Four young men (a reply to Ted Hughes)
The old brown and white photograph
of my grandfather and his brothers
fading somewhat after more than a century
show four young men
with sincerity and patriotism
written all over their faces,
dressed in captured kaki war uniforms
belted across their hips
with farmer’s hats on their heads
and bandoliers crossed over their chests,
and captured bayoneted
Martini Henri rifles in their hands
and I know the big old teak tree
where they stand
and one looks at his cocky best, one sharp and aware,
one earnest and sincere and all three of them
almost exactly like some cousins of mine
with the middle one closing his eyes slightly
against the bright light
with a fringe protruding from under the hat
and he could have been me
and the similarity is very striking
and at only sixteen, seventeen, eighteen and nineteen
as brothers on horses they rode to war,
and alive they all came back, thread thin
from being without food in the veldt,
with missing skin from their hands
blisters turning into open wounds
from shooting with white hot gun barrels
at forces of outnumbering large
British enemy soldiers
all marksmen, snipers and hunters
but mere farm boys.
[Note: The photograph is of my grandfather Danie Brand and his brothers. Six young men by Ted Hughes.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
Brothers
Lets get to the point now
Just because weve got the same mum and dad
That dont mean im your keeper
That dont mean I owe anything to you
You dont care for me
And man I dont think that much of you
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
I dont approve of anything you do
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
Cain and abel and me and you
You drove my car when we were young boys
And you tore it up too
You never paid to get it fixed
And you got me beat up a time or two
I know I should forgive and forget
But man I still hold a grudge against you
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
I dont approve of anything you do
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
Cain and abel and me and you
It is as normal as it can be
This sibling rivalry
We should have dropped it at 22
But man I cant stand the things you do
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
Youre always want something from me
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
It was so much fun having you in the family
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
Now that were grown it aint helped nothin? at all
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
On my birthday, please dont bother to call
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
Brothers brothers brothers
Yeah, youre my brother brother brother
Brothers brothers brothers
Yeah, were brothers brothers brothers
Yeah, were brothers brothers brothers
Brothers brothers brothers
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grandpa Danie Brand [2]
After taking part
as a youngster of sixteen
in the second Anglo-Boer war
where he had to spend nights in the open veldt
fired so much on the British
that his hands were full of blisters
from the rifle
of which the barrel got white hot
he married Lenie Swanepoel in 1918,
was really in love with her
and from 1926 he farmed on the farm Welgemeen
near to Steekdoorns in the Vryburg district
where he himself build his own homestead
from Josef’s stone and put up fences
and turned the wild veldt
into a viable farm.
Grandpa Danie did not have time
to sit on the porch,
as it goes with farming,
work took his attention constantly
and before early morning light
he was already in the fields
or at the diary busy with the cows
but was held in high esteem by the labourers
although he was strict.
On a day grandpa Danie
visited another farmer
to buy Afrikaner cattle from him
and while they walked into the lounge
of the other farmer’s house
he lit his pipe
whereupon the other farmer said to him:
“Mister Brand, I do not allow anybody
to smoke in my house”
and it was a big embarrassment to him,
so much so that while he was riding home on his horse,
busy driving the cattle with his workers
he stopped at a big rock
that rose into the air
and knocked his pipe against it
causing it to break in two pieces
and it was also the last time
that grandpa Danie did smoke.
When he got appendicitis
and his appendix erupted
grandma Lenie took great care of him
nursing him back to health
but he continually got pain
when he ate maize
and his brother Frans
who lived in Johannesburg
convinced him
to have a appendectomy
whereupon dressed in his black coat
grandpa Danie left for the hospital in Vryburg
and at the hospital
grandpa Danie got inflammation
and died from the operation wound
that got septic,
in a time before antibiotics
was discovered.
poem by Gert Strydom
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One Of Those Birthdays
i found finally the photograph of us,
five children
three sisters and two brothers
different faces, mine is an aquiline nose,
the first has white skin, and the second is the
dark brown cookie,
and the third has a long straight hair
square jawed,
i always felt that i am
out of place, barefoot
and skinny,
and silent despite her pinches
on my side
i am not misbehaving
in this photograph
except the youngest brother
who compromised
with a pose
two minutes and then ran away
not wanting to be
a part of anybody else's
advices
good or otherwise.
i guess it was Friday,
January 29,1976, and if i am not wrong
it was one of those
birthdays
mine.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Photograph
Of all the worldly goods I own,
Of all that I possess,
One photograph means more to me,
Much more than all the rest.
