Gideon Scheepers (Terzanelle)
To form a cairn, I write these words about a remarkable man,
commandant Gideon Scheepers, executed in gross neglect
who was seen by the British as a rebel and partisan
and they treated him without any decency or respect
when in the veldt they captured an ill man as a prisoner of war.
Commandant Gideon Scheepers, executed in gross neglect
proofed himself at the battle of Magersfontein before
gathering more men, blowing away train tracks,
when in the veldt they captured an ill man as a prisoner of war
who acted against armed blacks
who stopped them from pillaging farms, raping, killing and looting,
gathering more men, blowing away train tracks,
the British executed him, with a firing squad shooting
a brave man, who acted fearless
who stopped them from pillaging farms, raping, killing and looting
and they buried him in an unmarked grave, rather careless.
To form a cairn I write these words about a remarkable man,
a brave man, who acted fearless
who was seen by the British as a rebel and partisan.
[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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Gideon Scheepers
There’s a Boer commandant
that proofs himself at Magersfontein
and help to beat the British there
and at Paardeberg on horseback,
rides right through them
and they cannot touch him.
When his commando
enters the Cape Colony
rail tracts are blown away
and British trains stand and wait
and there are many Cape Boers
that joins him
to fight against
the overwhelming British might.
The British give guns
to the black population
and send them to farmsteads
to murder women and children
and to rape
and to Gideon Scheepers it’s more than enough
and it hits him like a hammer blow
and every black man
that his commando catches carrying a firearm
is hanged.
Then it happens
that the British find Gideon Scheepers
lying ill in the field
and they execute him
and somewhere in the field
he is pushed into an unmarked grave
and even today
nobody knows where
Gideon Scheepers lies.
[References: The rank of Commandant is equivalent to that of Lieutenant-Colonel. The heroic story of Gideon Scheepers during the second Anglo-Boer war.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Commandant Gideon Scheepers
Not only was he assassinated
as a ill man captured in the field
by a British firing squad
but was buried in the ground
in a grave unmarked
planted without a coffin,
buried like rubbish,
or rotting dead meat,
like weed
without anyone heeding
where they laid him down.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Salmon Van As
On a night just as the moon is rising
a British officer comes by horse with a white flag
and the rifle barrels of the Boers follow him,
as they are on guard at the front post.
Evening after evening he comes
and sometimes rides past in a cloud of dust
where he is spying on their positions
and tries to lead them astray with his chattering.
With words that by now they know:
“No nation will win against us.
Surrender tonight,
as you have already lost the war.”
On a hillock Salmon van As is at the front post
and something creaks below him in the trees and bushes
where he is standing with his Mauser rifle at the ready
and he knows of the atrocities of this Englishman
where with a thunder clap he shoots at him.
Some black men run back to the British camp
to tell the story of the shot,
where a red headed major stamps his feet in anger
and swears to God to take revenge.
Convinced of his own innocence Salmon van As
stays openly on his own farm,
where he goes on with his life in Heidelberg
and just after the peace of Vereniging,
when it fits the British,
they insist on his arrest.
He is brought before a military court
where he is not given any chance to defend himself,
as probably he would have succeeded in his own defence
and the British officer says his final say.
At daylight the Lee Metford rifles of the British soldiers fire
and like Gideon Scheepers there’s a Boer that falls,
a Boer citizen is murdered by the British
and in the cliff a thorn tree on his grave still tells that story.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A brave Field Cornet
From a hillock
two Boer commandoes
ride into an English camp
and a few of the British are shot,
a lot are caught
and most flee away.
In the direction of the Tuli river
the enemy are followed in haste
where they join comrades
driving a ox wagon
and the Boers are marksmen
and the English flee again
to find shelter in a farmhouse.
The house is shot to pieces
and for the third time on one day
the British flee again
and the next day,
the Boer commando captures nine wagons
with food and ammunition.
The day following Boer scouts
find an abandoned enemy camp
with burned out fires,
tents, horses and mules
and see a big cloud of dust
coming along in their direction.
