En.Citatepedia^®.ro

I Am From Heidelberg With Its Sugar Bush Hillocks

I am from Heidelberg with its sugar bush hillocks
and cannot remove the memories
from childhood days from my thoughts;
still I see open protea flowers waiting on bees,

with their smell that lingers in the air,
and I am caught by aloes
that fills the hillocks with their orange-red colour,
and in the late afternoons I find the shadows that the hillocks throw

and when the jacarandas in the city bloom,
when the garden in my yard is full of flowers,
when I find comfort at the fireplace in winter
then my thoughts keep going back

and even when my darling looks great-eyed at me
(whom I adore with my heart and soul)
and my friends that visit constantly
I cannot remove the city which is always crowding into life

and although our house of stone and brick
exists as if it will remain eternally,
where it's bordered by palisades like a fortress,
protected by electric wires

when the city's end suddenly comes,
when by man destruction
or a nuclear accident suddenly occurs
I will return to Heidelberg with its sugar bush hillocks.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Then I Longed Back To My Own Place

I was looking at the wide ocean
while standing for moments on Table Mountain,
I saw seagulls swarm under in the bay,
when the Southeaster blew everything into a jumble;
then I longed back to my own place,
to my home at the Sugar-bush-hillocks.

At the Strand I wanted to dream on my own
when a mishmash of people suddenly streamed around me
bolstering from busses, swimming in their underwear,
with one screaming deafening with a shrill voice;
then I longed back to my own place,
to my home at the Sugar-bush-hillocks.

At Clifton the girls were topless
they were coaxing and I wanted to blush,
at Sea Point lights flared into the night
but in Gauteng one was waiting on me;
then I longed back to my own place,
to my home at the Sugar-bush-hillocks.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Conversation

Dad, I believe that you are resting where you are
that you are unaware of everything
as if you are only sleeping
but sometimes it feels

as if you are aware of my whole life,
then I wish that you could read my verses
as you were living for Afrikaans
and it was as if poems were in your blood

and I am wondering what you would have thought,
would have said as I am writing
every poem in English as well,
that it is the Scottish blood running true?

Sometimes when I see lightning bolts
trailing white blue down to earth,
getting the smell, almost like sulphur
where a thunderbolt falls

I am unafraid form being a child
and it’s as if I hear the voice of God
as if you are also near
like when I was a toddler

taking my hand in yours
and then I could not comprehend
that they were putting you in the cold earth,
it was if you had just left by your own will

which is a really strange thing
as you were truly in love with mom,
loved me and my younger brother
as if you would give your life for us

and when I go to your grave in the hillocks
at Heidelberg, at times I am dumb
as if an old pain
comes into my heart

and again I want to
walk into the hillocks with you
to gather protea flowers for mom
to give them to her in a glass vase

to together stand on the porch
while lightning bolt after lightning bolts
falls exploding form the sky,
to get the smell
of the first drops that are falling.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

There Were Late Afternoons As A Child

There were late afternoons when as a child
I would see the tall popular trees
making the pale blue sky seem much higher
where they grew next to the old farm dam

with there branches whispering
in the early night breeze,
with doves and finches calling
from their nests in the shelter of these trees,

when an early moon would appear
and the evening star would suddenly start twinkling
blue-white in its sheer brightness against a darker blue sky,
like a mother goose leading all of the other stars.

There were early evenings when the sun
died with its deep red glow touching
the hillocks that were covered in sugar bushes,
and red flowering aloes,

when the scent of protea flowers was sweet on the air,
when blue changed to darker black,
when darkness came suddenly
and a myriad of stars sparkled all over the sky

while in the distance fires came to life
at the rural mud huts, while jackals
and dogs started to howl at the bright yellow moon,
while I knew that mother would be home soon.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

There Were Late Afternoons

There were late afternoons when as a child
I would see the tall popular trees
making the pale blue sky seem much higher
where they grew next to the old farm dam

with there branches whispering
in the early night breeze,
with doves and finches calling
from their nests in the shelter of these trees,

when an early moon would appear
and the evening star would suddenly start twinkling
blue-white in its sheer brightness against a darker blue sky,
like a mother goose leading all of the other stars.

There were early evenings when the sun
died with its deep red glow touching
the hillocks that were covered in sugar bushes,
and red flowering aloes,

when the scent of protea flowers was sweet on the air,
when blue changed to darker black,
when darkness came suddenly
and a myriad of stars sparkled all over the sky

while in the distance fires came to life
at the rural mud huts, while jackals
and dogs started to howl at the bright yellow moon,
while I knew that mother would be home soon.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Know The Harsh Wilderness (Roundelay)

I know the harsh wilderness, the wild veldt,
the craggy hillocks I had at times beheld,
the wide open scorching cobalt-blue sky
but the tranquillity I cannot deny.