Who took this precious photograph
I couldn't really say;
I only know the subject is
More lovely than the day.
A face so radiant, so serene,
And known and loved so well;
This photograph I hold so dear,
I'd never give or sell.
True beauty comes from deep within,
It's something you can't buy;
It's captured on my photograph,
And cameras never lie.
It may be silly fancy,
And mock me if you will;
But when I choose to look at it
All time is standing still.
I know I'm looking at the past,
But I don't care, you see
My Mother's eyes are filled with love,
And looking right at me.
Written Nov 1994
poem by John Carter Brown
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Young Koekemoer (in reply to A. Brodrick)
Way back in the days
of the old Transvaal republic
in the Marico district lived a young farmer
called Hans Koekemoer, who was a great horseman
and a superb marksman
who crossed many rivers with his roan horse
and owned a Martini Henri rifle
and he was a great lover, skilled and sought by many ladies
and no other guy could compete with him
but one day an impi of Matabele warriors invaded the great Marico
burning down farmsteads, raiding cattle and killing farmers,
women and children
and the farmers were called up on commando
riding out on their horses with guns in their hands
and they fought bravely against that impi.
Hans by nature lived up to his name that meant cocky
firing from the saddle, breaking away from the commando
taking on a squad of the enemy
and he even followed them while they were fleeing
in front of him, trying to hunt the last one down
as he feared that they would capture or kill his beloved fiancée Sannie
and to the other farmers in the commando he was missing,
probably killed somewhere and while they rode back victoriously
their spirits were marred as they had lost the best young farmer.
Hans had been wounded and unconscious his horse
carried him to safety and a English missionary
came upon him removing a rusting assegai spear
and nursed him back to health
through a fever, bringing young Koekemoer back to life
over a period of some weeks
and just after his return to his farmstead
one of Hans Koekemoer’s cattle
was ill and he had to care for it through the night
and early the following morning while he was riding in the veldt
searching for a lost cow he saw a gathering of young men
galloping at speed in the distance
and first thought that it was a commando
that had gathered during the night and he rode up to them
and saw them passing a white banner
congratulating a bridegroom and bride and wishing them well
and they were riding at speed in front of a black coach
and Hans was curious about who had wedded so suddenly
and being cocky by nature forced the coach to a halt
and out stepped his girlfriend Sannie, with a Englishman,
a short wealthy shop owner
followed by Sannie’s father old dark Dirk Coetzee
an honourable man, a brave war veteran and a member of parliament
who wanted to know if young Hans had risen from the dead?
Young Hans replied that he wanted to talk to Sannie
the most beautiful girl in all of the Transvaal
who promised to wed him, swearing on the Bible
at the last communion service
and that he Hans could marry any of many a girl
and would instead drink a sip of brandy on her health.
Then lovely Sannie walked up to him
with a glass decorated with blue flowers in her hand
and he shouted: “to your health” before downing it
and Sannie was shaken but did not know why,
she looked into his eyes and forced a smile on her lips
and felt a spark going down into her hips
and he took her hand and looking into her eyes
kissed Sannie and her lips tasted of peppermint
from the shop owner’s kisses before his.
Sannie tied her skirts down before running hand-in-hand
with young Koekemoer
to where the roan horse was waiting on them
and the horse drew away galloping at full speed
while Sannie locked her arms around him
and in vain strong young Weppener, squinty Du Randt
and the rest of the riders gathered around the coach
jumped on their horses to catch up with them
and not one of them or her father
ever set eyes on Sannie again.
[Reference: Jong Koekemoer by A. Brodrick.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Great Spirits
When the earth was young
and the air was sweet
And the mountains kissed the sky
In the great beyond, with its many paths
Man and nature lived side by side
In this wilderness of danger and beauty
Lived three brothers, bonded by love
Their hearts full of joy
they ask now for guidance
Reaching out to the skies up above
Great Spirits of all who lived before
Take our hands and lead us
Fill our hearts and souls
with all you know
Show us that in your eyes
we are all the same
Brothers to each other
In this world we remain truly
brothers all the same
Give us wisdom to pass to each other
Give us strength so we understand
That the things we do
the choices we make
Give direction to all life's plans
To look in wonder
at all we've been given
In a world that's not always as it seems
Every corner we turn
only leads to another
A journey ends, but another begins
Great Spirits of all who lived before
Take our hands and lead us
Fill our hearts and souls
with all you know
Show us that in your eyes
we are all the same
Brothers to each other
In this world we remain truly
brothers all the same
Brothers all the same
song performed by by Tina Turner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In front of a firing squad
Japie almost burns himself
when he mess some coffee
and it’s still dark,
when at four o’clock one morning
British soldiers arrive
at the Greyling’s farm.
