Encounter with a Rinkhals
It was lying on the ground
turned on its back
with its black-brown
body shining and mouth agape
and looked like dead
and I could see
yellow-white bands ringing
the top of its torso.
Still something in that lifeless
ring necked spitting cobra
scared the living daylight
out of me
and like a lightning bolt
the death-shamming snake
shot upright spreading its hood
and hissing loudly.
Luck was on my side
when that evil reptile
spat at my eyes
and its venimous spray
splattered my glasses.
One moment it looked dead
and the next
it was viciously alive
and struck out at me,
but missed me by a mile.
[Reference: “The Rinkhals also called the Ringhals or Ring-necked Spitting Cobra (Hemachatus haemachatus) is a venomous elapid found in parts of southern Africa. It is one of a group of cobras that has developed the ability to spit venom as a defence mechanism.” Wikipedia.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Rinkhals thoughts
I sail to wherever I want to be,
sometimes lie stretched out
in the hot African sun
always inspecting the air
with my forked tongue
sensing with my black shiny eyes
if there’s movement anywhere,
something to spray with my deadly spit
a enemy to strike out at
before it can squash me
and forever I am free
to hit at the heel
to find my own way
through the undergrowth,
to prey whenever I want
with a deadly flash,
to end life, I am created for it
and nothing but death stops me
and sometimes you will find
where I have been
by the marks on the sand,
the remains of my skin
or victims that I have left
or turned right over
poising as if dead,
waiting on the right moment
to come to life, to hit with great speed.
[Reference: Rinkhals: Ring necked African spitting cobra.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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How to paint a striking Rinkhals
Green knee high grass
paves, covers the veldt
making the snake's hideout
its place from where it sails.
First observe the snake
sneaking from the grass
while it passes camouflaged
to the next shade
or lies turned over
as if dead, showing its stomach
enticing you to pass, or to come near
to investigate,
maybe you'll see the stripes
ringing its neck
in colours of cream
or something near to white
or maybe you may not
when in terror astounded
to whoever looks
it flashes alive
like a lightning rod
with death sizzling out of its mouth
and if you can paint this
you have the essence of it,
making terror alive,
in a snake which looks placid
but which can spit and strike
carrying death as far as it goes.
[Rinkhals: Spitting African Cobra.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Rinkhals in Muckleneuk Ridge
We were living in the mansion
in Muckleneuk Ridge
when Heinrich wheeled the
rubbish bin out to the street
to leave it for the collectors,
and the red haired neighbour woman
started to shout at him.
I was just getting out of my Volkswagen Polo
and within a minute I was there
like a avenging angel,
telling her to leave the boy alone
and that the pavement
doesn’t belong to her
and that we have got the right
to put out the rubbish bin
for the rubbish collectors.
She got red with anger in her face,
hissed like a snake trying to spit
and cursed me in English
and I told her to get lost.
That woman was aquatically
quite funny and always dressed
in a track suit,
(as if she had no other
type of clothes)
living in a dilapidated house
like a hermit
with rusting sink plate roof
and weeds standing knee high
in her garden
in that rich man’s neighbourhood.
It was when the dogs
tried to catch a half grown coucal
which the wind had blown
out of its nest
and I jumped down the steps
of some terraces
to rescue the poor thing
and I and that wild bird
got to love each other
and it would start to scream
with excitement as soon
as it heard my car
coming near
that Heinrich trapped a venomous
ring-neck spitting cobra
in our garden
and I wanted to kill it
and you said
that even snakes
have a right to live.
I told you that the snake
was apt to kill somebody
as I was leaving for work
and you took the kids
to let it free in the field,
(or so I was told) ,
but a few days later
that utterly rude woman
was really surprised
and screamed for her life
when a snake hissed at her
spitting in her eyes.
[Rinkhals = ring-neck spitting cobra.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Spittoon
Spitting in any form is bad
Spitfire is dangerous
Spit destroy everything.
Spitting cobra spray venom
Unbalanced man spit emotion
Scorn fear condemnation.
Spitupon is not civilised
Spit it out left manything.
