Engelbrecht Decides On An Assassination Attempt (In Answer To Johan Van Wyk)
Engelbrecht decides on an assassination attempt,
to peep through the sight of a.308 hunting rifle
at the new black President
and some of his best friends are sworn to silence.
With a violin-case in his hand
he visits the hotel
just beyond the Union Buildings;
about the wind direction and line of sight he has to be sure.
Through the telescopic sight he sees a whole crowd waiting
and he pushes a dum-dum round into the barrel,
open the window much wider
while he watches the scene beneath him.
One of his friends speaks far too much
and more information
are forced from him with shocking apparatus
while the secret police makes him talk.
When the security police enter the hotel
a shot somewhere above them is being fired
and they are surprised,
as the President has not yet arrived at the Union Buildings
and they find Engelbrecht with his head
blown from his body
with a note covered in blood
that tells them
to go to hell
and he says that he has departed to another country
where Afrikaners have got rights
and although he is standing guilty before the throne of God,
He will understand on the other side.
[Reference: 'Staatsgreep' (Coup d'etat) by Johan van Wyk.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Sitting In My Hotel
If my friends could see me now, driving round just like a film star,
In a chauffeur driven jam jar, they would laugh.
They would all be saying that its not really me,
They would all be asking who Im trying to be.
If my friends could see me now,
Looking out my hotel window,
Dressed in satin strides and two-tone daisy roots,
If my friends could see me now I know they would smile.
Sitting in my hotel, hiding from the dramas of this great big world,
Seven stories high, looking at the world go by-y.
Sitting in my hotel room, thinking about the countryside and sunny days in june.
Trying to hide the gloom, sitting in my hotel room.
If my friends could see me now, dressing up in my bow-tie,
Prancing round the room like some outrageous poove,
They would tell me that Im just being used
They would ask me what Im trying to prove.
They would see me in my hotel,
Watching late shows till the morning,
Writing songs for old time vaudeville revues.
All my friends would ask me what its all leading to.
Sitting in my hotel, looking through the window at the people in the street,
Seven stories high looking at the world go by,
Sitting in my hotel, looking at the world outside.
If my friends could see me now they would try to understand me,
They would ask me what on earth Im trying to prove.
All my friends would ask me what its all leading to.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Day they Murdered Camelot
.
One afternoon in Dallas, Texas
November, Nineteen sixty three
A brace of shots were fired
That would enter history
With Jacqueline beside him
in the presidential Limousine
John Kennedy was waving
taking in the happy scene.
Coming out of Dealy plaza
They made the turn on Elm
No shots had yet been fired
The day was mild and warm.
From above, Oswald was waiting
In the book deposit loft
His rifle at the ready
His prey scoped and crossed.
“You can't say that they don't love you”
the governor's wife said
From behind a shot was fired
a scoped rifle spitting lead.
J.F.K. then clutched his throat
And John Connelly his side
A second bullet hit a curb
and ricocheted aside.
The third shot was the killing shot
bone and brain cells flying
The Marines had trained the sniper well
and Camelot was dying.
That afternoon in Dallas
As darkness was descending
Did he think about his children
as consciousness was ebbing?
“Make for Parkland Hospital”
The secret service screamed
they'd failed to save the president
But who had done the deed?
Walter Cronkite told the nation
that Camelot was dead.
L.B.J. on Air Force One
became the nation’s head.
Back on the Streets of Dallas
Oswald had killed again.
An officer named Tippit
Lay in the gutter, dead.
Oswald was apprehended
In a movie house nearby
They found his nest and rifle
What they never found was why...
A nation mourned its President
on his final Caisson ride
and watched his little boy salute
standing by his Mother's side.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Harold The Barrel
News:
A well-known bognor restaurant-owner disappeared
Early this morning.
Last seen in a mouse-brown overcoat,
Suitably camouflaged,
They saw him catch a train.
