Going Home
When I was a student
I came through the rain,
with storms whipping the Cape
right through the Karoo
into Gauteng
flooding rivers
and blocking mountain passes
with land slides.
Avoiding fallen rocks and creeping
at sixty kilometres an hour
on the N1 till Worchester
on a road
that had only one lane open,
I passed the police
who were closing the freeway.
For fifteen hundred kilometres
the road was soaking wet
and my BMW’s four headlights glared
at any other vehicle that I met
and the ABS-brakes,
the six-cylinder engine
and power steering
did their fare share
to keep me on the road.
Every now and then
I had to stop to get fuel,
checked the oil,
checked the air pressure,
visited the washing room
and Coca Cola kept me awake
right through a soaking night
while I was on my way home
to sunny Pretoria.
I came to the house
in a early dawn,
was greeted by the dog
crying from joy
and wagging its tail,
got a huge plate
of sausage, putu porridge
with tomato gravy
and fried eggs
and coffee from my mother,
went to bed
and slept as if I were dead
right into the next day.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Grey land traveller
One day in summer
when the freeway is open,
I will take the Honda
and turn the accelerator open
until the revolution counter
touches the red.
One day I will see
what my motorbike is able to do
when I drive from here to Cape Town
with all the power that it has
and see how the speed needle
goes past the last mark.
One day I will feel
it roaring under me
and cut lightning fast
past cars, pickups and lorries
and speed will make
that it seems
as if I am coming out of the road itself
and I will be like a spectre.
One day I will really know
how much power my motorbike has
and will be part of the wind,
the sun and freedom
and the road will belong to me
and I to the road.
One day time will stop for me
and I might never reach the Cape
and will drive into the grey land
and maybe you
will read about me in the newspapers
and a motorbike
that lies in pieces for a distance of kilometres.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The trip back
The sky is grey
with ominous clouds
that whirls and churns
and there’s thick fog
hanging like a cloak
low over the earth.
The visor of my helmet
is immediately covered
by the impact
of fine drops of rain
and I open it
to be able to see
where I am travelling.
At places I have to leave the road
to clean the lenses
of my glasses
and then the motorbike
again roars with power under me,
but I have only gone a small distance
when the cars come to a halt
and I have to twist through them.
Twenty kilometres further
I come upon the accident
that is blocking the freeway
just where I have to turn off
to Benoni
and blue and red lights
flash through
the fumes of mist.
I turn the throttle open
but at places
the fog banks still hangs low
and mini buss taxis, busses and cars
appear like ghosts in front of me.
At a place a stream flows
strong like a river over the road
and although I lift my feet
and open the throttle more
to give power to the motorbike
a four by four
passes over the middle line
and throws a wall of water
right over me
and if I can get hold of that lunatic
he will surely know it.
The helmet, black leather jacket
and backpack
stops the water,
but my jean
and shoes are soaking wet
and the motorbike eats the road
and somewhat frozen
I drive to get to home,
as if Springs
is just behind the next hillock
poem by Gert Strydom
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Act of God?
A coin when dropped will
In one second, fall sixteen feet
In two, sixty four
In three, one hundred and forty four.
They were driving back from Sydney
Mum and Dad and their two kids
The freeway was a nightmare
So they took the old road that they did.
The old road’s quite an old road
Been there for many years
The rain was slanting sideways
Being late home was their fear.
It was night and many lights were out
The road was dark and quite awash
Water running everywhere
The kids shrieked with every splash.
A short drive now back to the warmth
Of the house in which they lived
A short drive back now to that home
Where they brought up both their kids.
Just two and three I think they were
A precious time of life
The kids strapped in the back seat
In the front was man and wife.
A dip there in the road appeared
Just where there is a creek
But we’ll be home soon they both said
Both kids were now asleep.
‘Slow down now, that’s deep water’
Said the man unto his wife
Those were the very final words
He would utter in his life.
One hundred feet, one hundred feet
One hundred feet or more
Was the depth of that great puddle
Into which the rain had poured.