There’s a Field Cornet
that does not ride away,
while two Boer commandos
escapes to safety.
At dusk Jacobus Potgieter
finds more men with a canon
set on a hillock
and with just more than twenty men,
he prepares
to give resistance to a huge enemy force.
The darker the night gets,
the nearer the cloud of dust comes
and Jacobus Potgieter and his men
are ready to shoot killing shots
and to let no Englishmen past them
and there’s a rambling sound,
but no enemy appear
and they are invaded
by a swarm of locusts.
[Reference: The “JJ Potgieter manuscript.” Second Anglo-Boer war. Boer commando= A group of Boer farmers in a citizen force militia under a Commandant (Lieutenant-Colonel) .]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Visionary Nicolaas Pieter Johannes Van Rensburg
Some people
view visionary Van Rensburg similar
to Nostradamus,
but most do not even know
about this remarkable, humble
and religious man.
During the second Anglo-Boer war
he was to the Boers
a true prophet from God
and both commandant-generals Christiaan De Wet
and Koos De La Rey as well as president Steyn
consulted him for advice.
They were generals
who humiliated the British
time and time again
with daring tactics
and who were never captured.
His mother taught him
about the Bible
from being small
and as a child
while he herded sheep,
he took the Bible along.
He made more than seven hundred
predictions of which
some he could interpret correctly
and the meaning of others
was beyond him.
His warnings to Boer commandos
came true literary
and he predicted
Boer farmsteads burning
and women and children
being killed.
Long in advance
he predicted the First World War,
the flue epidemic
and even went to Lichtenburg
to warn general De La Rey
of his impending death.
Some writers believe
that the events in Zimbabwe,
the fall of European governments,
and the war between Islam
and the United States
have being predicted by him.
Even Koeberg nuclear power station
blowing up near Cape Town,
which he predicted
may be impending,
if the current maintenance of it
where faulty workmanship
lead to a turbine blowing,
is considered.
Neither can his predictions
of a South African civil war
or a coming worldwide war
be taken lightly.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Invasion
The Vikings are coming, You'd better get ready for we're having a fight
The longboats are coming, looking like dragons in the dead of the night
Muster the men from all the villages
You'd better get ready to fight with your enemies
Beacons are burning, I'm giving the word to get ready to fight
The battle is nearing, You'd better get ready to fight for your lives
Muster the men from all the villages
You'd better get ready to fight with your enemies
The Norsemen are coming, The Norsemen are coming
The warnings are given, The Norsemen are coming
The Norsemen are coming, The Norsemen are coming
The warnings are given, The Norsemen are coming
Raping and pillaging, Robbing and looting the land
Raping and pillaging, Robbing and looting the land
Viking raiders from afar
The Norsemen are coming, The Norsemen are coming
The warnings are given, The Norsemen are coming
The Norsemen are coming, The Norsemen are coming
The warnings are given, The Norsemen are coming
Raping and pillaging, Robbing and looting the land
Raping and pillaging, Robbing and looting the land
Viking raiders from afar
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Blair... is accusing us of executing British soldiers. We want to tell him that we have not executed anybody. They are either killed in battle, most of them get killed because they are cowards anyway, the rest they just get captured.
quote by Mohammed Saeed al-Sahaf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
General Christiaan De Wet At Doornberg
(after David Naude)
In the dust lay de Wet's son;
he prayed to God, further did not say a word,
traitors came under a white flag,
spied for the British before the battle;
it was very sad to see
while a brave man served his country.
On his hands was his own son's blood
but he still gave courage to his men
causing the British and traitors to loose,
driving them back over the Zant River
winning more fame in the world's eyes
while a brave man served his country.
The British had fled past Winburg
to avoid general de Wet's commando,
some of the traitors were very scared
when the Boer commando captured them;
in de Wet's eyes God was still providing,
while a brave man served his country.
[Reference: 'Die slag van Doornberg' ('The battle at Doornberg' by David Naude.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The battle of Majuba Hill
With Major General Sir George Pomeroy in command
the Hussars, Gordon Highlanders,60th rifles
and a contingent of the naval brigade,
climbed Majuba hill
and was in battle forced down
the back again.