Man-in-the-street:
Father of three its disgusting
Such a horrible thing to do
Harold the barrel cut off his toes and he served them all
For tea
Cant go far, he cant go far.
Hasnt got a leg to stand on
He cant go far.
Man-on-the-spot:
Im standing in a doorway on the main square
Tension is mounting
Theres a restless crowd of angry people
Man-on-the-council:
More than weve ever seen.
- had to tighten up security
Over to the scene at the town hall
The lord mayors ready to speak
Lord mayor:
Man of suspicion, you cant last long, the british public
Is on our side
British public:
Cant last long, you cant last long.
Said you couldnt trust him, his brother was just the same
You cant last long.
Harold:
If I was many miles from here,
Id be sailing in an open boat on the sea
Instead Im on this window ledge,
With the whole world below
Up at the window
Look at the window...
Mr.plod:
We can help you
Plods chorus:
We can help you
Mr. plod:
Were all your friends, if you come on down
And talk to us son
Harold:
You must be joking
Take a running jump
The crowd was getting stronger and our harold
Getting weaker;
Forwards, backwards, swaying side to side
Fearing the very worst
They called his mother to the sight
Upon the ledge beside him
His mother made a last request.
67-yr-old mrs barrel:
Come off the ledge if your father were alive hed be very,
Very, very upset.
Just cant jump, you just cant jump
Your shirts all dirty, theres a man here from
The b.b.c.
You just cant jump
Mr. plod:
We can help you
Plods chorus:
We can help you
Mr. plod:
Were all your friends, if you come on down
And talk to us harry
Harold:
You must be joking.
Take a running jump......
song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Waw Waw Waw
Well certain thing you dont act man
And you cant take it back
You understand me a say,
But certain things you have to look on an other thing,
Hm..... , me cant understand what I say
Me nah understand what we a say,
Me not understand what we are chat about,
Well this is what we chat about
.....what me a talk bout....
Baby girl, waw waw waw want you back inna me life
Like a police sirene come fast stichie cry
Waw waw waw want you back inna me life
You can hear me a shout it out ten thousend times
Waw waw waw want you back inna me life
Like a police sirene come fast stichie cry
Waw waw waw want you back inna me life
You can hear me a shout it out ten thousend times
She caught me red handed and feel offended
Gal a pose up in a me car (Im sorry)
Me and suel book room in a hotel and she catch
Me when me hand in a deh jar (Im sorry)
No she cant take this, catch me with at the office
And drink from one glass inna varn
She said me character dirty, when she hold me
With shirley, and she still a never warn (oh dear)
She vex when she see me inna the bed with yvette
And susan a pose up like style (what a thing)
Peachess, princess, put on her dress,
And she decide we have to stay far, anyway
Waw waw waw want you back inna me life
Like a police sirene come fast stichie cry
Waw waw waw want you back inna me life
You can hear me a shout it out ten thousend times
Waw waw waw want you back inna me life
Like a police sirene come fast stichie cry
Waw waw waw want you back inna me life
Can you hear me a shout it out ten thousend times
This a me sincere apology, straight from me heart
And off me pickney (yes baby)
It going out to my number one lady,
Like don sliver far line, water run daily
Sorry, I do it, cant buy soldier lorry, cant sleep at night,
Never do it for sight, I am sorry, hush, but the car by rush,
Your little teeny weeny have me never need to crush.
