En.Citatepedia^®.ro

In The Distant Veldt I Saw Him

In the distant veldt I saw Him
where He holds His hand over the wild flowers
and there was a colossal hillock
on a summer day with the sky another kind of blue

when I tried to find holy moments,
when I walked back in the footprints of a child
and free from the blackberry-bush
under the weather and wind

I devoured some of nature's treasures
and I was blind for my Lord
while I only saw the works of His hands,
when I went back to some of my childhood places.

poem by Gert Strydom
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I Want To Go Back To The Veldt Again (Rondel Prime)

I want to go back to the veldt again
to watch nature to see little things,
to hear how pretty small red weavers sing,
to on my skin feel the summer’s cool rain

to live with harmony without some pain,
to get of God a clear understanding.
I want to go back to the veldt again
to watch nature to see little things,

and away from the city to remain,
to see flowers rise in the months of spring
opening and life slowly awakening,
I want to go back to the veldt again
to watch nature to see little things.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The Wind Blows Rustling Through The Bush

The wind blows rustling through the bush
and only it and God knows where it is going,
when it disappears and nothing move in the veldt
and when it returns some grains of dust are blown away.
An ibises raises gleaming copper into the sky
while God finds some answers for His earth,
and it chatters while big wings slam against the wind,
as it flies high over a small wooded hillock.
Guinea fowl peck along in the red grass,
after the rain some small bulbs are growing,
some lovely flowers astonish the veldt
but still this world is wounded by man.
The wind blows rustling through the bush
and when it returns some grains of dust are blown away.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Blackberry Way

Blackberry way absolutely pouring down with rain,
Its a terrible day.
Up with the lark, silly girl I dont know what to say,
She was running away.
But now Im standing on the corner,
Lost in the things that I said.
What am I supposed to do now?
Goodbye blackberry way
I cant see you, I dont need you.
Goodbye blackberry way
Sure to want me back another day.
Flowers in the park overgrowing but the trees are bare
Theres a memory there.
Boats on the lake, unattended now for all to drown
Im incredibly down.
Just like myself they are neglected,
Turn with my eyes to the wall
What am I supposed to do now?
Goodbye blackberry way
I cant see you, I dont need you.
Goodbye blackberry way
Sure to want me back another day.
Run for the train, look behind you for she may be there
Said a thing in the air
Blackberry way, see the battlefield of careless sins
Cast to the winds
So full of emptiness without her,
Lost in the words that I said.
What am I supposed to do now?
Goodbye blackberry way
I cant see you, I dont need you.
Goodbye blackberry way
Sure to want me back another day.
Goodbye blackberry way
I cant see you, I dont need you.
Goodbye blackberry way
Sure to want me back another day.

song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Times Of Solitude (Cavatina)

In times of some great kind of solitude,
the veldt, the bush,
catches me in living great memories,
a tranquil hush
brings back a new kind of awakening,
in does then rush
the trees, birds, bees and many wild flowers,
like some thundering life bearing showers.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Vastly The Veldt, The Bush Stretches Out About Me (Idyll) (In Answer To Sir Philip Sidney)

I

Vastly the veldt, the bush stretches out about me
where nature is left to its own existence,
where all kinds of game roam free
and here is nothing to bother with an insistence

and the weary traveller on this earth
can find a new kind of longing, a new kind of hope,
like a kind of refreshing new birth
while thoughts go past the normal human scope

where a person wonders about the creator of things
while serenity is displayed where ever you look,
bees and birds continually sing about happy tidings
and nowhere one can get this experience in a book

that comes as some kind of divine blessing,
you have got to realise that there is more to life and living.

II

You have got to realise that there is more to life and living
that every word and deed leaves a mark, a own impact,
comes as benevolence or a kind of attack,
that there’s more to life that taking and giving

that nature’s innocence and violence draws and sting
and our actions on to it we can never take back,
even our wanderings on a natural track
leaves its mark on mere existing

that somehow nature needs to be left unspoilt
while we live in a kind of ruling arrogance,
this deadly paradise has its own kind of dazzling
while we effect change, like gods live rich and spoilt
while we hide beyond a cloak of ignorance,
seldom do we realise the beauty of the coming spring.