Here is spittoon
If you want to be good
throw out everything spit
In this spittoon
And get a bonbon
And get a boon.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Fishing for carp
Fishing for carp, probably kurper or yellow-fish
with the woman leaving to prepare sausage
frying it near to the car on a Cadac frying pan,
(you know how it is)
with a six-pack cooling in the river
and then a sound, a movement making you shiver
when on your right a banded spitting cobra appears
and girly is ready with the food, ready to deliver
a tray full of goodies that she made with loving care
and you wish for her to be anywhere
but right there, but luckily she notices the snake
freezes behind you somewhere
and the ringhals till now with eyes brown and unaware
only half awake senses something testing the air
with forked tongue and rears up ready to strike or spit
and this is it, you have had your share of luck, but still you dare
and using the rod in your hands you slam with all your might,
you slam to your right
striking the spitting hissing thing and it is flying
and it misses sweetie by a mile and luckily it is the last sight
that you have of it, while she screams in fright
and curses the day, morning sun and night
as a rattled girl sometimes does
and you assure her that every thing is well, is all right
and then unexpectedly you have a bite,
the policeman jumps and you are in for a fight
while the mother of all fishes
struggles to be free and you smite
the other rod, hooking it well and good
and the rites of fishing is well understood
and girly is handy with the catching net,
smiles in a better mood.
poem by Gert Strydom
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In the veldt a spitting cobra is suddenly onto me
In the veldt a spitting cobra is suddenly onto me
and before it can strike or spray poison
there’s a rock that comes to hand
and I smash the head of the spitting snake
but where it lies toppled jerking
the grass, bushes and veldt trembles
there’s a curse that it says with its last breath
as if the dying of it mentions something unheard.
The vast earth grind and boil
as if rock banks gnash on each other
when the leviathan with its smoking breath
bursts from the depths
where suddenly sinister it peers at me
and seven snakeheads spit fire.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Scarry moment..
The serpent was in front of me,
But a real king Cobra, so slim,
Sparkling with bluish tint,
Scales glittered with no attempts,
The eyes, piecing as the arrows,
Lifted the head for a foot, narrow,
Tail holds the ground in anger,
Shaking tongue protruded in despair,
The orange mouth opened wider,
The hissing whistle sounds higher,
My trembling hand took the hand phone,
Called the City Hall for assistance,
They told me to ‘snake sit' for a while,
If run away, inform them at once,
I looked at the snake,
The snake looked at me,
My tied dogs looked at us,
They were angry with me,
For I prevented them,
From doing their duty,
I told the snake,
"If I let you go, you will be caught,
Someone may finish you,
Go with our officers,
They will leave you in the jungle,
And you can live happily"
As if it heard what I said,
The snake put down the head,
My dogs and the serpent were quiet,
That moment was so unique,
I stood just ten feet away,
when it was taken away.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Fishing For Carp (Hybridanelle)
Fishing for carp, with a six-pack cooling in the river
and the ringhals till now with eyes brown and unaware
something makes a sound, a movement making you shiver
when on your right a banded spitting cobra appears
with the woman leaving to prepare sausage
when it immediately rears
and girly is ready with the food, ready to deliver
and it gives her a great scare.
Fishing for carp, with a six-pack cooling in the river
and in your mind you are crunching gears
and you wish for her to be anywhere, but right there,
with the woman leaving to prepare sausage
and you are angry at the old deceiver
while she brings a tray full of goodies with loving care,
something makes a sound, a movement making you shiver
luckily she freezes behind you somewhere
and the snake only half alert senses something testing the air
and you wish for her to be anywhere, but right there,
and a nearby tree looks like a quiver
and you are looking for a kind of snare.
Fishing for carp, with a six-pack cooling in the river
and this is now a dangerous affair
and using the rod in your hands you slam with all your might,
and the snake only half alert senses something testing the air
slamming down on the snake like with golf driver
and this is it, you have had your share of luck, but still you dare,
something makes a sound, a movement making you shiver
she screams in fright, while you slam to your right
with your rod whistling
and using the rod in your hands you slam with all your might,
and the water shines like silver
and you cuddle her and there's a smile that you share.