Waw waw waw, waw waw waw waw
Waw waw waw, waw waw waw waw
Waw waw waw want you back inna me life
Like a police sirene come fast stichie cry
Waw waw waw want you back inna me life
Can you hear me a shout it out ten thousend times
Waw waw waw want you back inna me life
Like a police sirene come fast stichie cry
Waw waw waw want you back inna me life
Can you hear me a shout it out ten thousend times
Find me guilty, punish me for the crime (true)
But you have me a serve over time
Woman why do you have to treat me so cruel,
Full time, you put me on parole (true)
Its like you put me on the condemn block (true),
Over alcatraz pon the rock (true)
And a me try everyday, stichie saying, oh sorry,
This me have to cry
song performed by by Ub40
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fast Fandango
Exercise, both the love and
scourge of my life, in foolish
bravado I ascended the million
steps to the Union Buildings -
nearly choked to death in the
attempt to defy gravity by
marching smartly
In the end I struggled up at
a sedate rate gasping for air,
all visions of glory gone, once
at the top I saw all the lunch-
time joggers clutching water
bottles passing, I took the
descending road
This time gravity made me
dance a fast fandango down
into the city - I think exercise
should be kept for going to the
library, the Union Buildings with
its army of slim and trim joggers
is not my scene
I only want to be fit enough
to read my book without
falling over with fatigue...
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Inside The Hotel Room In Hongkong
IF YOU SEE me here inside my hotel room
in Hongkong
you will not perhaps believe
that in such a short time of our separation
I am now looking
at our pictures
the one where we simply sit on the train
going to Baclaran
on the busy day
where we were looking at the other side of the window
taken by that stranger
upon our request
still strikes me
there was something in your eyes
that gives the premonition
something in the misty window
speaks about the unexpected twist
of a sad story
a plot that i have not mastered well
perhaps because
i was too trusting
the stupid man falls in love again
with a woman still possessing the full senses
of her world
i have decided to tear this picture
into tiny pieces of paper
my hands like a shredding machine
i open the window of this hotel
and let the tiny shreds of your face
be blown by the wintry wind
from the 13th floor.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Door of Hope
The president has thus disclosed
In words his noblest plan:
'The door of hope shall not be closed
Upon the Negro man.
'His opportunities must be
With other men's the same;
As nation's chief I will not see
Him forced in ways of shame.'
Official work he'd scarce begun
When from his lips did fall,
'A special right I give to none,
But equal rights to all.
'Square dealing for the soldiers true,
Who made this country grand;
But more than this no man is due,
And none shall less demand.
'I'm president of all the land,'
The broiling South was told.
'For truth and fight I mean to stand,
Such policy I hold.'
When urged to crush the Negro race,
He answered with a zest,
'All men of worth shall have a place,
True manhood is the test.
''Tis better all the people up,
Than keep a portion down,
You need, my friends, a loving cup,
Your prejudice to drown.
'The doors of hope are open wide
To all within the land,
With God forever on our side,
This sentiment will stand.'
With spinal column stout and strong,
With arm that's made of steel,
He crushes prejudice and wrong,
And makes the demons reel.
To heal the nation's open sore
Of hatred for a race,
He wider swings the open door,
And bares the monsters face.
No president could stem the tide
Of opposition blind,
Since Lincoln for the Negro died,
Till Roosevelt we find.
Long may he live to bless the land
With truth and liberty,
Who for the right will take a stand
And set a nation free.
Then Roosevelt for nineteen four
Our president should be,
Who gives to all an open door
Of opportunity.
poem by Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Did You Get Past Me
'What are you waiting here for? '
I'm waiting to get a glimpse,
Of the new president.
'Who? Obama?
Yes, of course.
Is there any other?
'No!
Not quite like President Obama.
And...
He's already inside.'
Impossible.
I've been standing here waiting.
'Well...
We not too long ago played a game of basketball.
He's amazing.
I see him from here.
He's looking at us now! '
WHAT? No way?
'Way! '
President Obama?
How...what...did you?
I've been waiting to see you.
How did you pass me...
To get inside?
~There is more than one way to get inside,
You know.
And besides...
What direction were you looking in?
Up?
You should see my fading jump shot.
And I have yet to perfect it!
Come on in.
I'm showing my teammates,
A new game of 'strategy' I'm developing.
I'm calling it, 'Let Them Call It What They Want.
However, They Will Know It As This'
I am still working on the title.~
Can you be more specific?
~Of course!