III

Seldom do we realise the beauty of the coming spring
and yet on a farm I have met a rural girl
who brings another feeling to existing, something touching,
while in the veldt sometimes dust clouds whirl

the strange solitariness feels as if it’s alive
and she has taken me to her hidden places,
the places dear to a sweetheart or wife
where violets grow wild, wildflowers have different faces

and the sun shines friendly in a blue hued sky,
where you can feel the great tranquillity,
see birds in their coloured swarms fly
and realise that here is some strange kind of unity

a kind of unspoilt idyllic life
that exists happily without any kind of strive.

poem by Gert Strydom
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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
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I must go to the bush again

I must go to the bush again
and for a time be free,
from the inward chill
of the big city
and the emptiness
that life among strangers brings.

I must go to the bush again
and see the baobab trees,
frame against the setting sun
and know that somehow
the Almighty One
cares about everyone and me.

I must go to the bush again
and watch the wild buck,
drink from a stream
and see the crocodiles slide
into back into the water
and find the tranquillity
that nature brings.

I must go to the bush again
and give a prayer
and to find solace there,
from a world
that’s totally out of control.

poem by Gert Strydom
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When Mere Moments Are Holy

When mere moments are holy,
when in prayer I go to You
I am surrounded by Your presence
then I see in every flower, in each small thing
even in the stars, sun and moon
that there is of You a kind of witness,

thunderbolts falling blue-white,
the wild untamed stormy wind,
trees that flower in spring,
tells me that You care about my destiny
and that You choose me out as a child
of the almighty Lord of the universe.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Wild Child

It's too late to turn back
When the green lights flash
Too late to turn around
When the love goes down

Your fire my fate
This woman won't wait
So love beam your laser light
Get ready gonna take this flight

You're so wild
(you're wild and willing)
So wild (your spirit's free)
You're such a wild wild child
Oh baby go wild with me

Two hearts one mind
Baby you're my kind
You're too hot you're too much
You've got that personal touch

Push button play thing
Make my back door ring
Fight fire with a little fire baby
You oughta know you make this
little girl sing

You're so wild
(you're wild and willing)
So wild (your spirit's free)
You're such a wild wild child
Oh baby go wild with me

Do your little shake baby
rattle and roll
Ring my bell baby do my soul
Don't let the grass grow under my feet
Bang my drum baby feel my beat
you're so wild

You're so wild
(you're wild and willing)
So wild (your spirit's free)
You're such a wild wild child
Oh baby go wild with me

You're so wild
(you're wild and willing)
So wild (your spirit's free)
You're such a wild wild child
Oh baby go wild with me

song performed by by Heart from Brigade
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Doggerel Day

The raindrops on the rooftop pitter patter
And the wind the leaves on the verandah scatter
On this wild and wet January sunday in the Summer
The type of day the Aussies call a 'bummer'

Today lovers not out walking hand in hand together
One might say this is doggerel writing weather
For to scribble useless rhymes in moments of leisure
Not for wealth or fame but for one's own pleasure.

Just like our image in the mirror is reflected
It has been said by weather our mood is affected
But I for one don't see cause for complaining
And I feel happy even though it's raining

The neighbour and his wife are shouting at each other
She screams at him I will go home to mother
Yesterday in the sunshine they walked hand in hand together
Perhaps their crankiness due to the weather?

A doggerel day for the old doggerel writer
And in the house across the street now all seems quieter
And tomorrow of love they will be only talking
Whilst hand in hand out in the sunshine walking.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Blind Love

Words and music by tom waits
Now youre gone
And its hotels and whiskey and sad luck days
And I dont care if they miss me
I never remember their names
They say if you get far enough away
Youll be on your way back home
Well Im at the station
And I cant get on the train
Must be blind love
The only kind of love is stone blind love
The only kind of love is stone blind love
The only kind of love is stone blind love
Oh blind love
Blind love
Stone blind love
Stone blind love
Well the streets turning blue
The dogs are barking and the night has come
And its tears that are falling
From these brown eyes now
And I wonder where you are
And I whisper your name
(I whisper your name)
And the only way to find you
Is if I close my eyes
And find you with my blind love
The only kind of love is stone blind love
The only kind of love is stone blind love
The only kind of love is stone blind love
Oh blind love
Blind love
Stone blind love
Stone blind love
Oh its blind love
The only kind of love is stone blind love
The only kind of love is stone blind love
The only kind of love is stone blind love
Oh blind love
Blind love
Stone blind love

song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It was the kind of summer day

It was the kind of summer day
when the sky’s hue
has a certain eternal blue,
where children during the afternoon play

when it feels as if all cares as swept away,
when love seems lovely and true
and lovers stick to each other like glue
and in my arms you did lay.

