Grandma Lenie Brand
As one of the pioneers in the Vryburg district
she lived with her husband Danie Brand
(a second cousin of late President Jan Brand
of the Orange Free State Republic)
on the farm Welgemeen.
When her husband passed away in 1938
grandma Lenie
took over the farming
and if work is a gift
she was really blessed in it
as she wielded a pickaxe
digging holes along with her sons
and the labourers
putting up fences, herded cattle
and still at fifty-six
milked cows,
if the workers did not turn up.
Today you would not expect this
of a fine woman,
who was really religious
farming by herself
in the years
just before the Second World War
and she was one of the esteemed
farmers in the Vryburg district
and she bought a Willis motorcar
and later a model t-Ford,
with which the family travelled to Vryburg
to do they’re shopping.
Grandma Lenie was known
for her philanthropy
and her willingness to help,
lived as if every day
was a deed of love,
was quite strict,
but also really fair
and still I remember
how she looked at me with shining eyes.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
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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The bus that drives to Vryburg
From Pretoria station
I take a bus that drives to Vryburg
to go and fetch a car.
Cornfields flashes past
and all of the people round me
tells a bit of the things that hurt.
One is going to a funeral because her brother died
and the bus drives on
with the road that stretches out in front of it.
Another is going to her parent’s home
she can find nowhere else to go
and is unmarried and pregnant.
The nearer we get to Vryburg
the more scared she becomes
and the bus drives on.
An Older man has lost his job
and restarts his career in Vryburg.
So everyone of us are caught
our own world with freedom that always stays away
and fate from which everything hangs
and I wonder when everybody in this country
will ever get a Vryburg.
[Vryburg=> The name of a city in the Northern Cape province. Meaning place of freedom or free city.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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I take a bus that goes to Vryburg
I take a bus that goes to Vryburg
from Pretoria station
and there are people about me
and we are all caught
in a own world
with destiny on which everything depends
and cornfields flash by
and the bus roars on past some ruins.
I take a bus that goes to Vryburg
and the road winds like a snake,
teenagers are listening to music
in a own world
and I am going to Vryburg to collect a car,
I see a man with wild bushy hair
and there are people about me
who click together
and we drive through the main street of a town,
teenagers are listening to music
and everyone tells something of his or her hurt,
even the younger generation.
I take a bus that goes to Vryburg
and a young girl looks somewhat desperate
with innocent beauty
and we drive through the main street of a town,
and she gets scared and more scared
without any intimidation
and there are people about me
on whom family wait in Vryburg
and she is going to her parent’s home
with innocent beauty,
and she prays to have a life again
and wears plain clothes.
I take a bus that goes to Vryburg
and there are people about me
and she is pregnant and can call nowhere home
and we are all caught
and she is going to her parent’s home
with destiny on which everything depends.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Silver
Nirvana- Silver
Mom and dad went to a show
They dropped me off at Grandpa Joe's
I kicked and screamed, said please don't go
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Had to eat my dinner there
Mashed potatoes and stuff like that
I couldn't chew my meats too good
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
She said, well, don't you start your crying
Go outside and ride your bike
That's what I did, I killed my toe
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
After dinner, I had ice cream
I fell asleep and watched TV
I woke up in my mother's arms
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
I wanna be alone
song performed by by Nirvana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Walked Last Night In A District I Lived In For Almost Twenty Years
I WALKED LAST NIGHT IN A DISTRICT I LIVED IN FOR ALMOST TWENTY YEARS
I walked last night in a district I lived in for almost twenty years
I came back after being away for a time
To visit an old and ailing friend
The streets were empty and lonely as they often were then-
I thought for the first time I understood how lonely the district itself is-
‘A lonely district’
I wondered how I managed to live there all those years
And how anyone still manages to live there-
I looked up at the sky and wrote in my mind a small poem of a kind I wrote many of in my years there
I remembered teachers and friends who had lived there
No longer of this district or any district on earth
I wondered how life goes and how from so many years so much life has been lived without having any place in my memory
I felt as empty inside as the district without
I did not have to wait long for the bus
And relieved inside it I put my heart to home
So many years had been lived there
I remembered taking my small children to the playground there
Now they thank G-d have children of their own
Oh the years go by and the life we have lived in them largely dies
Forever to be unknown again-
I put my heart and mind in a different direction
And began to do what I always do – not think of the district again
Life is this mystery and question we live through and never wholly possess even as we are experiencing it
How long before all will be gone for me
Including the district I live in now?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Dad's Philanthropic Plan
I knew an old philanthropist, a farming man was he,
Shrewd at a deal, but still withal a man of charity.