There’s an Afrikaner farm boy
standing against the wall
of a farm house
and English Captain Jack Seeley,
wants to know to where
his father’s Boer commando is going?
Japie Greyling refuses
to say anything about it
and Jack Seeley
order his men,
to aim at an Afrikaner boy.
Six British Martini Henri rifles
are pointed at a ten year old child
and he hears gunlock after gunlock
closing behind a bullet.
I ask you a last time
says the relentless Englishman
and a Boer boy
looks into death,
but still there’s nothing
that he lets out about his people
The British Captain keeps
walking nervously up and down
and the blue eyes
of a Boer boy,
cuts right through him
and the child says
let death then come,
but talk I wont.
All the British soldiers
are astounded by the courage
that comes from an Afrikaner child
and on command,
the rifles are lowered
before they ride away
and Japie Greyling
is left alive.
[References: Historic heroic story of Japie (Jacobus Johannes Cornelis) Greyling during the second Anglo-Boer war. The poem “Japie Greyling” by J.F.E Celliers. The book “Fear and Be Slain” by Jack Seeley.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Blockhouses had been erected right over the country
Blockhouses had been erected right over the country,
farms had been entered and burnt to the ground,
Livestock and animals had been slaughtered
and women and children were rounded up
and interned into death camps.
Young boys
were set against white walls
and firing squads
was set against them
and a super power
clenched its fist around this country
and stood gigantic
against every Boer farmer.
l’Envoi
That time will be forever black
in history
with the misdeeds of the British
that is well known
and the ruination of a nation, arousing from it
where women and children perished as targets
at the commands of Horatio Herbert Kitchener.
[Note: My own great grandmother died in a British concentration camp and my great grandfather was sent by the British to St. Helena as a prisoner of war and as a result of this, my grandfather(Gert Strydom) grew up in a orphanage.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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From pools of blood
From pools of blood bushes, trees
and aloes grow in the veldt
where British soldiers
fired on my countrymen
and some bayoneted them.
Concentration camps where twenty thousand
women and children died without dignity
at the hand of foreigners,
who claimed to be fellow Christians
are now covered with grass
and that past are being blotted out
as if the misery, the indignity,
the mass murder
never happened
and great Queen Victoria
is still dignified
and still I hold Great Britain responsible
for the murder of my great grand mother,
for the destruction
of my great grand father’s farm,
for the seizure
of my other great grand father’s property,
for sending him to St. Helena
as a prisoner of war,
for invading my country
for making profit from the minerals
and the quarter Scotsman in me
together with my three quarters Afrikaner parts
forever wants to be free
from the enslavement
which that foreign nation brought.
[Note: My own great grandmother died in a British concentration camp and my great grandfather was sent by the British to St. Helena as a prisoner of war and as a result of this, my grandfather(Gert Strydom) grew up in a orphanage.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Grandpa Danie Brand
When at sixteen
he had to survive in the field
many times he was hungry
he was delivered to the sun,
the wind and rain
and at times were half frozen,
but he took shots at Englishmen
(who burned their farm to the ground)
past when his gun barrel
were glowing white-hot
and burnt blisters on his hands
and those blisters
became open wounds
as he kept firing
and as a child
I saw those scars
and he was a man
who served God
and gave his tithe
and took good care of his workers,
but he could not tolerate an Englishman.
Still there’s something of him in me
to stand against
the oppression of my people
until it ends.
[Reference: Second Anglo-Boer war.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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When Her Brothers Were Away.
When Monica asked
if she could go with you
and her brothers
bike riding
her mother said
no you're too young
or if she asked
to go with you
and Jim and Pete
to the cinema
to see the latest
Elvis flick
her mother said
definitely not
it's not for young girls
and Monica'd storm indoors
slamming the door
shouting I hate you all
but when you called one day
and her brothers were out
(gone to see their big brother
about some old motorbike)
her mother said
yes come in and wait
and Monica was
pleased as Punch
especially when
her mother said
you could stay to lunch
and I can show you
over the place
Monica said
and after lunch maybe
we can go for a bike ride
along the small lanes
and maybe you
could show me
some judo moves
and her mother said
we'll see I'm not sure
Benedict will want
to do those kind
of things with a girl
and went off
to make lunch
and Monica showed you
all over the house
whose room was whose
and up in the attic
she said
this is my room
and took your hand
and took you
to the window
and said
see the view I've got?