There are some aloes growing in the crags
their orange-red flowers waving like flags,
like old spots of blood dotted on the eye
but the tranquillity I cannot deny.

Sugar-bush and medlar in spring does flower,
while grass jumps knee-high after each shower,
up in the air falcons and eagles do fly
but the tranquillity I cannot deny.

Time has not influence on this rugged land
where high cliffs are between the grass and sand,
I had seen rock-rabbits run at a single cry
but the tranquillity I cannot deny.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

When the sun kisses the hillocks

Late in the afternoon when the sun kisses the hillocks
a deep red colour appear in the west
when nature, man comes to the evenings rest,
while I hear guinea fowls screaming from the bush,
there is a kind of silence that comes suddenly,
when man is saying his prayers, is going to God
when some are busy with deeds of love,
with the essence of living and of life
and others still pursue further fame and wealth.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

When We Walk In The Back Garden

When we walk in the back garden
as the sun sets over the hillocks

while flowers are blooming everywhere
and others are now suddenly rising
in this early spring,
in the distance houses gleam white like tents

and the evening air is suddenly colder
when I feel the heat of your hand in mine.

When the dark night comes
we are amazed by millions of stars

and of some you know the names
but when I kiss you, you have forgotten them all
and we only see the moon gleaming reddish
while we are caught in each other

and it's as if the night comes to life in the distance
but we are free from the whole world.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

An Illusion

A day will come
A dream will come true
And I shall traverse upon the hillocks
Searching for you.

I am waiting to see you
I am yearning to feel you
And we shall live in the valley
Knowing each other.

These hillocks are hard and high
My feet are fatigued and worn out
And someone is calling me back
Fearing lest I should collapse.

A year passes off
An army of nightmares chases me
And I know the perils of a search futile
Living a life flattened.

poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The girl

I see her with eyes
as cobalt blue as the sky,
shining full of light as the sun
her hair is yellow like the winter grass
and the blush of the rising sun
is on her cheek.

I have seen the white of her skin,
while breakers roll in from the sea
walked the path in her hair
through the veldt,
through fields filled with corn.

Have smelt her scent on hillocks
full of flowering sugar-bush,
in valleys with jasmine
and I know her well,
have been since childhood
under her spell.

Every day she is more part of me,
in everything that I do and see
as she is the one
from where all the tribes, the people
in my world comes.

Her name will forever
stay dear to me,
as its part of my history,
even is knotted into the essence of me

and she is my country South Africa.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Grave desecration

I will go to my father
where his grave is in the hillocks
and when I get to his grave
I will rise my eyes into the blue

and my eyes will look at the unfathomable
while the world depart from me
and there I will find God
while the day appears

and for moments I will
be in companionship with my Lord
as if He is with me in the graveyard
and see how roots tear the grave apart

and shadows will already draw lines
stretch out long from the hillocks
while twilight is creeping closer
and I will advance

right up to
the office of the caretaker
and he will have to explain
why I am finding a tree
on my mother’s resting place.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Rurally God Created The Loveliest Rose

Rurally God created the loveliest rose
that blooms by itself in the veldt
where the hillocks in the distance touches the horizon.

In her kitchen there are trays full of rusks
where she is working from before sunrise,
that the visitors later claim as booty

and she is busy with her work
until the last tray comes out of the oven.
Rurally God created the loveliest rose

where se sprouts out in the veldt
and when you visit her
where she is working from before sunrise

she almost possessively guards her rusks
and her farm is her own property
where the hillocks in the distance touches the horizon.

The farmstead lies like a rectangle,
she is prepared for almost anything
and when you visit her,

you note that in her Eva’s beauty has come to perfection,
that time and again she astonishes you with her loveliness.
Rurally God created the loveliest rose,

she gives new meaning to attractiveness,
with her teasing she spares no one,
she is prepared for almost anything,

but her mother is miserable like a fire-belching dragon
and you have to be at your wits or she will turn you around her finger
where the hillocks in the distance touches the horizon.

and she’s a vixen and leaves every suitor perplexed
when she sparkles womanly,
with her teasing she spares no one

and sometimes it seems as if she has too many suitors
but still she cannot disguise her feelings.
Rurally God created the loveliest rose
where the hillocks in the distance touches the horizon.

and that little darling has charmed me.
In her kitchen there are trays full of rusks
(when she sparkles womanly)
that the visitors later claim as booty.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Jumbo