It was at a place called Somersby
When the rain had drained away
That they winched up that death carriage
On the following grey day.
Yes, the chasm it was very deep
A Grand Canyon not a puddle
So for everyone upon that road
And every time you loved ones cuddle
Just think of those four driving home
And think of their full fright
And hold each other closely
Each and every single night
We should live for every minute
We should relish every hour
For simple stupid circumstance
Can destroy life’s fragile flower.
A coin when dropped will
In one second fall sixteen feet
In two, sixty four
In three, one hundred and forty four.
It was that deep.
I met the family's best friend in a local pub yesterday. He had just got back from identifying the bodies.
poem by David Keig
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A Road Well Travelled
A road well travelled does not the journey ease
Nor do well placed signposts aid our itineraries
A road well travelled is rough and rutted where
Others have passed by this way overburdened with their cares
A road well-travelled may be full of risks and dangers
You keep yourself unto yourself and never talk to strangers.
This road well travelled has no final end in sight
It can be sunny in the daytime but quite frightening at night
This road well travelled can sometimes just disappear
And you stop not knowing where to go shivering with fear
This road well travelled sometimes returns you to its start
And leaves you walking round in circles with a sad and heavy heart.
My road well travelled has many toll gates on the way
Each time I ask directions there’s a need to always pay
My road well travelled is a lonely road at times
It is a real road that I know it’s not just a state of mind
My road well travelled is not just my road you see
It’s a road that many others take and it’s called anxiety.
poem by David Keig
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Bad Brakes
Bad brakes whole car shakes
Looks like Im heading for a breakdown
Black smoke engine beginning to choke
I must be heading for a breakdown
I pulled up for a mouth of coca-cola
Down at samuels cafe
Saw a little spanish lady coming over
Said lady are you going my way she said o-lay
Bad brakes carburettor shakes
Looks like youre heading for a breakdown
Black smoke engine beginning to choke
We must be heading for a breakdown
We hit the road at 90 miles an hour
Heading for frisco bay
She said senor you got cop on your shoulder
I said oh now wed better not stay
We got to get away with our
Bad brakes carburettor shakes
Looks like were heading for a breakdown
He was catching up nose right inside our mirror
When the motor blowed
We climbed out and she began to shiver
Oh no sir please let us go
He said dont you know you got
Bad brakes carburettor shakes
Looks like you bought yourself a breakdown
Black smoke engine beginning to choke
And youve got yourself a breakdown
Bad brakes engine beginning to shake
Looks like weve got ourselves a breakdown
Black smoke engine beginning to choke
We got ourselves a breakdown
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Driving past Van Reenens pass
It’s as if the dark grey sky
slowly folds up around the car.
The windscreen wipers
fights a loosing battle,
while the car’s tyres
slides across the road.
I stop for a moment
and take photos,
of the winter snow landscape.
Outside it’s freezing cold
and soaking wet
and I feel snowflakes,
falling softly against my cheek.
Everywhere a white cloak is spread
and over brown fields of grass,
the fuel station and houses
and as far as I can see
there’s a white magic land.
It looks as if the road
runs to the horizon
into the whiteness
and the ice cold wind stings,
while I stand shivering.
The snow grinds under the tyres
and the car slips a little
when I drive away
and I feel like
staying in a lodge for a while.
.
poem by Gert Strydom
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On the Same Road...