Fishing for carp, with a six-pack cooling in the river
something makes a sound, a movement making you shiver
and you think: not again that spitting thing with its deadly sting,
when on your right a banded spitting cobra appears,
with your rod whistling
when it immediately rears.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Cobra And The Mongoose
“Tell me mongoose why are you trying to steal my eggs? ”
“Well, I’ve not eaten for weeks and I’m dying on my legs.”
“Don’t you realise that very soon these eggs will be my children? ”
“But you have so many and you won’t miss nine or ten.”
“How wrong you are mongoose I’ll miss every one of them.”
“Well tell me cobra, are you prepared to die for just ten? ”
“Mongoose, I am a mother and for only the one I would die.”
“Why are you swaying Cobra, and is that a tear in your eye? ”
“Aren’t you feeling sleepy mongoose, you do have heavy eyes? ”
“I know what you’re doing cobra, you’re trying to hypnotise.”
“For your information mongoose, I’m doing my cobra dance,
it’s a dance of magic, which gives my enemies no chance.
Don’t think that I can’t see you mongoose trying to circle around me,
first in one direction, and then the other so tactically.
I must warn you mongoose that I have a bite that can instantly kill,
and if you don’t die straight away, moments later you will.”
I’ve heard about your bite cobra, but you don’t frighten me,
I have the thickest skin and coarsest hair, as ever you’ll see.
I also must warn you cobra that my teeth are as sharp as swords,
and combined with my agility I will have the last words.”
“Well, if I were you mongoose I would leave while you can…
unless you want to be the cause of my indigestion.”
“I was thinking cobra, you and your eggs would just be my fill,
and now that only leaves the formality of the kill.”
For hours and hours the pair did spar and fight,
throughout the day and throughout the night.
The mongoose went close and the cobra did strike,
but not one had yet applied the decisive bite.
Both were aching and tiring, and their sharpness was wearing thin.
The mongoose considered one last attack then he would pack it in.
With a last almighty effort the mongoose jumped as high as he could,
after somersaulting in the air it buried its teeth below the cobra’s hood.
This bite severed the cobra’s spine and instantly killed the snake,
but the mongoose bit once again to make sure of no mistake.
It then bit off and swallowed the cobra’s once swaying head,
but the fangs of the cobra punctured its stomach, it too was dead.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Snake
snakes, scaly, slippery, a cold lump morbidly crawling
through the dark tunnel of memory
some creatures are born cursed
they are spat, and trumpled on
so that the nerves slithered when i actually
came face to face with one at two or three
the black six inch long they called two headed thing
propped my interest further
you dont get to see one often
i could not remember whether it had ended up
under somebody's stick or a parang
but thanks to the snake it helped me
hold onto a figment otherwise
would have been lost on the tail of time
an inert lump resting on cold yellow soil
guilty heavy of heaven and earth
all ready to take the cold and
inhumane blows of the world
once in while a little one would surface
below the neighbour's house,
a short floral ribbon it looked like jewels
on undeserving hands, bothersome foul mud
the impatient neighbour never let it up
coming running with his parang
crashing or splitting it into two
wonder how such a small creature
can elicit such a anger in a big fat farmer
an eerie feel for them led me to
kill one with a stick and to this
day i am struck with the thought
of what karma i have to face
little wriggly creature that
would have done no harm
but then it is a snake
the road between two padi fields
become a killing field during the harvesting season
a dead chamber as little snakes
make their way to to the other side
for better pasture ending up under wheels
they lie each morning crushed, bruised
they become nothing but a charred
brittle piece of leather a few days later
some snakes are aphrodisiac
and I usually wonder whether these
can be Chinese medicine
to heal whatever ailment you
have such as impotence
one morning a flash flood brought
the fate of a little cobra under brother's bed,
the cat agitated had sounded the alarm
with her irritating meows
the cat we then called brother's saviour
we smelt things foul and like the feline came face to face with it
someone screamed cobra as its head had reared
and its neck spanned
the poor little lifeless rope then flew head and tail
through the air, into the flash flood
after it had gone under the stick
as is always with snake it slithers back
to my memory lane each time
somebody mentions snake
a lane of sweet sour sad feeling
of heaven and earth about snakes
of why God even bothers to create it
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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In-convenience
Very early in the morning we were woken from our sleep,
We were going on safari, being driven in a jeep,
We went out before our breakfast, we went out before sunrise,
We went out before the sleep had fully vanished from our eyes.