( brother theres a little sale )
( on, er..., on a vest )
( at ha, walmart )
( 9$ )
( yeah )
( 8 something )
( nice little vest, light )
Click [x4]
I need sugar
I need a little water of sugar
I get thoughts about you
And the night wants me like a little lost child
Locked in the safe place
Looking out the window
The dark move fast pass the window
The dark on the other side of the locked door
Click [x3]
My thumbs on a tetris keyring
Moving in brillant timing
You pick up the phone
And Im imagining it out
Click [x4]
Tiny wires in her ears
Sliding through the city
Tiny wires in her ears
Sliding through the city
Click [x8]
( expected early in the morning )
( expected early in the morning )
Rising in the morning to speak to you
Beneath the feet of the city
Click
You disconnect from me
Click
When you come to take your century
Telephone breath between us
The will of the world is between us
Only theses wires
Dust between the wires and green glass
In the distance
I am your tourist
( take you there in the morning )
( take you there in the morning )
( Im not pulling in returning )
( Im not pulling in returning )
( Im not pulling in returning )
( yep Ive searched for this part hang around the same stones )
( hang right there with them )
( well Ive never fished here )
( but Ive caught beaucoup fish in reverend burton )
( I never did catch fish )
( beaucoup fish in reverend burton )
( did check a tender slab )
( did you hear of that? crazy dog... )
Click click click
Sugar sugar
I want sugar
I want sugar
Sugar
I want sugar
I will I want sugar
I want sugar
I want sugar
I want sugar
I want sugar
I want sugar
Sugar
I want sugar
Sugar sugar...
( take you there in the morning )
( take you there in the morning )

song performed by by Underworld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Far Away In The Blue (Triolet)

As far away as the blue
where the sun touches the hillocks
lies the things that was once true,
as far away as the blue
lays memories of me and you,
where things are like they had been, like the rocks,
as far away as the blue
where the sun touches the hillocks.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Early Morning

Flowers grow wild, full of drops of dew
when the sun comes loving over the hillocks
the silver white twilight stays as it lingers
when the sun is orange presents is most lovely colours
and there is beauty just where I look,
the work of the hands of the God of the universe.

When the sun peeks in brightly through the window
dots fall splashing over the floor,
outside the heaven is blue, the veldt is open
as if in this summer you can walk for miles
and there is beauty just where I look,
the work of the hands of the God of the universe.

Outside its suddenly bright shiny day
when you wait with a cup of coffee,
your curls catch my eye, glitter very fine
when you laugh happy, your face full of sunshine
and there is beauty just where I look,
the work of the hands of the God of the universe.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Have A House Against The Sugar-Bush Hillocks

I have a house against the sugar-bush hillocks
where like orange speckles aloes grow wild,
where thunder strikes iron stones blue-white
with flowering proteas growing everywhere

and I see chacma baboons impudent
coming in a horde to my fruit orchard,
eating some whole peaches with meat and pits
in a blatant aggressive noisy group,

before they all run away indignant
and they are gone before the dark night comes
when storm clouds hang threatening black and grey,
with lightning bolts hitting some blue-white sparks
and every visitor that knocks on my door
is awaited like a welcome kind of guest.
he brushes his jean off making it neat
and then he turns right around to face me
where he is looking somewhat tattered,

he stands without any words as if dumb
but his words lie in every glance,
suddenly I see the whole of humanity
whose glances do not quarter for anything

bringing the hurt, the pain that oppression brings,
telling how men that can work are jobless,
how this evil still circles out wider,
treading some people down without pity,
how it pierces the Afrikaner nation,
as a type of evil occurrence.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Aloes (Novelinee)

Suddenly summer was everywhere,
like blazing fire in the veldt and hillocks
there were patches of flame here and there
with aloes blooming between the rocks,
flaming right through the day till eventide
bringing to nature a patched kind of redness
naturally planted at places side by side
growing lovely in the utter harshness,
bringing great beauty to the wilderness.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

When the rest of nature comes to me

Late in the afternoon each bright weaver gambols
when the evening star shines blue-white,
each pretty butterfly flutters around
when wild pigeons land on the ground;
I am astonished in the restless city
when the rest of nature comes to me.

Through the trees the wind is a whispering,
when birds call in the silver twilight,
when the sun disappears, red behind the hillocks,
when stars appear with lights that wink,
I am astonished in the restless city
when the rest of nature comes to me.

Far away guinea fowls are calling,
preoccupied I sit peaceful on the porch,
see in the distance city lights shining
when the bats cavort to and thro,
I am astonished in the restless city
when the rest of nature comes to me.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Home Coming... Hypothetics

I will make amends with me today,
stop fighting with myself.

Unthinkable to live without pain,
in war with suffering.

Quietly cries the flame without sound.
While night lingers on.

Nothing was easy for a quick resignation
of ephemeral tears.

Again love opens like a senile gash,
a chandelier suddenly crashing.

Going back to old city, blowing the limbs off
I will find my house.

Trying to search a clue to the colour of wound?
Catch my style.