that night i passed by the road
leading to the house where i live,
someone died on the road
i did not mind i am heading for home
this morning while going to the university
another body sprawled on the road, another dead body
there is a crowd of people
curious but not mourning
i do not stop for death
i am going towards mine and we who are still leaving cannot really be lucky
everyday we are dying
we simply have to wait for that fate
ful time
it is our turn we do not have to anticipate it
every hour
a part of us dies
it is enough sharing this moments of death
and so i said
i cannot stop for another person's death
destiny has once taken him
and there is nothing that i can do
i am also just merely passing by...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Our Numbness Along the Road Leading to Our Destiny
that night i passed by the road
leading to the house where i live,
someone died on the road
i did not mind i was eagerly heading for home
this morning while going to the university
another body sprawled on the road,
another dead body
there is a crowd of people
curious but not mourning
i do not stop for death
i am going towards mine
and we who are still living cannot really be surely
lucky
everyday we are dying
we simply have to wait for that fateful time
it is our turn we do not have to anticipate it
every hour
a part of us dies
it is enough
sharing these moments of death
and so i say
i cannot stop for another person's death
destiny has once taken him
and there is nothing that i can do
i am also just merely passing by...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Road Is Just A Road
He pulled out in a cloud of dust
Layin' rubber and spewin' rust
And on any road he'd take
He'd have his foot on the pedal but my heart on the brake
Underneath the smooth tar curves
A road is only dust and dirt
On a lonely interchange
The signs all look the same
'Cause a road is just a road and a feelin's just a feelin'
No matter where you go
From Bakersfield to San Antone
A road is just a road when the one you love is leavin' on
And midnight's another dawn a hundred miles ago
He pulled out of sight of me
Believin' that I'd set him free
But I'd heard the voice of the prisoner
Sayin' he couldn't get enough of her
You can go by land, you can go by air
Go by sea, hell I don't care
You can go anyway you choose
Wearin' out the soles of your travelin' shoes
'Cause a road is just a road and a feelin's just a feelin'
No matter where you go
From Bakersfield to San Antone
A road is just a road when the one you love is leavin' on
And midnight's another dawn a hundred miles ago
(Bangor Maine to El Paso)
And every sleepless night I see him screamin' by the scenery
Not noticing another mile that's rolled on between him and me
'Cause a road is just a road and a feelin's just a feelin'
No matter where you go
From Bakersfield to San Antone
A road is just a road when the one you love is leavin' on
And midnight's another dawn a hundred miles ago
(Waterloo to San Bernardino)
(Washington to Amarillo
song performed by by Dixie Chicks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Further On
Where the road is dark
and the seat is soaked
where the gun is cocked
and the bullet's cold
where the miles are marked in blood and gold
I'll meet you further on up the road
Got on my dead man's suit
and my smilin' skull ring
my lucky graveyard boots
and a song to sing
I got a song to sing, keep me out of the cold
and I'll meet you further on up the road
Further on up the road
further on up the road
where the way is dark
and the night is cold
but one sunny morning we'll rise, I know
and I'll meet you further on up the road
Well I been out in the desert
was doin' my time
searching through the dust
looking for a sign
if there's a light up ahead
well, buddy, I don't know
but I got this fever
burning in my soul
so let's take the good times as they come
and I'll meet you further on up the road
Further on up the road
further on up the road
where the way is dark
and the night is cold
one sunny morning we'll rise, I know
and I'll meet you further on up the road
one sunny morning we'll rise, I know
and I'll meet you further on up the road
yeah I'll meet you further on up the road
well I'll meet you further on up the road
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Open Road
I'm sitting at the wheel
I got a green light
Not afraid of nothin' cuz heart and soul
I'm built for life
So let the engine roar
Push the pedal down
I want the white lines on the highway
To lead me out of town
I'm rolling on and on and on
Who knows where I'm goin'?
Life is an open road - it's the best story never told
It's an endless sky - it's the deepest sea
Life is an open road to me
Life is an open road to me
I got headlights to guide me thru the night
I got the window down and the radio playing
It makes me feel alive
song performed by by Bryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A lane in England
In autumn I walked in England
in a lane full of trees
where leaves lay auburn
on a road wet from rain.
Barren, stripped oak trees
were between other green ones
and it was as if I was going
right through a tunnel
with here and there trees
of which the leaves were more yellow.