Isn't it the best?
and you said
yes it's good
and you took in the view
and looking around
the room you saw her bed
and the big pink elephant
there by the wall
staring at you
and she said
that's Pinkie
isn't she great?
sure
you said
and she took you
down the stairs
to the kitchen for lunch
and her mother
chatted away
about her sons
and Monica sat there
gawking at you
her eyes studying
each aspect of you
her eyes large
as saucers
blue and beautiful
and after lunch
you showed her
a few judo moves
which she loved
especially when
your hands moved her
and you sensed
her almost ready
to burst with joy
and just before
you were ready
to go for a ride
on the bikes
her brothers came
and shooed her away
and she went off
giving them the evil eye
but you she gave
the young girl wink
the we know
what they don't smile
and off you rode
with her brothers
but she kept
those moments with you
(to herself)
as if you were
Romeo and Juliet
fond lovers.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Old Family Picture
In the old
black-and-white
family picture,
I see
great grandfather
dead drunk
with his hat
slightly skewed.
In the same old
black-and-white
family picture,
I see
grandfather
as drunk as
his father is
with his hat
also slightly skewed.
Father fools
great grandfather
and grandfather
with his rice-washed-water
as the good old home-made
Makoli.
They all believe him.
1996
poem by Sangnam Nam
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Blood Brothers
Maurice white, jon lind, nicky brown & brock walsh
So my friend
Voices from the past reunite at last
Back when we grew up on the streets
The world was at our feet
Do you recall the two of us
How we used th sing when everything
Was new to us
From the time that we were old
Enough to stand
It was you and I together to the end
Oh, what our souls believe we will
Always be
Blood brothers time cant divide
What our hearts have said with a
Drop of red
Blood brothers till the end
Through these years
Time has not been kind to others left behind
These streets where you and I once played
Nothings left today
What happened to the dreams we shared
Do we just go on like it was
Never there
Do I tell you that theres hope beyond
These walls
That to help you Id do anything at all
What our souls believe we will
Always be
Blood brothers time cant divide
What our hearts have said with a
Drop of red
Blood brothers, the bond we made never
Will break
Blood brothers to the end
song performed by by Earth Wind And Fire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life chess
It was like yesterday
that I saw two soldiers
play a game of chess,
both were just pawns
in the hands of an evil being.
They fell from the board
and were placed horizontal
right next to it,
as if their existence
didn’t really matter.
Their lives were wasted
and somewhere back in the states
their status changed to the departed,
before the game of war
had really started.
It was like yesterday
that I saw two soldiers die,
shot out of their vehicle
by a rocket propelled grenade
and splattered, scorched and burnt.
Without choice I was part of the game
and just the Lord knows
from where true courage came
and at times I and my brothers
fought the fight
to the best of our ability.
Today peace reigns
and the game is over and done
and all my brothers have gone,
but at times it all again
becomes real to me
and forever I am at war
with the demons in my soul.
[Reference: Brothers => Brothers in arms. States=> Back home in the RSA.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Brothers Under The Bridges
Saigon, it was all gone
The same coke machines as the streets I grew on
Down in a mesquite canyon, come walking along the ridge
Me and the brothers under the bridge
Campsites an hours walk from the nearest road or town
Theres too much brush in camp for the chp choppers to touch down
Aint lookin for nothin , I just want to live
Me and the brothers under the bridge
Come the santa anas and man that dry brush would light
Jimmy devon got burned up in his own campfire one winter night
We buried his body in the white stone high up on the ridge
Me and the brothers under the bridge
I had enough of the town oh and the straight life
Aint careful you end up on the wrong end of someones knife
Now I want no trouble and I aint got none to give
Me and the brothers under the bridge
Well I shipped home back in 72
And you know you were just a beautiul light in your moms dark eyes of
Blue
I stepped out on the tarmac, we were just kids
Me and the brothers under the bridge
Come veterans day I sat on the stand in my dress blues
I held your mothers hand, and they passed with the red, white and
Blue
One minute youre right there, and somethin slips.............
