYCLE
One day at dusk
The smaller boy
Stood next to the small boy
And asked
“When you grow up, would you give me this bike? ”
The small boy without thinking
Said YES..
There was a smaller boy
In the countryside
One night
He had a bad stomach ache
His mum wiping the tiny streams of tears
That fell from his small face
That was pale…
Due to dust from the dusty road
As he played with his the small boy
And rode on that
RED BMX BICYCLE
There was a small boy
In the countryside…
Now HE is all grown
And in the university
Far away in the city
That RED BMX BICYCLE
Now long gone
Given to some relative, I guess
If I could go back
To those days…
Those days with beautiful sunsets
Back in the countryside
Waiting for my chance
On my red BMX bicycle
Watching that smaller boy fall off
I would give him…
I would hand him that bicycle
And never expect it back
And watch him ride
Towards the beautiful sunset
On my red BMX bicycle
But if I can go back
All will be in vain
Because on that night…in the dark
He struggled with pain
His small heart couldn`t keep on
Outside there was rain
The gods possibly wanted to cleanse
All the evil that night
That took him away
Now I reminisce
As I keep moving on
About that smaller boy
And our small
RED BMX BICYCLE…

poem by Paul Oguda
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a Childrens game?

I see a boy making roads
in the red-brown sand,
where his blue plastic Ranchero pickup
drives up and down
past a mud pond.

There’s a green plastic
roofless Mercedes,
that’s parked in the shade
next to a homestead
of tomato planks.

Small branches stand like popular trees
pressed in a row
in a rectangle,
where a red plastic Massi Furgeson tractor
draws furrows in a line of dust.

When I pass that place years later
a farmer drives around his fields
with his white Toyota pickup,
where popular trees
are rowed in next to the road
and green John Deere tractors
are ploughing
and I see a beautiful blonde woman
with a silver Mercedes SLK
cutting past their big dam
and the road turns away
and I wonder how the house looks
where they live
of which the roof
just edges pass the hillock.

poem by Gert Strydom
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A Boat Is a Lever

After my student went to the doctor to
Check out the rash speckling his
Right hand and found out he had
Leukemia, that the cancer had spread
Into his lungs, then where did he go?
I've called his number several times.
Flat-bottom boats light in water.
Brown brack and mud smell,
Stumps like chewed-off candles,
Cypress knees, knock and small
Talk floating over water, a motor
Chuffing off, a small blue cloud of excess
Gasoline spreads an ugly
Rainbow on tan water.Every
Thing rests on its proposition
Including smooth isobars along the bay.
Since collective thought cannot exist
As thought it passes into things.
Chemo takes a few gray hairs.Mustard
Cruises the bloodstream under a blizzard
Of white cells.Subdued by the arbitrary,
Suspended, the one in the boat still needs
To row it -- to direct the muscles, to
Maintain equilibrium with air
And water.If water is waveless
Then the boat reads by leading marks.
There is nothing more beautiful
Than a boat.

poem by Ralph Burns
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Small World

Children seem to have no choice
The children have got no voice
Theyre merely living to grow old
Letting their days unfold
And its time that you and i
Realised that by and by
These children grow up into men
It is clear what we must do
What the lord has told us to
Give our brothers a chance
To be born again
Its a small world, a small world
When you see it through
A pair of haitian eyes
Its a small world, a small world
When the dreams you dream
Melt into haitian skies
Its just not good enough to say
That the troubles too far away
Cos the little that you need to give
Could help a little child to live
Help them live a little longer
Help them grow a little stronger
So why not play a part
If youre ever gonna do
What the lord has told us to
Its got to begin within your heart
Its a small world, a small world
When you reach out and touch
A stranger
From where you stand
Its a small world, a small world
When you can forge another link
In a far off land
Repeat last two lines
Its a small world, a small world
When you can forge another link
In a far off land

song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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About Last Night

the boat was small
the glass window is round
like an eyeball
looking out to the
vast sea

it is dark

the black shark is a shadow
inside the dark
blueness of the
night water

there is a storm

a man stands
waiting for what comes next
he must jump
to the water
if needs be

the big eye of the fish
stares at him
with fury

that night
they were eye to eye
and then the fish
passes away
opposite the boat's
direction

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It was my thirteenth year

It was my thirteenth year
and we fished with our friend
from Rhodesia
and he taught us
to make our own sinkers
from lead.