We had to dress quite quickly, and we went out in a rush,
And after we'd been driving through miles and miles of bush
For an hour or two (I have to say forgive the way I speak) ,
But - the roads were very bumpy - I was dying for a leak.
The driver stopped the jeep and kindly offered us a drink,
But it might have been more kind if he had only paused to think;
We had seen a herd of elephants, some vultures in the sky,
Several wildebeest and zebra, a hyena passing by,
Giraffes, a pair of ostriches, a buffalo or two,
And we'd taken lots of photographs (well, that's what tourists do) :
We had even seen some lions lazing underneath a tree,
But... we hadn't seen a toilet... and I really had to pee.
Beside a water-hole at last we found a pair of loos,
And I hurried to the gents', 'cause that's the one I have to use.
Yes, I went up to the gentlemen's, and pushed the door ajar,
But I didn't push it hard, and it didn't open far.
There was something in the way, you see. I did a double-take,
For it looked just like a tail, the last six inches of a snake.
I decided not to panic - I'm not that sort of bloke,
And it could have been a rubber one, left there for a joke -
So I pushed the door wide open, to be sure of no mistake,
And what should I clap eyes on but two yards of living snake!
... I closed the door, quite firmly, and went to tell the guide,
'I was going to the loo, but then I found a snake inside.'
He didn't quite believe me, but he went across to check.
- Not just a snake, a cobra! - 'Gosh, ' I thought, and 'Flipping Heck.'
For the snake looked very supple, and the snake looked very strong,
And if it would uncurl itself, the snake looked very long,
And a cobra's bite is savage, and a cobra's bite is quick,
And if that snake had bitten me, I'd be feeling rather sick.
'It might even be a spitter, judging by the size,
'So don't you go too close, and please be careful of your eyes.'
But I had to take a photograph, for that's what tourists do,
And, warily, I took a snap of the cobra in the loo.
The driver wrote a notice 'Danger, Big Big Snake Inside',
And the lady with the first-aid box took out of it with pride
A strip of sticking plaster to stick it to the door,
To tell anyone who came, there was a cobra on the floor.
By now the snake was moving, it was climbing up the wall;
It hid behind the cistern, and could not be seen at all;
It came down again, and wrapped itself around the waste-pipe neatly,
Then slithered right into the pan and disappeared completely.
Now I was on a mission to tell others what I'd seen,
But I was very conscious of the fact I'd Still Not Been!
So in that situation, though most times I wouldn't dare,
When I found the ladies' empty, I quickly popped in there.
So if you see a man who's coming from the ladies' loos,
Please don't jump to conclusions, he might have a good excuse,
- 'I went to spend a penny, for my need was quite intense,
'And I had to use the ladies' - there's a cobra in the gents'! '
poem by Paul Hansford
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Terzanelle to a pet Cobra
Within your exposed white fangs
I look into the abyss
where death hangs
and with a soft hiss
you come erect.
I look into the abyss
without my own neglect
with a deadly sting
you come erect
and I see friendship in the hissing thing
being a comrade in loneliness.
With a deadly sting,
spreading your hood to some as a token of holiness
you come to peace closing the recess
being a comrade in loneliness
and sail over me as if with a pre-creation caress.
Within your exposed white fangs
you come to peace closing the recess
where death hangs.
[Reference: To a pet Cobra by Roy Campbell.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Halloween Quartet No 2 The Devils Specs
He picked up the glasses
from where they lay
and put them on
and as he looked around
his face paled with his shock.
Everything was desolate and dead.
Building stood black scorched beyond repair,
everything felt cold and dank
as if he were in a city of the dead.
The grass beneath his feet
was withered and brown.
Skeletal trees stood blackened
as if by some great fire.
The sights he saw frightened him.
He made a move to run
and tripped over a rotting corpse.
As he fell, the glasses
were tossed upon the ground.
As he rose his eyes widened,
everything was green again
and the glass were no were to be found.
Was this a vision of his future he had seen?
Only tomorrows knows.