He had three sons - three hefty lads - Josiah, Jim and Joe,
And each of these had his own land, and made a goodly show.
But still the farming methods of Josiah, Joe and Jim
Distressed their good old parent and disturbed the mind of him.
'These sons o' mine appear to be a sight too slow,' thought he
'They need a better class o' stock and more machinery.'
Wherefore this old philanthropist, this shrewd old farming man,
He sat him down and pondered long, and thus evolved a plan
A simple scheme, beneficent, and calculated so
That it would guard the interests of Josiah, Jim and Joe.
'I have acquired,' reflected he, 'a lot of tillage land
Much more than I can work; and my affairs get out of hand.
If I can but amalgamate their properties and mine,
And call the whole the Empire Farm, the prospect will be fine.
Then rose the good old farming man and called his sons around,
And thus his philanthropic scheme did earnestly expound:
'My sons, it grieves my heart to see you struggling on the land;
And I've decided, after thought, to lend a helping hand.
'You all have been good sons to me, and this is my great plan:
We shall amalgamate the farms and work them as one man.
But first you need machinery; your methods are too slow.
The cost of this will fall on you - Josiah, Jim and Joe.
'Josiah I'll allow to buy a good, upstanding team;
And Joe a separator, for there's coin in milk and cream;
To Jim I give permission - he's a fav'rite son o' mine
To buy a brand new harvester of up-to-date design.
'Josiah, he will feed the nags, and Joe can buy some cows
And these be privileges, mind, not ev'ry dad allows
While Jim can mind the harvester till harvest comes around,
When you can fetch it, with the nags, and work it on MY ground.
'And, as Joe's cows come into milk, he'll fetch 'em up to me,
'Long with the separator; I will work it - do you see?'
But, strange to say, they did not see - Josiah, Jim nor Joe.
They said rude things that plunged their parent into deepest woe.
They called him many ugly names, such as 'a mean old man';
And told him pretty plainly their opinion of his 'plan.'
'We'll buy our harvesters,' said they, 'and work 'em on our own;
And if you get hard-pressed - why, you can have 'em for a loan.'
The poor old farmer bowed his head. 'Ingratitude!' he cried,
'And after all I've done for you, my offer is denied!'
And dad, to-day, is forced to plough and harrow, dig and sow,
For they were most ungrateful sons, Josiah, Jim and Joe.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Ban The Void
Ban the void.
Tch.
Ban the void.
Tch, tch.
Ban the void.
Tch.
Ban the void.
Tch, tch.
Grandma stopped baking cakes.
Tch.
Ban the void.
Tch, tch.
Brought me my first heartbreak.
Tch.
Ban the void.
I told her I couldn't take it.
She 'had' to bake another cake for me!
Tch.
Ban the void.
She said she was going on strike!
Tch.
Ban the void.
And even though I didn't like it!
Tch.
Ban the void.
She's not gonna cook in the kitchen,
She's itching to do something else to please!
Tch
Ban the void.
Tch.
Ban the void.
She brought herself a brand new car.
Tch.
Ban the void.
Tch, tch.
And drove to wherever she wanted.
Tch.
Ban the void.
She said she had her own special needs.
And will come and go whenever that need pleases!
Tch.
Ban the void.
I got so annoyed...
And I tried to stop that void deep down in me!
Oh...
Ban the void!
I couldn't go to sleep!
I dreamt of grandma's baking,
And it teased me!
I even cried my eyes.
But grandma's sweet potato pie kept creepin'.
Oh...
Ban the void!
Ban the void!
Oh...
Ban the void.
Grandma loved her brand new car.
And never got one ticket,
For her speedin'!
Ban the void.
Tch.
Ban the void.
Tch, tch.
Ban the void.
Oh...
Dedicated To:
In loving memory...
Clara Louise Countryman Pertillar
'Miss you, grandma! '
Love,
Larry
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Grandma’s Little Angel
Grandma’s little angel is what you will be called, sent to us from the wings of another angel, heaven has a kiss of blessing with your name all around it, a loving gift from God “Grandma little Angel.”
Grandma’s little angel is who we are waiting for; I have been blessed with a grandchild that I will love forever more.
Grandma’s little angel I will truly adore, cherish the ground she walk upon, kiss her baby feet, hold her tiny hands until she falls to sleep.