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Soldier (not really a poem)
the american revolution was fought witha new breed of soldier.
this country was founded on that soldier.
that soldier is the one that those on the front lines calls the coward
that soldier is the one that those on the front lines call when they need help
because these soldiers dont miss.
these soldiers are trained harder than the most elite frontline man
these soldiers are tought to kill their enemy before there enemy sees them.
these soldiers are the ghosts in the night,
these soldiers are the wind in the day
these soldiers are everywhere.
these soldiers are the bush next to u.
these soldiers are the the tree across the field.
these soldiers are the lump of snow in the flat plain.
these soldiers are snipers.
snipers are the reason we are free.
snipers stop the enemy before the enemy gets close to u,
poem by Joshua Decker
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Warriors Of The World United
Here our soldiers stand from all around the world
Waiting in a line to hear the battle cry
All are gathered here victory is near
The sound will fill the hall bringing power to us all
We alone are fighting for metal that is true
We own the right to live the fight we're here for all of you
Now swear the blood upon your steel will never dry
Stand and fight together beneath the metal sky
Brothers Everywhere
Raise you hands into the air
We're warriors
Warriors of The World
Like thunder from the sky
Sworn to fight and die
We're warriors
Warriors of The World
Many stand against us but they will never win
We said we would return and here we are again
To bring them all destruction suffering and pain
We are the hammer of the Gods we are thunder wind and rain
There they wait in fear with swords in feeble hands
With dreams to be a King first one should be a man
I call them out and charge them all with a life that is a lie
And in their final hour they shell confess before they die
Brothers Everywhere
Raise you hands into the air
We're warriors
Warriors of The World
Like thunder from the sky
Sworn to fight and die
We're warriors
Warriors of The World
If I should fall in battle my brothers who fight by my side
Gather my horse and waepons tell my family how I died
Until then I will be strong I will fight for all that is real
All who stand in my way will die by steel
Brothers Everywhere
Raise you hands into the air
We're warriors
Warriors of The World
song performed by by Manowar from Warriors Of The World
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Commandant Gideon Scheepers
They tried to send him to hell,
as if he was one of them,
a traitor, a rebel.
The British killed a captured ill man,
that they came across in the veldt
without decency, or any military law being honoured.
They shot a Boer commandant through the heart
and without a funeral note,
they hurried, to get him buried.
A brave man devoted
to his country, to his God,
whose burial place was not noted.
Turning sod after sod
with spades, they dumped him
in a unmarked grave
in the dead of night
without using light
they threw ground upon his chest,
laid him to rest without any honour
and left him alone
without a marking stone.
[References: The rank of Commandant is equivalent to that of Lieutenant Colonel. The heroic story of Gideon Scheepers during the second Anglo-Boer war, who was captured while being ill in the veldt as a normal combatant, but treated like a rebel and shot by the British, who buried him in a unmarked hole in the ground.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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On The Fifth Day Of A Hunger Strike
My brothers,
Forgive me if I'm unable to say
honestly and straightforwardly
all that I would like to say to you
I'm drunk, my head is light, it spins,
not from raki
but from hunger.
My brothers,
I'm European, I'm Asian, I'm American,
In this month of May
I'm not in jail or on a hunger strike,
But lying at night in a meadow
With your eyes as near to mine as the stars
And your hands in mine as a single hand
like the hand of my mother
like the hand of my helpmate
like the hand of life.
My brothers,
You, at least, have never abandoned me,
Not me or my country or my people.
I know that you love me and love what's ours
As I love you and love what's yours.
And for this
I thank you, my brothers,
I thank you.
My brothers,
I have no intention of dying.
And if I am killed
I know
I'll go on living
in your thoughts.
I'll live in the lines of Aragon-
in every line that describes
the coming of beautiful days-
And in the pigeons of Picasso,
And in the folksongs of Robson...
And more beautiful than anything else
more triumphant than anything else
I'll live in the jubilant laughter
of a comrade on strike day
in the port of Marseilles.
My brothers,
Since you really wish me to talk again,
I'm so happy, so happy,
that I spurt the words out!
poem by Nazim Hikmet
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Mother Sky
Oh great mother of the sky
Hear your children’s cries
They have been taken away
By non tribal hands
To a place far from your eyes
Taken off of federal land
Your children now cry for you
Eighteen of your children missing
Their spirits grow weak
Has they are together trying to reach you
Wishing to be back home
Under your watchful eyes
Oh great mother of the sky
Hear your people’s cries
We wish to have our family
And our friends back home
Investigations continues for your children
The eighteen that are missing
Photograph taken of the site
Now are missing as well
Eighteen children missing
From our holy cemetery
Help us find your missing children
Whose tribe looks endlessly for them
We want them back home
Here in Kingman Arizona
Home of the Hualpai tribe
poem by Davina Vanessa Rivas
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