31 October 2009
poem by David Harris
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Dead Or Alive
There in the shadows, looks like a hand
Without its owner, to give it a command
Its got a purpose but I dont know what it is
Im in trouble
There in the streets, looks like a man
But something wrong that I dont understand
His eyes are open but he dont see a thing
His skin is peeling off, his bones are sticking out
Im getting scared
Oh my God (is it dead? )
Is it living? (is it dead? )
Is it dead or alive?
(is it dead? ), is it dead? (is it dead? )
Is it dead? (is it dead? )
Is it dead or alive?
Hiding in the cupboards, like little mice
Hiding in the frigerator, that isnt nice
Its not an animal, it dont have legs
No one else can see it
It moves so fast, corner of my eye
Look again its gone, its hiding
Wont somebody help me, doesnt anybody care?
It waits so patiently, for me to lose my guard
Im getting scared
Is it dead, is it
(is it dead)
Is it dead
(is it dead)
Is it dead or alive
(is it dead)
Is it dead
(is it dead)
Is it dead, is it
I remember there was a time
When dead and buried meant just that
Underneath the cold dark ground
Things stay put!
Oh them bones they make them bodies walk
Them bones, them bones
If they could only talk!
Is it dead (fade)
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Skeleton Flat
HERE’S never a bough to be tossed in the breeze,
For it’s long since the forest was green;
And round all the trunks of the naked white trees
The marks of the death-ring are seen.
The solemn-faced bear, who had looked on the blacks
From his home with the ’possum and cat,
Blinked anxiously down when the death-dealing axe
Was ring-barking Skeleton Flat.
And, strange to be seen in the evergreen south,
The gums for ten summers have stood,
And dried in the terrible furnace of drouth,
Till harder than flint is the wood.
Now tall grows the grass at the roots of the trees,
But a beautiful forest it cost;
And the heart of the splitter is sad when he sees
And thinks of the timber that’s lost.
Here flies, through a sky that is glazed, the black crow,
And the eagle goes circling around,
Or evilly sits on a branch that is low,
With his gleaming black eye on the ground.
And loudly the jackasses chuckle in mirth,
When a comrade flies upward, until
Like a fragment of thread, in its height from the earth,
Is the writhing brown snake in his bill.
O fit for the place are the curlews that wail
On the banks of a distant lagoon,
Or round by the swamps that are shallow and pale
In the light of the nights of the moon;
When glist’ning and white are the frost-covered trees
That dead for ten summers have stood;
And the stranger, benighted, might fancy he sees
The skeleton wraith of a wood.
poem by Henry Lawson
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A Double
Everyone has a double
at least that is what they say.
I am beginning to believe it
after what happened yesterday.
My wife and I went shopping
and to the checkout, we went.
Then I stopped and felt hesitant,
the cashier, a young girl looked familiar,
but it couldn’t be,
for who she looked like lived thousands of miles away.
Everything about her
from the style of her hair
and the glasses she wore,
even the way she smiled
looked the spitting image of a friend I speak to on the internet.
The resemblance was uncanny
and I almost called her by friends name.
She made me take a second glance
to make sure.
I know it wasn’t my friend who lives in America,
she was younger than she,
but she certainly looked like her.
When they say now everyone has a double,
here is one now that believes.
19 November 2008
poem by David Harris
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Everything In You Seems To Be Wrong
you must notice that everything in you seems to be wrong
your arms are shouting violence
and your mouth carries the venom of the snake
and keeps on spitting
and your eyes carry the knives of serial killers
stabbing anyone that comes your way
your body is twisted and your feet crawl like this centipede
your hands have become scorpions
looking for something to bite in the desert of your heart
and then you laugh like thunder and you touch people like lightning
and you finally find yourself alone like it were the very first day of
creation
complete darkness without any light
without water and earth
just this cosmic chaos and you tell yourself
i am so lonely and i am laughing and this is pretty bad.