But that will take the fun out of something I want 'felt'.~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The empty evenings are the most difficult (in answer to Mandi Engelbrecht)
The empty evenings are the most difficult
when alone I write poems,
when I sometimes listen to Classic Fm
while I have got nothing to do,
the two old people
go to bed when darkness comes
and we say our prayers,
at times they insist
that I watch a religious DVD with them
and they talk about the news
and newspaper reports
but much too soon the evening is past
and the cocker spaniel
looks at me with her dark eyes
while the Persian cat goes outside to hunt,
and I read poems of some English friends
one after the other.
I am still searching for a job
which circles out wider,
almost away from me
while I spent my spare time
on what I can find in the library
on poetry of some great poets,
to teach myself techniques, methods, style,
and to find ideas
and it's as if the wide world
waits upon my new poems
and sometimes I mow the lawn,
and help here and there in the garden,
see the flock of sparrows,
weavers and doves coming near,
and I dare poems to repair my country,
my world, to tell people
who can make a difference
about the things happening here
and my days and nights are empty without you
but our relationship went to hell
by your own choice
and I have got a new mistress
whose name is poetry
and she is a whimsical lover
who serves others much better
before she visits me at night,
to share my pain, my sorrow and memories
and most of the time I try to know her better,
to know the rhythm, the methods of her existence,
to find that which makes her great
and one after the other my days pass,
while I wonder when things are going to change,
while I try day after day to survive
and I know that I cannot hold on to the past
and I know
that I can write almost any kind of poem
and still at times I wonder
what is happening far away in your world?
[Reference: "‘n dood gewone vrou" (an ordinary woman) by Mandi Engelbrecht.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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(She Was A) Hotel Detective (single Mix)
She's got her ear to the walls and she's tappin' the calls
If you've got a secret boy, forget about it, 'cause she's a
Hotel Detective
my little
Hotel Detective
yeah she's a
Hotel Detective
Why don't you check her out
Well the bellhop is funky
The dumbwaiter's a monkey
If there's a knock at the door, boy, forget about it, 'cause she's a
Hotel Detective
my little
Hotel Detective
yeah
Hotel Detective
Cone on and check her out
She says she likes my face
She says she owns the place
Forget about it, 'cause she's a
Hotel Detective
my little
Hotel Detective
come on her
Hotel Detective
Why don't you check her out
Hotel Detective
Come on and swing with me
Hotel Detective
From the top of a tree
Hotel Detective
And make me feel like a bee
Hotel Detective
That's where I want to know you
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hotel Detective
She's got her ear to the walls and she's tappin' the calls
If you've got a secret boy, forget about it, 'cause she's a
Hotel detective
My little
Hotel detective
Yeah she's a
Hotel detective
Why don't you check her out
Well the bellhop is funky
The dumbwaiter's a monkey
If there's a knock at the door, boy, forget about it, 'cause she's a
Hotel detective
My little
Hotel detective
Yeah
Hotel detective
Cone on and check her out
She says she likes my face
She says she owns the place
Forget about it, 'cause she's a
Hotel detective
My little
Hotel detective
Come on her
Hotel detective
Why don't you check her out
Hotel detective
Come on and swing with me
Hotel detective
From the top of a tree
Hotel detective
And make me feel like a bee
Hotel detective
That's where i want to know you
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hell! I am going to take you to the police
1
oh boy! you have done it again
my repeated warning's have all gone in vain
i am sick of you showing me your pain
you will not listen that's for sure
you will keep coming towards me as if i were your's
that's it i have had enough
it's time for me to play it rough
hell it's time for me to take you to the police
as that's the only way for me to get some peace
2
if you put anything about me on the net
it's prision time for you, you bet
have a coffee with you huuh! you must be kidding
what do you think i am your love pudding
get out of my office or i will call security
next time my dear i will show no pity
this time i have let you off
but next time in the celler you will cough
hell! i am going to take you to the police
3
stop stop don't usher me in
going down with you in the same lift will be a sin
get off my case you crazy head
i am not going to jump with you in the bed
have a coffee with you? only after i am dead
leave me alone leave me in peace
otherwise i will take you to the police!