There was the rejoicing of the birds, the bees,
wild flowers blooming waxen in the veldt
under the hot summer sun,
children were climbing the popular trees,
it had something glorious that it did held
and it was a time of frolicking and fun.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Now is the time of our awakening

I

Now is the time of our awakening
in world where things are beautiful,
with the first caressing touch
of the morning’s refreshment

where the sun falls bright and hot,
where birds are singing together in joy,
in the blue jewel of the universe
about the glory that summer brings,

the earth is fresh after the first summer rain
with every tree, plant and flower
that grows much more powerful than previously
in the glory of their maturity

in every touch, colour and scent
we find nature at her prime.

II

We find nature at her prime
with birds singing joyous in the branches,
and we cannot draw ourselves away
of a world intruding into us,

every morning has something glorious
that we only have got to discover
and every time that you look at me
your glance wants to draw me into depths,

the essence of love is caught
in every day hanging around us,
we celebrate our intimate connection
in every wish and urge

that we yearn for in this world;
now your smile falls brightly.

III

Now your smile falls brightly
over the darkness of my life,
shining like a glorious day,
you bring new meaning each day

when your hand folds finely over mine
you look fragile, modestly
and I see the heavenly cobalt blue colour
in the bright gaze in your eyes

your voice is pure in every sound of it,
you are prettier than the most beautiful flower,
when your arms stretch round my neck
with everything coming out of the depth of love

our existence, our summer becomes holy
with an indistinguishable bright light.

IV

With an indistinguishable bright light
in the blinding bright ardour
of Your Godly omnipotence
that breaks right through our wavering courage

we both want to see You in our foolishness
even if days, nights, times has got to shatter
where You keep the world in Your mighty hands
past seasons of summer and winter

but in no thunder or raining stars
we could really see or find You,
in silent illustriousness You come
where every flower and animal serves you out of there own

from past the age old beginning, in the shining light
in the glory of sunshine.

V

In the glory of sunshine
you are in every bright summer day,
in the stars shining at night,
in the sovereign blue sky.

To me you are the most beautiful woman
who can understand me entirely
and there’s a kind of nobility that I see in you,
with comprehension you know where my life is going.

You are given to me in this summer sun,
as if happiness is bounded to this moment,
in the things we wish for and can do
for a whole lifetime’s meaning

when nature splashes down in moments;
the smell of your hair is like sweet grass.

VI

The smell of your hair is like sweet grass
baking in the summer sun
or ripe red peaches on a branch
that is washed clean in the drizzle

and the way that you reach for me
is like the brittle fluttering
of the wind singing through the trees,
is caressing like sun on glass

and your unknown moving foot
is a butterfly fluttering between flowers,
that only touches here and there in her arrival

before it again in apprehension flies away
with brittle wings banging down;
you are my serenity of the veldt.

VII

You are my serenity of the veldt,
earthly and still noble and pure,
the sweet repeating refrain
that insects and birds keep on mentioning.

You are glittering like an awesome brooch,
with your eyes glistening like the shining stars,
with enchantment that cannot disappear
full of fire but naturally unaffected.

You are the fluttering of the wind
that rustles through the fields of grass,
with the soft touching,
the charm that you find in drops
that sieve down on you, hesitating on your cheeks;
now is the time of our awakening.

poem by Gert Strydom
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About Flowers And Trees

I

Why did the chrysanthemum wait long
to open it's quivering twisted rays?
When other flowers are gone it grows strong
in these much more colder wintry days

with cups making blossoms like anemones
some seen as feathery, plumed, or spidery
growing big or smaller in shaded tones,
in the winter portraying nature's imagery

in bronze, brown, purple, red, pink and white
with a single or semi-double blossom
growing to man's and the Creator's delight
when ripe makes growing very unwholesome.

Why was it not sprouting, rising, growing
at the beginning of the lovely spring?

II

At the beginning of the lovely spring
in the veldt among big acacia trees
when the first drops of rain are visiting,
drawing new life, flowers and buzzing bees

I find the bulbous hyacinth flowering,
and its appearance, its fragrance
is almost totally overpowering
when it makes its sudden appearance

with pale-blue petals of strings all opening
smelling like a tiny perfumery,
with bell shaped small cups that are hanging
bright among the green and brown scenery

displaying the joys of living and life,
many times have I counted groups of five.

III

Many times have I counted groups of five,
in things making the way that nature is
and have seen five eggs coming to live,
five leaves on flowers with five small bees.

Even on some trees that number is right
but strangely sometimes it might be wrong
and while in nature I walk along,
I see different flowers in a throng,

hear various birds singing their beautiful song,
there's something in all flowers, in each tree
that tells something about its makers will
who makes all things how they are to be

I have seen even five bundles to a sheaf;
the trees are butting in flower and leaf.