At dawn the British army
had taken the steep hill
and the Boer commando’s camp
laid on the plain below
and Major General Sir George Pomeroy,
was just a bit to comfortable
with their position on the summit
and the Boers were at their mercy,
or so they thought.
The Boers saw British soldiers
on top of Majuba hill
waving the Union Jack
and under cover,
they started to climb
the steep slopes.
On a February late summer day
the Boer commando
blended with their farming clothes
into the field, into the hill.
Every rock and crevice,
every redoubt and counterscarp
was a natural hiding place
to lay siege on that Majuba hill.
The British infantry wore red jackets
and blue trousers
and white pith helmets on their heads
and was a fine example,
of an invading Super power’s military might.
They thought what damage could a
citizen force militia in jackets,
trousers and slouch hats
with hunting rifles do,
against a empire’s
well trained soldiers?
What they did forget,
was they were facing
a nation of exceptional men
who fought savage men and cruel beasts
to make a living
and every one a great marksman.
In integrity the Boers prayed
and believing in God,
climbed that hill
in broad daylight.
George Pomeroy was dead
shot thought the head
and accurate shots rang out
while fire and movement tactics
turned that battlefield into a slaughtering
and British soldiers died one by one
and tried to flee
down the rear slope.
All of Great Britain’s victories before
never prepared that empire,
for the treatment that it got
from a bunch of hard-bitten farmers
that believed in the power of God
and brandished modern rifles.
[Reference: The battle of Majuba Hill. Battle between the Transvaal (ZAR) republic and Great Britain on 27 February 1881 in South Africa, which won the first Anglo-Boer war. “Three Boer groups were led by Field Cornet Stephanus Roos, Commandant D.J.K. Malan and Commandant Joachim Ferreira against Major General George Pomeroy.” It consisted of about 400-500 Boer farmers in a citizen force militia against 405 British infantry. On the side of the Boers 1 was dead and 5 wounded and of the British 92 were dead (including their General) ,134 wounded and 59 captured.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My friend you talk about my people and me
My friend you talk
about my people and me
being equal
to Hitler and the Germans
of the Second World War,
but do not know
that I and most of us Afrikaners
treated black people
like human beings,
never lifted a hand
against one,
that I knew from being
a toddler that they were
Christians as well
when my mother
gave the money that was left
from my father’s funeral fund
for a church to be constructed
in their own community.
How I saw the effect
of the Church Street bomb
killing innocent civilians
on the street
men, women and children
from any race.
How I was forced
to go to the army
and to war
and patriotic did my duty there
to stop communists killing,
raping and robbing the future
like they did in East Germany,
Hungary in sixty-eight
and with the Portuguese
still living in Mozambique
and in Angola
when that countries
got their independence.
How in Soweto with the army
I had to stop black people
killing black people,
burning their fellow man alive
while their women were
cheering them on
and I saw man more being animals
than human beings
without having any mercy
for each other
having lost all conscience
for their cruel deeds.
You do not know
that I will not quarter
for a country
full of pirates
and not the Orlando
soccer playing type
but people who rob,
kill, maim and rape
that there’s no other escape
for Afrikaner people like me
and nowhere else to go
that I love this land
maybe more than
my forefathers did
who sacrificed
their lives for it
that my great grandfather Japie Strydom
lost his farm in the Cape colony
when as a Cape rebel
he joined the war
against the British,
was almost executed
when the war ended
was imprisoned on St. Helena,
that his wife
died in a British concentration camp
where she was fed finely grinded glass
in the flour given to her
that I want to get rid
of oppression against me
and my fellow Afrikaners
and want to have a life
like any one else.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Easter Rising
eiri amach na casca
(the Easter rising)
The Proclamation had met with silence,
he must have known the fight was lost,
But, Connolly, faithful to the Cause,
Was accepting of its cost.