4
stop your antics and stop them now
my warnings have all gone un headed
you have for two years with me pleaded
i will die hungry but will not sleep for a role
if you come close to me next time i will hit you with a pole
hell! i am going to take you to the police
5
i always stop from doing the un-thinkable
may be because deep down i know you are a simple soul
pure of heart just like me
caught up in this world of insanity
but if you keep pestering me i will take you to the police
so go now and leave me in peace
hell i am going to take you to the police! ........................................
poem by Anuj Tikku
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Union City Blue
What are we gonna do?
Union Union Union City blue
Tunnel to the other side
It becomes daylight
I say he's mine
Oh power, passion plays a double hand
Union union union city man
Arrive climb up four flights to the orange side
Rearrange my mind
In turquoise Union Union Union City blue
Skyline passion Union City blue
Power, passion plays a double hand
Union union union city man
I say he's mine
I have a plan
I say he's my Union City man
What are we gonna do?
Union Union Union City blue
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The game ranch
We went to visit my cousins
on their game ranch
and you hated it there
although every thing
was very comfortable
and you were well cared for.
What had set you off?
I still do not know,
but at breakfast you were already furious
although everybody
danced to serve and entertain you.
Was it the hunting tales
of the previous night
around the blazing big fire,
or the bush hog
that the Spaniard boasted
about killing,
which almost smashed him
of which his wife
had taken a video?
At the shooting range
some cool drink tins were set
and you didn’t want any help from me
and didn’t really listen
to the instructions from my cousins,
closing your eyes with every shot
that you took with the pistol
and missed every target by a mile.
I looked at the nine-millimetre pistol
with its missing front sight
and both my cousins smiled
as if conspiring with each other
and I clasped both hands together
in a well taught military hold
and your eyes went big,
almost popping out of your head
while the row of tins
was shot off
in what sounded like almost one shot.
On instruction I shot at the fallen tins
letting them jump into the air
until the magazine was empty
and the cousins
put matches standing up on bricks
and gave me a old.303 rifle
with an open sight.
I aimed carefully before pressing the trigger
and shot those matches down
and on your face
there was a frown
and even before we left
to go hunting
with some trackers
you looked at me
as if I had turned into a killer
and was going to shoot
at every living thing.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Get Back In Line
Facing the world aint easy when there isnt anything going
Standing at the corner waiting watching time go by
Will I go to work today or shall I bide my time
cos when I see that union man walking down the street
Hes the man who decides if I live or I die, if I starve, or I eat
Then he walks up to me and the sun begins to shine
Then he walks right past and I know that Ive got to get back in the line
Now I think of what my mamma told me
She always said that it would never ever work out
But all I want to do is make some money
And bring you home some wine
For I dont ever want you to see me
Standing in that line
cause that union mans got such a hold over me
Hes the man who decides if I live or I die, if I starve, or I eat
Then he walks up to me and the sun begins to shine
Then he walks right past and I know that Ive got to get back in the line
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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These Are (My Children)
standing in line at the mission,
they're ladeling bowls of steaming soup.
the winter wind whips down
between the buildings like a knife...
pulling tattered coats tight hunching.
and i can hear Shantideva whisper,
his hand on the ladel...
his body the meat of the soup,
his blood the broth...
'these are my children! '....
they walk in long staggered lines,
refugees from the bombing...
hungry scared children clinging,
afarid to lose sight of...
what's left of their families.
nothing behind, and nowhere to go,
not on any side...
and i can hear Jesus whisper,
His life the torch that lights the way,
His body the shelter against the night,
His blood the water, His hands stir the rice...
'these are My children! '....
the addict shivers, strung out and desperate...
the homeless family huddles in the car.
the young prisoner sleepless with the fear,
the old man going hungry feeds his bedridden wife...
the jobless young father begs to pick up trash...
and i know beyond all doubt,
my body, my soul, my spirit...
the wind that hears their cry.