Three boys casting
lines into a dam
and watching the policeman
and when it stirs
or give a small pull
whipping the rod.

At times we used floats
and watched if the red and white
still drift on the water
and it was peaceful
at the dam
with the smooth water
stretching out in front of us.

Crabs crept skew
along the shore
and at times we sailed
a old leaking row boat
and use a big tin
to empty it.

The fishes easily took earthworms
honey or curry dough
and we caught strings
of bream, caper, yellow fish
and catfish.

It’s a great thing
to fry fish on the coals
and there’s something in the smell
that makes you hungry
and we watched the stars
that hanging bright and big in the sky
while we kept on catching
deep into the night.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Memories of Eighty-Five

I. ‘A macramé plant hangs close to her bed

A macramé plant hangs close to her bed
on the eiderdown she lays stretched out,
at times as in deep thought or prayer
when the swimming pool draws you through the window
with dull blue water covering it,
inside lays burned brown a sun goddess
and her eyes swallow me alive
when she understands, knows me for whom I am,
loving me with passion from the start,
loving me through light and darkness.

II. The summer sun hangs white and hot over the sea

The summer sun hangs white and hot over the sea,
the sand is white and soft where the sea washes out
her smile and conversations carries me off
when I am caught in her beauty
and later the water is lovely cool
before a big wave knocks off her bikini top,
I have got to hurry to the beach
to get her a big towel,
later it’s a big joke for us both,
far too quickly summer sweeps past.

III. At sunrise we drive past Chapman’s peak

At sunrise we drive past Chapman’s peak,
along the sea on a twisting road
and she’s very much in love with me,
far away a ship is only a small dot
and her smile and her face sparkles
when we stop to look at nature,
with her light blue blouse clinging tight fitting on to her
and I kiss her above the emerald sea,
holding her for moments tightly against me,
and she enchants my heart, are doing things to me.

IV. At Hout Bay we sail out of the harbour

At Hout Bay we sail out of the harbour
and the wind is blowing her auburn hair around,
the sea lays stretched out from the boat,
on rocks an otter snorts like a dog,
others swarm wild around him,
when the boat rocks to and fro we get nauseas,
wish for the trip to be over,
see a big shark circling,
are happy when we are sailing away,
with the small boat dropping us at the shore.

V. In Kirstenbosh we were really lost

In Kirstenbosh we were really lost,
still I wonder about her gleaming lips,
her green-brown eyes descending into my heart,
feelings creeping deeper into me,
that is still living as a spectre,
as if forever she is part of me,
I am not really able to free me from her,
she still calls me unexpectedly,
I do not want it to end
and forever I am yearning for her.

poem by Gert Strydom
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In the Evening

A blue brook, path and evening along decayed huts.

Behind dark shrubbery children play with blue and red balls;

Some swap the forehead and the hands rot in the brown foliage.

In bony stillness the heart of the lonely one shines,

A small boat rocks on blackish waters.

Through dark woods hair and laughter of brown maids flutters.

The shadows of the old people cross the flight of a small bird;

Mystery of blue flowers on their temples.

Others sway on black benches in the evening wind.

Golden sighs quietly expire in the bleak branches

Of the chestnut; a sound of dark cymbals of summer,

When the strangeress appears on the decayed staircase.

poem by Georg Trakl
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Sonnet: I’m A Bard-giant

You're just a dropp in the ocean, my friend;
You cannot be even a water-pool;
I am a river flowing without end,
with waters clear, and sweet and very cool.

You're just a boat, that can't venture to sea;
The wind is rough, thy stature small, you see;
I am a Bark, uniquely-built, mighty;
I ply the seas and oceans fearlessly.

You're a fire-fly, tiny, bright in the dark;
Your light can't guide the people walking past;
I'm a Light-house, tall that guides every bark;
I show the shore and safety very fast.