who in your world would like to live with you?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I'm Alive (That Was The Day My Dead Pet Returned To Save My Life)
I was just kicking down the street
And the sun was in my eyes
So I couldn't see the truck
That was sixty times my size
And just seconds off from splattering me
Let me tell you
I was so scared I couldn't move
Like my boots were full of glue
Then I felt a little tug
And I thought of good Old Blue
And he pulled me from that catastrophe
That was the day
My dead pet returned to save my life
I'm alive
He's alive
I'm alive
I was spitting in the canyon
Near the cliff up on the mountain
When an unexpected sneeze
Hung me in the breeze
At forty five degrees in the sky
Suddenly I felt something
Had me by the belt
And in between my praying
Swore I heard a stallion neighing
Was the ghost of my horse
And I cried, yes I cried
That was the day
My dead pet returned to save my life
That was the day
My dead pet returned to save my life
I'm alive
He's alive
Hey, I'm alive
Things were getting gory
Got caught on territory
Belonging to the Crutches
In an alley in their clutches
Looking kind of dismal that night
Well the leader's name was Fats
Swinging broken baseball bats
Things got really frantic
Starting jumping in their panic
That was the day
My dead pet returned to save my life
That was the day
My dead pet returned to save my life
I'm alive, I'm alive, real alive
That was the day my dead pet returned
That was the day my dead pet returned
That was the day my dead pet returned
That was the day my dead pet returned
To save my life
Hallucinating billions of rats
Lots of rats
I'm alive, I'm alive
He's alive, he's alive, he's alive
I'm alive, yeah
He's alive, he's alive
I'm alive, real alive
Alive, alive, alive
Alive, alive, alive, alive
Alive, alive, alive, alive
I'm alive
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dance Of Death
Let me tell you a story to chill the bones
'bout a thing that I saw
One night wandering in the everglades
I'd one drink but no more
I was rambling, enjoying the bright moonlight
Gazing up at the stars
Not aware of a presence so near to me
Watching my every move
Feeling scared and I fell to my knees
As something rushed me from the trees
Took me to an unholy place
And that is where I fell from grace
Then they summoned me over to join in with them
To the dance of the dead
In to the circle of fire I followed them
In to the middle I was led
As if time had stopped still I was numb with fear
But still I wanted to go
And the blaze of the fire did no hurt upon me
As I walked onto the coals
And I felt I was in a trance
And my spirit was lifted from me
And if only someone had the chance
To witness what happened to me
And I danced and I pranced and I sang with them
All had death in their eyes
Lifeless figures they were undead all of them
They had ascended from hell
As I danced with the dead
my free spirit was laughing and howling down at me
Below my undead body just danced the circle of dead
Until the time came to reunite us both
My spirit came back down to me
I didn't know if I was alive or dead
As the others, all joined in with me
By luck then a skirmish started
And took the attention away from me
When they took their gaze from me
Was the moment that I fled
I ran like hell faster than the wind
But behind I did not glance
One thing that I did not dare
Was to look just straight ahead
When you know that your time has come around
You know you'll be prepared for it
Say your last goodbyes to everyone
Drink and say a prayer for it
When you're lying in your sleep, when you're lying in your bed
And you wake from your dreams to go dancing with the dead
When you're lying in your sleep, when you're lying in your bed
And you wake from your dreams to go dancing with the dead
To this day I guess I'll never know
Just why they let me go
But I'll never go dancing no more
'Til I dance with the dead
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Coarse Morning
OH the yellow boisterous sea,
The surging, chafing, murderous sea!
And the wind-gusts hurtle the torn clouds by,
On to the south through a shuddering sky,
And the bare black ships scud aloof from the land.
'Tis as like the day as can be,
When the ship came in sight that came never to strand,
The ship that was blown on the sunken sand—
And he coming back to me!
Oh the great white snake of foam,
The coiling, writhing, snake of white foam,
Hissing and huddering out in the bay,
Over the banks where the wrecked ship lay,
Over the sands where the dead may lie deep!
There are some in the churchyard loam,
Some two or three the sea flung to our keep:
Their mothers can sit by a grave to weep,
But my son never came home.
Never, never, living or dead—
Oh, never, Willie, living or dead,
Could you keep your word and come back to me!
Oh, my darling! As like this day as can be,
When the ship came in sight that came never to strand,
When the ship came rounding the head,
Close to the haven and close to the sand.—
And their graves are long green that were tossed to land.
Ah, 'Sure to come back,' he said!
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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