I will remain in your thoughts for eternity.
Was not I your hoary past?

poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Sugar

Sugar, Sugar
How I wanna be your baby boy
Sugar, Sugar
How I wanna be your play toy
Got no time for every woman
Thinking that shes looking fine
Got no pockets full of money no no no
A fox would just be wasting her time
All I got is good good loving
And good loving doesnt have to find
Hey!
Sugar, Sugar
How I wanna be your baby boy
Sugar, Sugar
How I wanna be your play toy
Get it baby!
Ehhhhhhh
Mmmmmmmmhmmmm yeah
Got no need for fancy places
Got no need for cannon and wine
Got no need to move to the city no no no
Got no need to walk the line
All i need is good home cooking
And some sugar after supper time
Heeyy hey
Sugar, Sugar
How I wanna be your baby boy
Sugar, Sugar
How I wanna be your play toy
Ohh sugar
Ohh sugar
Ooohhhooohhhooohhh sugar
Ohh sugar
Ohh sugar ...

song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

In the Highveld

(after Toon van den Heever)

I

In the Highveld with the sky cobalt blue and open
where rock rabbits, steenbok and baboons revel,
you see the wind skipping through the long grass
and you can still believe in God and His angels,

the rain gathers with thunder
where through the open spaces you can see far into the veldt,
you are astounded by the beauty of flowering proteas
and you still can realize your dependence

but when the city’s rumbling becomes too much,
the jacarandas start flowering in the streets,
buildings of steel and concrete start to curtail you,
you dream about wild flowers appearing everywhere

and it’s the places of a child that you miss,
in the Highveld where the veldt stretches out into the distance.

II

In the Highveld where the veldt stretches out into the distance
and the wind rollicks through the grass
the sky is pure blue and you can look for hours at it,
there you can find freedom from the city’s imprisonment.

When the wind rustles through the march you loose all sadness,
you see the African red-knobbed coot gathering her chickens,
you can hear the finches’ caper, branches full together,
you see every great small happening,

how wild flowers of every imaginable colour
grow as if planted in secret
(and I will go back if I only could)
where I can find some serenity, can have peace
where I will know about God’s heritage;
there the sun shines.

III

There the sun shines
where proteas and aloes flower wildly,
bright up to the horizon
coming out of the earth by themselves

with violets growing purple-blue right through the marsh,
with daisies stretching white over the veldt,
with long tailed widow birds flapping their wings
and the earth is covered with long green grass.

To this piece of ground I am trapped
even when my days are drawing to their end,
it goes even to my heart’s deepest yearning,
with every plant, bush and flower

as it’s bought with sweat and blood,
nobody can strip it from me.

IV

Nobody can strip it from me,
I have to go back to where the sun hangs golden
in the sapphire heaven, I have got to strip the city from me
(but if I only could)

the big desire stays and out of the town I must go
away from the ambulance and police sirens that cuts through everything,
trains whistling almost endlessly,
I have got to go to where only the frog choir and crickets sing.

Again I have got to get the smell of sugar bushes,
smell the rain, spring, summer and even autumn
I must get away from a world where tinned pleasure seduces,
where people use other people for their own pleasure.

I want to stand in the green fields of grass,
when the day dies.

V

When the day dies
letting its last rays fall,
with the birds flying to their nests
darkness comes to this part of the universe,

the doves at dusk still call to each other
as if their voices bind them in the darkness,
you can see the moon sailing golden-yellow through the sky,
you are sometimes blinded by the bright rays,

the city lights glitter far away
in all the colours of the rainbow,
here you want to bond your life to a loved one,
catching her moments long in your eye

when people come together here,
the madness of the human existence is exorcised.

VI

The madness of the human existence is exorcised
even in later years past your own youth,
when you are in the world that your heart desires,
you want to invite the new spring to stay with you

shaking out that which bothers and torments to the early summer wind,
feeling the effervescence of new life,
blinded by the sun you want to find healing
while the whole of spring washes through your life

with the light, air, the flowers, birds and sun splashing down
as if your autumn is only in your imagination,
you want to wash yourself clean from old age,
you are searching for exorcism from the darkness

there are still flowers sprouting out everywhere,
when the colours of autumn smoulder in the trees.

VII

When the colours of autumn smoulder in the trees
with branches being full of coloured leaves,
the sun is still heating as in summer
before the first biting winds begin to whine.

I see opened pod upon opened pod
that lays brown scorched without any signs of seeds,
the dull blue sky has clouds in milky white,
trees become a wild watermill

that is halfway skeleton, halfway still carrying leaves,
afternoons are still drawn out
and even when days earlier end in winter
it’s a time without equal,
as if the summer can last forever,
in the Highveld with the sky cobalt blue and open.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!