In the distance the road bended to the right
where a bush fence
cut neatly square
and telephone poles
ran along the edge of the road
and the green moss banks
were covered with auburn leaves
at places
and on the other side
of the road
a shrub stretched out green and long
like a sausage
that was lying next to the road
and I would love
to have a lane like that
next to my driveway.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Further On (Up The Road)
Where the road is dark
And the seat is soaked
Where the gun is cocked
And the bullets cold
Where the miles are marked in blood and gold
Ill meet you further on up the road
Got on my dead mans suit
And my smilin skull ring
My lucky graveyard boots
And a song to sing
I got a song to sing, keep me out of the cold
And Ill meet you further on up the road
Further on up the road
Further on up the road
Where the way is dark
And the night is cold
But one sunny morning well rise, I know
And Ill meet you further on up the road
Well I been out in the desert
Was doin my time
Searching through the dust
Looking for a sign
If theres a light up ahead
Well, buddy, I dont know
But I got this fever
Burning in my soul
So lets take the good times as they come
And Ill meet you further on up the road
Further on up the road
Further on up the road
Where the way is dark
And the night is cold
One sunny morning well rise, I know
And Ill meet you further on up the road
One sunny morning well rise, I know
And Ill meet you further on up the road
Yeah Ill meet you further on up the road
Well Ill meet you further on up the road
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Long Journey
Motorcycling along
the N1 freeway
from Pretoria in the north to Cape Town
the flaming sun rises over the horizon
small like a ripe apricot
while its dimensions gets larger
and then tomato red
a little later it turns orange and like a ripe fruit
hangs untouchable up on the sky
and corn fields, fences and trees
fly past almost blurring
in the twilight sketched like pencil drawings
and the sun like a huge pit being spitted
crosses the sky
changes to yellow and then to white hot
and the sky turns from dusk grey
to bright blue
and later to a darker hue
and the hot wind bristles
as if with loving fingers
touching and stroking your whole body
and in the early fresh morning
you draw in at a garage,
make a pit stop, to check the oil,
to fill your motorcycle up
and have a breakfast
at a Wimpy roadhouse
and the smell of fuel
hangs in the air
and you find children there
looking with huge curious eyes
at your motorbike
and gazing at you,
as if a hero character
has just walk right out
of a cartoon magazine
and you remove your helmet
take off your leather gloves
visit the loo where a guy or two
looks at you and comments
on your motorcycle, your leather jacket
the weather and the road
and in the restaurant
the waitress pours a Mega coffee,
smiles dazzling
when she puts it on the table
with your breakfast of steak,
French fries and coke
and you can swear
that there’s a twinkling in her eyes
before she walks away
with a French plate swishing to and thro
and buttocks leaving a distinct impression
of female grace
but the sun is drawing water
and time is flying,
you motorcycle thunders alive
and you return to the freeway
where at speed you pass
cars, greyhound busses and trucks
and the road feels almost without end
right through the flat Orange Free State,
later the acrid hell hot Karroo
where you see grazing flocks of sheep
like white specks
and some windmills
flashing and reflecting the sun
on their huge spinning blades
somewhat like lonely landmarks
and you make some more pit stops
to refuel and stretch your legs
have another meal
and just before driving through
the last tunnel on top of a hill
dusk envolopes the world, the sun dwindles away,
the evening star is just above the horizon
and a little later star after star flies pass
like leaves in autumn falling from a tree
and you are free, almost at the end
of your journey
or maybe you are always just passing by,
travelling to a new destination
with the wind, the sun and sky
and some people that you meet on the trip
and sometimes you go very fast,
at other times almost creeping slow
until suddenly destiny causes the journey to end.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Teardrops
Teardrops - Ive had my share of crying buckets
Full of
Teardrops - so hard to take - I got a soaking
With those
Teardrops - and it feels like I have taken over from
The rain.
In the heart of the lonely man
In and out of love more often where most others can
He walks the streets like the losers in some
Lovers game
He talks so sweet but the news is always much
The same.
Teardrops - Ive had my share of crying buckets
Full of
Teardrops - so hard to take - I got a soaking
With those
Teardrops - and it feels like I have taken over from
The rain.