'for these are my children! '...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Aura
The air was dark
The moon was dark
The night was dark
The cloud was dark
The heat was dark
The stars were black
The birds were black
The eyes were black
The shadows were black
The planes were black
A sound of night
The hearts of night
A chase at night
A fall at night
No help at night
The night is night
Where is my sight
I have no sight
Your light was sight
No light no sight
No one in sight
The dark in sight
Don't call my name
What's my name
They call my name
That's not my name
Who said its my name
I have no name
You took my same
It was our same
She was our same
She's now your same
Its all the same
I'm not the same
Judas and my hand
You took my hand
'I do' my hand
You kissed my hand
You broke my hand
You fell my hand
A tear in sand
A heart in sand
A body in sand
Alone in sand
A dust in sand
At home in sand.
poem by Jenim Dibie
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Tamasha (The Show)
Law takes its own course. Justice is blind. Media's role is felt wanting.
Standing at a crossroad
looking for her would be
from another caste
he came wearing a hooded cape
shot her point blank
and escaped
stunned onlookers
left aghast.
The police searched motives
fought over jurisdiction
but arrived at conclusion,
" the deed was lover's envy
it was open and shut case
she was done to death due to jealousy."
So her lover was caught
Who denied the charge
media thundered, " why such haste? "
And wrote stories not in good taste.
Political connections were sought
every Sohan, Mohan and Devi fought
though there was no coup
the police was put in soup
media smelt a scoop.
Investigations followed
local police to CID* and to CBI*
questions were raised in Assembly
creating din at center
hue and cry in the city
some suggested ‘RAW'*
what a pity?
Political fallout was great
putting in turmoil every state
demos, rampage and destruction
hartal#, rioting and arson
taking heavy toll
with no rhyme or reason.
Several were dead
numerous maimed
a few tried to surrender
but shot in encounter
and all this for
just for one murder!
WHAT A TAMASHA!
Ps:
Accidently
after six months of lull
a man caught
in a cheating case
owned responsibility
having killed her
BEACAUSE OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY! ! !
-----O-------
* Secret service agencies of India
# Strike
copyright Tribhawan Kaul
poem by Tribhawan Kaul
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Perfect Blue Building
Just down the street from your hotel, baby
I stay at home with my disease
And ain't this position familiar, darling
Well, all monkeys do what they see
Help me stay awake, I'm falling...
Down on Virginia and La Loma
Where I got friends who'll care for me
You got an attitude of everything I ever wanted
I got an attitude of need
Help me stay awake, I'm falling...
Asleep in perfect blue buildings
Beside the green apple sea
Gonna get me a little oblivion
Try to keep myself away from me
It's 4:30 A.M. on a Tuesday
It doesn't get much worse than this
In beds in little rooms in buildings in the middle
of these lives which are completely meaningless
Help me stay awake, I'm falling...
Asleep in perfect blue buildings
Beside the green apple sea
Gonna get me a little oblivion
Try to keep myself away from myself and me
I got bones beneath my skin, and mister...
There's a skeleton in every man's house
Beneath the dust and love and sweat that hangs on everybody
There's a dead man trying to get out
Please help me stay awake, I'm falling...
Asleep in perfect blue buildings
Beside the green apple sea
Gonna get me a little oblivion baby
Try to keep myself away from me
song performed by by Counting Crows
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not long ago, if you wanted to seize political power in a country you had merely to control the army and the police. Today it is only in the most backward countries that fascist generals, in carrying out a coup d'état, still use tanks. If a country has reached a high degree of industrialization the whole scene changes. The day after the fall of Khrushchev, the editors of Pravda, Izvestiia, the heads of the radio and television were replaced; the army wasn't called out. Today a country belongs to the person who controls communications.
quote by Umberto Eco
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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