They took the Green, The inns of Court,
the Post on Sackville Street
De Valera stood at Bolandʼ s mill
the place where five roads meet.
Their commander, Pearse, a scholar,
Apportioned his menʼ s lives,
To garrison each strong point
Till the British would arrive.
Their tactics were pure suicide-
They could not hope to stand,
But their strategy was brilliant
Meant to rouse a sleeping land.
Sure to die of a snipers bullet-
Or a British firing squad
These unabashed Republicans
Held out against long odds..
Bloodied by the Rebel guns,
The foe paid dear for ground
The general post office was in flames
as their gunboats shelled our town.
The week crawled past and Dublin burned
The post Office glowed White hot
Pearse watched his troop dwindle and fade.
Faint from shell and shock..
They gave up to be crucified
In Imperial British fashion
And by dying saved their country.
Their deaths brought her resurrection.
The British with their firing squad
Could ready, aim and fire.
The Brotherhood by dying
Could persuade, convince, inspire
From the graves of these patriot men
Was an Irish nation grown.
Their struggle at the post office
Still captured in itsʼ stone.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I captured a butterfly in a jar
I captured a butterfly in a jar
I danced around in the grass for hours
Chasing it down stumbling falling laughing
Making the chase the most rewarding
I captured a butterfly in a jar
There it was for me to hold and keep forever
Anytime I wanted to relish in the joy of life
There it was for me to look upon
I captured a butterfly in a jar
Time eroded on and all things change
The butterfly became just another bug
Trapped in a glass cage
I captured a butterfly in a jar
And saw how sad it truly was
A prisoner and I the jailer
I had to let it go
I captured a butterfly in a jar
I opened that lid and allowed it to go
And it flew away far from me
It left me yearning for that summer day
I captured a butterfly in a jar
But maybe it captured me
Because ever since that butterfly flew away
I have never again felt free
It’s quiet, very quiet in the veldt
It’s quiet, very quiet in the veldt
even the crickets and grasshoppers
are without sound
and the chopper drones away
leaving me and Johnny
and a few other men
with a Bushmen tracker
to follow a enemy spoor
and suddenly we walk straight in
to a ambush, right into a trap
and Johnny is dead, shot through the head
and three others as well and it feels as if I am in hell
and I am talking to myself
trying to get my bearings while firing at the enemy,
killing some and throwing two grenades
to advice them of my serious intentions
and the enemy shooting stops, as does that
of me and my men and I smell death
and are nauseous to the point of retching
and it’s quiet, very quiet in the veldt
even the crickets and grasshoppers
are without sound.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Thr Railroad Tracks
Who lived across the railroad tracks?
A few of us whites, but mostly blacks.
These railroad tracks without even knowing
separated my town and kept it growing
into a segregated place.
I used to listen for the sound of the train.
As it rolled on by, it would never remain.
It just kept rolling to where it was going.
The engineer waved. The smoke kept blowing
into a segregated place.
Even when the trains stopped the rolling
the tracks will still there.They were controlling
the thinking of the people in our town.
So they kept the tracks there, never tore them down
in our segregated place.
Some were on the right side of the tracks, you see.
Some were on the wrong side of the tracks, like me.
They never took the tracks down from 60 years ago.
And the town I grew up in doesn't want to know
it's a segregated place.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Michael Taylor is not being executed for homicide. Michael Taylor is being executed for raping a white female.
quote by John Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Four Faced Man
I should have acted like a King
With you being the Queen
Instead I was a dictator
I acted very mean
I should have been a warrior
Fighting for what was right
Instead I was a destroyer
Killing everything in site
I should have been a lover
I had your heart to hold
But my words they were so critical
My actions were so cold
I treated you like an enemy
When I should have been your friend
I only looked out for myself
When on me you did depend
I showed the wrong four faces
Your village I brought down
Now that I know, I understand
Why you don't want me around
I know what it is I have to do
Your love and respect I'll earn
And be the proper four-faced man
When I do return
Like a true King I will lead you
And like a Warrior I will fight
A lover that will cherish you
And a friend that will treat you right
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!