In the eyes of the lonely one
Everything is cold and hopeless that he looks
Upon
He needs a friend a lover who can comfort him
His deeds offend he knows that he has brought
On him.
Teardrops - Ive had my share of crying buckets
Full of
Teardrops - so hard to take - I got a soaking
With those
Teardrops - and it feels like I have taken over from
The rain.
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bollicine
Piccolo spazio pubblicit
piccolo spazio pubblicit
radio superstereoradio
coca....cola
coca....cola
coca....cola
coca....cola
coca....cola
coca....cola!
Bevi la coca cola che ti fa bene
bevi la coca cola che ti fa digerire
con tutte quelle, tutte quelle bollicine....
Coca cola s coca cola... a me mi fa morire...
coca cola s coca cola...a me mi fa impazzire...
con tutte quelle tutte quelle bollicine...
brrrr!!!
Piccolo spazio pubblicit
"l'angolo della posta"
Piccolo spazio pubblicit!
radio superstereoradio
coca....cola
coca....cola
coca....cola
coca....cola
coca....cola
coca....cola!
Coca cola chi
coca cola chi vespa mangia le mele
coca cola chi
coca chi non vespa pi e mangia le pere...
con tutte quelle tutte quelle medicine...
Io la coca cola me la porto a scuola coca cola chi
coca cola coca-casa-e-chiesa, scuola
con tutte quelle tutte quelle bollicine!!!
Coca cola...
e sei protagonista!!
Coca cola...
per l'uomo che non deve chiedere.....mai!!!
..con tutte quelle tutte quelle bollicine...
Coca cosa?????
coca cola!!!!!
coca cola!!
...e sai cosa bevi.....
...con tutte quelle tutte quelle bollicine...
....................................
io la coca cola me la porto a scuola
coca cola s coca cola coca-casa-e-chiesa.....
song performed by by Vasco Rossi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Road
Sitting alone on my hotel
Looking in the mirror wondering, well,
After all this time you never thought youd still be out on the road?
Like a gypsy I was born to roam
Like a wanderer with no fixed abode
I think about the friends Ive left behind on the road
Well, the roads been rocky along the way
Its been a long, hard haul on the motorway
But if it gets too smooth its time to call it a day
(on the road)
The bed and breakfasts and the greasy spoons
(the road)
The loser bars and the noisy rooms
(the road)
The casualties who did too many lines
(the road)
Wasted talent on women and wine
I think of all the friends Ive left behind
Whenever its time to get back out on the road
Started playing blues in a coffee bar
I took a trip down charing cross road
With my imitation gretsch guitar
And my head full of songs and my eyes full of stars
I saw a band called the rolling stones
I thought, thats it, Ill get a band,
Im leaving home, Im out on the road.
The motorways all over this land
(the road)
Far away places like wigan and birmingham
(the road)
Didnt have no name, didnt have any fans
(the road)
Didnt have no money so we slept in the van
All those early gigs we ever played
Sometimes we were lucky if we even got paid
On the road
Pete played on the bass guitar
Liked to get around, mixing with all the stars
But mrs. avorys child was all fingers and thumbs
But solid as a rock, setting time on the drums
While dave the rave hit the rock n roll riffs
Yours truly strummed away with a slightly limp wrist
On the road
Everyday is when I cant get used to it
Everyday is when I cant get away
Another day, another freeway to face
Thats the road
Well, life is a road, its a motorway
And the road gets rocky along the way
But if it gets too smooth its time to call it a day
(on the road)
Jimi hendrix, the who, the led zeppelin and free
They took the road so its alright by me
Some are survivors, some are debris
If you play in a band thats the road that you take
Living in it, eating in it, sleeping in it
You wake up in the morning, what do you see?
The road
Life is a road, its a motorway
Lost a lot of good friends along the way
All the families and homes that Ive left behind
To the wives and the lovers and friends who had their time
I say, you take your road and Ill take mine.