You are a dwarf, I am a Poet, see;
One's mind, heart, soul and God matter surely.

poem by John Celes
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Spring and All

By the road to the contagious hospital
under the surge of the blue
mottled clouds driven from the
northeast -- a cold wind. Beyond, the
waste of broad, muddy fields
brown with dried weeds, standing and fallen

patches of standing water
the scattering of tall trees

All along the road the reddish
purplish, forked, upstanding, twiggy
stuff of bushes and small trees
with dead, brown leaves under them
leafless vines --

Lifeless in appearance, sluggish
dazed spring approaches --

They enter the new world naked,
cold, uncertain of all
save that they enter. All about them
the cold, familiar wind --

Now the grass, tomorrow
the stiff curl of wildcarrot leaf

One by one objects are defined --
It quickens: clarity, outline of leaf

But now the stark dignity of
entrance -- Still, the profound change
has come upon them: rooted they
grip down and begin to awaken

poem by William Carlos Williams
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There Is A Swimming Pool In A Small Town (Orléans Rondel Prime)

There is a swimming pool in a small town
where water sparkles as blue as the sky,
where some bikini clad girls draw the eye,
with skin tanned to mahogany brown,

where from a diving board people dive down,
where time gets wings and quickly rushes by.
There is a swimming pool in a small town
where water sparkles as blue as the sky,

where a myriad of beautiful girls daily lie,
where the garden is somewhat overgrown
and children buy sweets, chips and pie,
while teens frolic until the sun does die.
There is a swimming pool in a small town
where water sparkles as blue as the sky.

poem by Gert Strydom
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One Small Step

So many people
Need to go so many miles
How do we move them
To where the answer lies
Reach out to the ocean
Beyond the stars that shine
Weve got to take one small step in time
If we are the dreamers
Then the world must be the dream
Driven to question
All the things weve never seen
We search the horizon
Looking for a sign
Weve got to take one small step in time
One step beyond
All our hopes and our passion
There is the light of the universe flashin
All that it takes is one leap of faith
One small step, (one small step)
One small step in time
Deep in the darkness
(deep in the blackness)
Theres a wind that never dies
(theres a wind that never dies)
Out in the vastness
(out in the vastness)
Theres a road across the sky
(a road across the sky)
Out there is the reason
That we were meant to find
Weve got to take one small step in time
Weve got to take one small step in time
(one small step, one small step)
One small step in time
(one small step, one small step)
One small step in time
(one small step, one small step)

song performed by by Cher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Small Doses

You'd think after fourty
Long days and nights
I'd finally get used to the rain
But until the storm passes
Outta my mind
The only thing I know
To take for the pain is..
Small, small doses,
A sip at a time
A little whiskey and water
I'll sit here all night
Some live with heartaches
But I'm killing mine
With small, small doses
A sip at a time.
My doctor said son
Aint a thing I can do
To help you get on with your life
So till I find a way
To forget about you
Me and your memory
Will have a big time.
Small, small doses,
A sip at a time
A little whiskey and water
I'll sit here all night
Some live with heartaches
But I'm killing mine
With small, small doses
A sip at a time.
With small, small doses,
A sip at a time
A little Jim Beam and water
I'll sit here all night
Some live with heartaches
But I'm killing mine
With small, small doses
A sip at a time.
With small, small doses
A sip at a time...

song performed by by Travis Tritt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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John Doe On A John Deere

(john rich/don cook/conley white)
I drove a beat up tractor down a one lane road
Pick her up early and away wed go
Down to the river by the edge of her daddys farm
We used to lay in the shade of a cottonwood tree
Back of my mind I thought shed be
The one whod spend forever in my arms
She said theres gotta be more to life
I dont wanna be some farmers wife
Dont want a john doe on a john deere
Theres a whole lotta boys like you around here
I wanna hear love songs in my ear
Dont want a john doe on a john deere
Not a john doe on a john deere
Well she packed her things and left this town
And I kept working this rock hard ground
Wondering if she ever thought about me
Then she called collect from san antone
Just to hear some news from home
She laughed about how good things used to be
This big city aint good for me
Ill meet you down by the cottonwood tree
I need a john doe on a john deere
There aint a lotta boys like you around here
I wanna hear love songs in my ear
I need a john doe on a john deere
Want a john doe on a john deere
I need a john doe on a john deere
There aint a lotta boys like you around here
I wanna hear love songs in my ear
I need a john doe on a john deere
Want a john doe on a john deere

song performed by by Lonestar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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After Rain