Grandma’s little angel the apple of my eyes a wonderfully feeling of joy until the day I die. Little angel kiss my heart, touched my soul I can’t wait until the day comes that I could behold “Grandma’s little angel.”
Grandma’s little angel has already embraced my soul, our eyes has not yet seen the love that will soon unfold. She is my little light the fire that burns deep from within Grandma’s little Angel a kiss from heaven sent.
Grandma’s Little Angel from blossoms flowers grows, beautifully like a red wine rose touched my heart like no one really knows.
Grandma’s little angel I did not fully understand the blessing that was sent from God’s loving hand, he opened my eyes so I can clearly see the love that he in trusted in thee.
poem by Kimbaline Navas
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Dear Grandma
Dear Grandma, I remember
When you were there for me
Dear Grandma, I remember
Your smile was a joy to see
Dear Grandma, I remember
The wonderful dinners I had
I remember how you cared
You dried my tears when I was sad
Dear Grandma, I remember
All the wonderful things you gave
You would let us play around
You would always be there to wave
Dear Grandma, I remember
All your loving care
Helping when I was sick
You were always there
Dear Grandma, I remember
That you are there for me yet
Always a comfort to me
Dear Grandma, I wont forget
Something Like
Something like giving Time it flies so don't delay
When she's needing Today will soon be yesterday
Giving all there is Tommorrow she might
And remember this Not even be there
Something like staying When she does what she does
When she's lonely And it doesn't fit
Even though you?re late You'll get by if you try
Everything will wait You'll get over it
Ooh, it's something like loving
If she means so much to you
There's not a thing you shouldn't do Ooh, it's something like love
If it will help to show her that you care. It's something like accepting
Everything about a woman
All the bad things, too
She can change for you
Something like loving
Oh, it's something like love, yeah.
It's a brand new morning
Of a brand new day.
It's a brand new chance
To make it all work out some way.
To right the wrongs
Within the songs of yesterday
It's a brand new morning
Oh, it's a brand new day.
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grandmas Theme
Go grandma!!! go, go, go grandma!!!!!!!you know what they say. go, go, go
Grandma youll make it someday. shalalalala grandma youre doing fine. you and
Your dreams are ahead of your time!!! go go go go!!!!!
Go, go grandma ranger......
In space!!!!!!
What about grandpa? ? ? ? ?
Chorus:
Go granny, go granny, go go go granny!!!
Yeeeehaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!
Yeah thats right
I love u grandmama
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It’s the second day that I visit
It’s the second day that I visit
on the farm near Reivelo,
just past Vryburg.
They farm with cattle, goats,
a few sheep, muscovy ducks, turkeys
and chicken.
The scrambler bumps up and down
right through the field
and go past rocks and bushes,
while we drive along the rough field
and the hot wind
cut across my face
and there are places
where it cannot go.
It’s time to transform
young bulls to oxen,
to brand cattle
and to cut their horns
and I get a black stallion
to ride into the field.
My cousin rides in front
with a brown Arabian mare
and there are bushes
and flat slabs of rock
and small hillocks that we past
to try and round up young cattle
to the corral.
It’s nice to be a cattle herder
for a time
and to use legs and heels
and reigns,
to round up cattle in the field.
Every thing goes well until
I chase a young black bull
just to the entrance of the fold,
where it stops stubbornly
and doesn’t want to move
a feet further.
I jump out of the saddle,
fasten the reigns
to a small branch
and rush to the obstinate bull.
It stands and snorting
and stamp its feet
and when it sees me,
it rushes confused
at the horse.
That faithful horse stands firm
while the bulls horns swishes
onto the reigns
and the horse
stops that bull in its tracts,
that a piece of the bridle
breaks right off.
Then I am at the bull
and pull the reigns
out of its horns
and it walks meek
into the corral,
while in astonishment
I stand and look at that animal.
With a knee-strap
and pliers in the nose
we draw the bull to the ground
and when we shear it,
it moans like a heifer
and there’s a burning smell
that goes up from the branding iron
and I see the horns
dropp at my feet
and it’s another beast
when it stand on its feet.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Grandma's Treasure Box
Each of us
when we reached 14
would make the Visit to
Grandmothers house
to see what was inside
her Treasure Box;
the Family Treasure Box
where each year
one of us
got to see
what she had
hidden there..
My Dad had been;
my older brother
had been
and now it was my turn
to see that part of
Family History.
No one who'd seen
could talk of it.
No one could reveal to anyone
what was in Grandma's secret box.
No one did.
No one would risk
Grandmother's upset.