(you take your road and Ill take mine)
You take your road and Ill take mine
(you take your road and Ill take mine)
Life is a road, its a motorway
And the road gets rocky along the way
But if it gets too smooth its time to call it a day
(on the road)
Observed all the various phases from
Flower power, heavy metal and acid rock
And still all the critics keep saying
Are they still around? when they gonna stop?
Its just the dedicated followers of fashion who like putting down
All the well respected men who came dancing and are still on the road
Sometime I get suicidal
Now everyone is a rival
Different cars, different bars and hotels
Corporations, big business and egos
When it all gets too bad I think back
When we were all each other had
When we started out on the road
And theres gas in my tank and Ive still got a way to go
Another hotel, its time to check out soon
As I look around the room
I think of all the friends Ive left behind
On the road
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On the way to Uniondale
One stormy Easter weekend
while I was driving on route sixty-two,
I found a beautiful girl
next to the road
just twenty kilometres from Uniondale
at the Barandas turn off,
the wind was swishing through her dark hair
and I heard it cry over the Kammanassie Mountain
and her thumb was out asking for a lift.
I brought the car to a standstill
and next to the road red allows were flowering
and she was dressed in a navy blue jacket,
and dark green pants
and I was worried that she was getting cold
and in the inside light of the BMW
she looked whitely pale
and smiled brilliantly
when we drove away
and when I asked where she was going
and she just answered
that she was coming along
which was kind of strange.
I still wanted to ask
what a lovely girl was doing alone
next to the road
when I smelled the apple blossoms
of her perfume
and she suddenly laughed shrilly
and the car door next to her
opened and closed and she was gone
and immediately I stopped the car
as I was sure that the woman
had jumped out.
Outside the car the road was empty
and while I walked up and down
without finding a sign of her
a police patrol car came along
and parked behind my car
and the constables were convinced
that I had given a lift to a ghost
and they called her Marie Charlotte Roux
and said that during Easter weekends
she wanders along that road
and to them my narrative
was an old well-known story.
[Reference: Accident on R62 where Marie Charlotte Roux passed away on the back seat of a Volkswagen Beetle, when her fiancé GM Pretorius lost control on 12 April 1968 in stormy weather. A year later he married and it is said that she started appearing from that time, but stopped after he was killed in a car accident in 1984, but who really knows? Maybe she will appear again.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Helldriver (live)
When you take your steering wheel
When you speed up your engine
Your rage makes up your counter
Hell spins and burns your tires
Hit and run again, I eat when I can
I have no limits, my life is a risk
Let's speed the road hog
His sheet - iron is hot
The helldriver and his damnation
Speed up in hell to run so fast
When the sound of metal raises
When the smoking valves make a din
Fuel and oil are my blood
The law is over I'm out
If you want to stop the speed freak
Prepare a good plan to do it
Cos he's always in the red zone
And he's a runner
of the hell road
song performed by by Voivod
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rain drive
I see a big storm
hanging dark against the sky
and lightning bolts,
that hit smashing to the ground.
There are big drops
that hit whipping down
and the black road
wet and somewhat slippery.
There’s no way
to ride away from the storm
and the traffic
stand still in front of me,
but with a motorbike
you can cut past cars.
It’s as if clouds of steam
rise out of the hot tar road,
but the screen
of the helmet
is covered by the rain
that I have difficulty seeing
to were to go
and which cars are moving or standing.
With Soutpansberg avenue that lies open before me
I open the throttle
and there’s wind, rain
and thunders that fall flashing blue
around me
and resound somewhere behind the motorbike
and the rain on my hands
hits like hail.
.
The leather jacket keeps the top of my body dry and warm,
but the bottom
is soaked and wet
and I feel the coldness
rising from below.
There’s busses coming from the front
that throws water whipping
as far as they go
and somewhere in the left lane,
there’s cars stopping for a pothole
and my motorbike catches speed
past in the right lane.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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