The rain of a night and a day and a night
Stops at the light
Of this pale choked day. The peering sun
Sees what has been done.
The road under the trees has a border new
of purple hue
Inside the border of bright thin grass:
For all that has
Been left by November of leaves is torn
From hazel and thorn
And the greater trees. Throughout the copse
No dead leaf drops
On grey grass, green moss, burnt-orange fern,
At the wind's return:
The leaflets out of the ash-tree shed
Are thinly spread
In the road, like little black fish, inlaid,
As if they played.
What hangs from the myriad branches down there
So hard and bare
Is twelve yellow apples lovely to see
On one crab-tree.
And on each twig of every tree in the dell
Uncountable
Crystals both dark and bright of the the rain
That begins again.

poem by Edward Thomas
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With Sdiment From The Mountains

The top of the mountain (1375)
Snake River Dry screw
And beyond the more
Dry skin remains a
The big snake
Both the same
One without water.
Win a free snake
The yellow smoke
On
That is the hallmark rebel
Now I'm standing over the mountains
Of mountain
City
Village is disturbed
With such a small person
Great hopes are
Of mountain
Lowland and Bhast
And I think
That Adam
I do not think
Lay of the mountain car
How small and how younger people
Butterfly plays me

poem by Mohamad Reza Dorraninegad
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After School Walk

After lessons at junior school
coming down the bricks stairs

Helen said
can I walk home with you?

Sure
you replied

and she set off with you
along St George's Road

the traffic and smoke fumes
setting the scene

she in her school frock
and cardigan

and white ankle socks
beside you in your grey jacket

and grey short trousers
and she said

I don't usually walk home alone
but mum said I can walk home

with you save her coming along
to the school with the other kids

and pram with baby
you took in

her two plaits of hair
and thin framed glasses

with large lens
which made her eyes

larger than they were
her small hands

by her side
a small school bag

over her shoulder
and did you know

Janice likes you?
Her grandmother

told my mother
the other day

after school
but I like you better

do you like me?
she asked

you noticed
she had small white teeth

with a thin brace
along the top

sure I do
you replied

I like Janice too
but you I like more

and she smiled
and put her right hand

in yours and squeezed it
and you smiled

but hoped none
of the other boys around

noticed the hand holding
after all a tough boy

has a reputation to maintain
and as you squeezed

her hand back
clouds darkened

and it started
to piss with rain.

poem by Terry Collett
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The old farm yard

I see a spade making holes
and shoots of peach trees
Appearing in rows in an orchard.

There’s a hot sun
that hangs above in a bright blue sky
and sweat flow in streams,
from under the old dark brown hat.

The old red Massi Ferguson tractors
machine has turned for a last time
and red dirt lies blown thick,
where it stands on the side against an old oak tree.

At the shed there’s a big silver tank
full of expensive diesoline
and I hear the boreholes
pump humming monotonous
and I see spill points in the distance
spraying water on the field
and the smell of wet ground
hangs like a blessing
in the air.

An old big Cock
raise its white wings
and crows angrily,
when the green John Deere tractor
with its trailer full of workers
stop in front of the homestead
Where it stands and scratches.

It’s great to eat country fare,
but the peace and tranquillity
on the old farm yard
me desire
to also live at such a place.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Blueflags

I stopped the car
to let the children down
where the streets end
in the sun
at the marsh edge
and the reeds begin
and there are small houses
facing the reeds
and the blue mist in the distance
with grapevine trellises
with grape clusters
small as strawberries
on the vines
and ditches
running springwater
that continue the gutters
with willows over them.
The reeds begin
like water at a shore
their pointed petals waving
dark green and light.
But blueflags are blossoming
in the reeds
which the children pluck
chattering in the reeds
high over their heads
which they part
with bare arms to appear
with fists of flowers
till in the air
there comes the smell
of calmus
from wet, gummy stalks.

poem by William Carlos Williams
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