She lived beneath
the 'L' in Chicago
refusing to move
and they built
the tracks
right over her house;
each time one passed
it rocked her house
like rolling thunder;
Varoom, clacky clack
another one
going by.
Stubborn was not the word
for Grandmother.
She still wrote letters
30 years later
to every Mayor
complaining about the
tracks and the trains
saying she wanted them torn down.
Every month a letter.
Grandmother never
gave up;
never forgot;
fierce in her loves
fierce about her neighborhood
fierce about things which displeasured her
fierce about family
fierce about everything.
I sat with her,
apron on:
she served me pie.
'Sonny' she said
now you at the age
where you need to
learn grown-up things.
Like your Dad and brother
your turn now come
to see what drives
this family;
our family heirloom so to speak.
You'll see now.
As you grow up
you hear people talking about it
but we are the only family that
has it in our treasure box.
Lot's want it
but we the only one's
that has it.
She walked me up her tiny
narrow stair case to the attic
my head spinning,
wondering what it could be.
What did we have in our family
that the whole world wanted?
The treasure box was small;
a faded gold color
with a hand-carved lid
covered by Grandma's
liver-spotted hand
which shook in the dim
light.
She shifted the box,
opening it with a tiny key
smiling faintly
her eyes moistening
as a sliver of sunlight
reflected into the opening box
and I could just begin to
see what was inside.
'There it is'
she said
'What is it? ' I said,
staring at a piece of cloth;
satin sheen
with a lace border.
'Every since your great
grandmother got
it has been the luck of this family
and so people's all over the
world hear about but
we the only one's who got it.
'What is it?
Your great great grandmother's;
cut from her mother's wedding dress
and from that day
this families' luck changed.
I looked at her eyes
looking for an answer there.
'Grandma what is it?
You heard of the Silver Lining'
Yes, I said.
Well this family has the only one.
It is the Silver Lining from your great, great,
grandmothers wedding dress.
Grandma had it
and she believed it had saved our family
all these years.
'I took it out when
your mother had her cancer
and she got better
and it took away her pain.
I took it out when your younger brother
had his accident, and he lived.
I took it out when your grandfather went to war
and he came home safe.
I take it out when ever this family needs things.
It is our Silver Lining.
Now you must never speak
or tell what is in the treasure box
or it will break the spell.
I never did to this day
Today I have the Treasure Box
waiting for my child
to have a chance to see.
Grandma's gone
leaving behind her Silver Lining
for the rest of us.
And on some days
I do take it out
when things look
like they might go bad.
Just for luck.
Everyone
is always
looking for a Silver Lining
and some luck.
All the Grandmothers
gave us ours.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Tea And Scones
I didn't think women made scones
any more.
People still have tea and scones!
Home baking and scones
are memories remembered...
from the earliest childhood years...
when family was primary
and the housewife's role, was esteemed honoured.
What is wrong with being a mother first?
What is wrong with putting your children first?
What is wrong with providing, a loving caring, nurturing home?
What is wrong with giving, an abundance, of love and security?
What is wrong with putting husband, children and home first,
so that family life and family, will be strong and thrive?
A woman of determination and ability will still work.
A woman of determination and ability will still triumph.
She will still achieve, a productive rewarding, successful career.
She may still rise, to the top, dominate any profession her abilities;
dedication, education, personality, management skills; training allow.
Few men, will achieve any better, most will achieve far less.
A man, a true partner, can will, also be a house husband.
A man, can will, also sacrifice, for the career of his partner.
Society, including women, still predominantly, frown on this?
I didn't think women made scones
any more.
People still have tea and scones!
I thought the feminist's philosophy
had driven most women...
forever out of the kitchen and sadly
a few into emulating the worst...
kind of ruthless; misguided
male clone type; exploiting women...
or into brand lesbianism,
forever espousing, rights of women...
forgetting love for fathers
forgetting love for brothers sons...
forgetting a strong family equality practices
strong societies like families safeguard female liberties rights...
poem by Terence George Craddock
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In the early morning
When a god in the early morning
descended from the east
he wanted to find
a farm girl
and to get a Afrikaner girl
as a mate,
but no Afrikaner farm girl
liked him.
He got really angry
and went to the old Orange Free State
and there he scorched the earth open
with lightning bolts
and blasted every thing flat
to be able to see miles far
when an Afrikaner farm girl passes.
He farmed as well as he could
and fetched his sheep
from the fields
and one day
when he was standing in the field
between the blue bushes,
he saw an Afrikaner farm girl going past
and on his horse
he rode as fast as the wind
with dust hanging
twisting behind him
to get his girl.
l’Envoi
With time a nation
emerged like giants
out of that dry earth
and they work
before the sun rises
farming in that arid region
and here and there
a boy
watches a girl...
[Reference: The Orange Free State is province in South Africa, which is very arid with a flat landscape.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Missing You
Hey grandma
I know your there
Sometimes I can sense you
I hope you know that I still care
And remember all the times we went through
I’ve dealt with the fact that I’ll miss you forever
Or as long as my lifetime lasts
But I know that someday we’ll meet again
And it’s a fact, time does travel fast
As it only seems like yesterday
When I’d come to your house for tea
An I remember all the Christmases we shared
Now it’ll never be the same for me
I hate the way it ended
Because I never got to say goodbye
But in a hard, weird sense it was good
Because I would have only cried
It’s fair to say
I think of you everyday
But if I think for too long, I end up in tears
You were a strong woman, with a strong character
And I want to thank you for the years
Thank you for the memories
You’ll never die in my head
I loved the way you were outspoken
And what you thought was what you said
I love you grandma, I always will
And of you, I am a big fan
I love you grandma, I always will
An I’m proud you were my gran
poem by Lucy Vernezze
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My Husband.
Husband is someone;
You spend most of your life with.
And with him;
You are for years.
My life has become strong;
For my husband is not wrong.
My life has become independent;
For my husband never let me dependent.
My life has become pure;
For my husband had every cure.
My life has become romantic;
For my husband is very aromatic.
My life had a new beginning;
For my husband was nearing.
And the most valuable gift-
My husband has given me;
Are my 2 wonderful and the best kids-
And I thank God,
For the wonderful family he has given me.
poem by Anju Addanki
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I am a farmer
I am a farmer
who are up before first light
and I drink my coffee
between the cows in the stable
where milking machines
are doing their thing sucking
and I pour cream into the black.
A few eggs from my own chickens
and sheep chops from the animals
that grazes right over the farm
is great for breakfast.
Later I walk down to the fields
or ride on Umfaan
my Arabic stallion
to see
if the keepers
are tending the cattle
and where they are grazing.
Sometimes I can stay for hours
in the grassland
and look at the bushes
about me
and the serenity
of it all climbs very deep
down into my heart.
I am as strong as the earth
that I love
and help to hack holes
right through iron stones
with a pickaxe
where the new fence
pole after pole
is beginning to stand.
I am pitched into this Africa
just like this
and have nowhere else
to go to
and my hands are hard as rock
from years of work
and years of resistance
against the sun and weather
and I love my farm
and my country.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Grandma's Quilt
God blessed me with a grandma of many talents,
And one of them always left me thoroughly amazed.
It was the way she collected square scraps of cloth
To make quilts that seemed worthy of praise.
Each with its own colors and textures,
Of rare beauty in pattern and design,
She formed them with love
Into a tapestry of aesthetics sublime.
These squares of fabric became a work of art
In my grandma’s talented and trained hands.
These treasures have become a fond remembrance,
Over the years since my grandma left for elysian lands.
It intrigues me how these patchworks of varying textures
Became such sources of hospitable warmth and amenity.
They stir my sentimental thoughts about many distinct folk
That I recall from my youth who became my extended family.
They kept me feeling comfortable and warm with attentive care,
Much like the quilts my grandma made with many a fabric square.
poem by Albert Price
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Clarence
Clarence Lee from Tennessee
Loved the commercials he saw on TV.
He watched with wide believing eyes
And bought everything they advertised --
Cream to make his skin feel better
Spray to make his hair look wetter
Bleach to make his white things whiter
Stylish jeans that fit much tighter.
Toothpaste for his cavities,
Powder for his doggie's fleas,
Purple mouthwash for his breath,
Deodorant to stop his sweat.
He bought each cereal they presented,
Bought each game that they invented.
Then one day he looked and saw
'A brand-new Maw, a better Paw!
New, improved in every way --
Hurry, order yours today!'
So, of course, our little Clarence
Sent off for two brand-new parents.
The new ones cam in the morning mail,
The old ones he sold at a garage sale.
And now they all are doing fine:
His new folks treat him sweet and kind,
His old ones work in an old coal mine.
So if your Maw and Paw are mean,
And make you eat your lima beans
And make you wash and make you wait
And never let you stay up late
And scream and scold and preach and pout,
That simply means they're wearing out.
So send off for two brand-new parents
And you'll be happy as little Clarence.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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