IV

The trees are butting in flower and leaf
as if some kind of magic word was said,
in rejoicing without any small grief,
the growing long green stems upwards do spread

as if new life has come to them again
like from scratch they are programmed to do,
after receiving power from summer rain
but like humans sometimes they do die too

carrying more bountiful each summer day
to the custom of their kind and their breed
till the summer suddenly dwindles away,
again they are stripped as if in need

and I like the fragrant fresh smell the best,
while walking through a huge pine forest.

V

While walking through a huge pine forest
a gentle wind like a friend greeted me
and for lingering long moments I did rest,
feeling from the whole big world somewhat free

and it was filled with the catching smell
of pine trees and soft in its embrace
for many moments long did I there dwell,
by songs of twittering birds amazed

and I then longed forever to be
among the flying birds, the buzzing bees
and the soft shadows, the tranquillity
of the peaked mountain, the large trees,

but sometimes lightning falls in a blue-white spark,
when the stormy wind blows strong in the dark.

VI

When the stormy wind blows strong in the dark
and the dark black evening suddenly glows
and the wind whispers with a howling bark
among the waving, rocking trees and throws

branches breaking, snapping, twisting, tearing;
you can hear that great savage strange beast
walking about, awoke from slumber stirring
during winter in the forest, in the east

suddenly coming to its greatest strength
somewhere in the thick enveloping fog
as the long night draws out darker at length
while its breaking, mauling log upon log,

from this windy monster I want to be free,
let me find some peace and tranquillity.

VII

Let me find some peace and tranquillity
at some places where man have never trod,
experience the greatest kind of beauty
that still is spared from the iron rod

with which man rules cities, huge countries
let me see miracles, see nature's joys,
away form buildings and big industries,
far away from the scorn, the manmade noise.

Let me smell some sweet wild flowers and lie
on wild grass to find nature's peace and rest
under a clear blue unpolluted sky,
away from even them whom I love best

and I wonder before the winter comes along,
why did the chrysanthemum wait long?

poem by Gert Strydom
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Chilling wind in Summer Night

Nature is most mysterious of its kind
In the summer night, chilling wind
I waked and walked on the terrace
Of the SPA Hostel, a place
Where I usually walk during morning
During the early morning
Or better say late night
I see the sight in the sky
Above so high
Wind is blowing
Incessantly with air gushing
Through the tiny pores of shirt
Touching the tender heart
The wind is chilling but
It doesn't hurt
For it is relief from summer heat
Summer and no more sweating
The weather is of high rating
Change in the moon of nature
The changing nature of the nature
A few hours ago it had rained for a while
The wind was not so strong and agile
Adding to the chill few rain drops fall
Intermittent drizzling occurs
During this late hours
Surrounded by dimming light
Chilling wind in summer night

{Written on 17 April,2012 during my stay at School of Planning and Architecture hostel at New Delhi from a real experience of nature's bounty}

poem by Shashikant Nishant Sharma
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Against the Wind

I have walked against the wind
From the time I was a child
Forward steps were hard to take
The wind was never mild
The wind blew hard against my
Face and made it chafe and burn
I knew not else it was not of
My concern
I moved with haste to make some
Time against the blowing gale
With every step I took I would
Often see it fail
My body ached with pain fighting
And trying to get ahead
I pushed against the wind 'till I
Was almost dead
Then one day from out of the wind
A voice said to me
Know the Lord thy God and He
Will make you free
So I said Lord make this wind blow
At my back and push me ever on
Hurry Lord hurry my spirit is
Almost gone

Jim Richardson

poem by Jim Richardson
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Eyes of a child

Eyes of a child
Such gems in stones
Staring you close
Still as blue sky
They don't lie
Their sun is shining
While you are crying

Eyes of a child
Day or night
I got no light
Free as a child
I can be wild
Eyes of a child

Let them go, into the snow
Without your grace
There's a lot more to know
Just glance over their face

It's the eye of a child
Free and wild

Child don't think too much
Ain't no worry as such
Joy driven life they live
Half-a-soul they give

It's the eyes of a child
Free and wild

Save me child
Save me child
Set me free and wild
Eyes of my child

poem by Siddharth Shah
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Sometimes Its As If My Childhood Days Come Back

Sometimes it's as if my childhood days come back
and it's as if the colour and texture catches me
when I am astounded by the sheer beauty of things,

by the smell of flowers hanging in the air,
where I see clouds as flakes,
and it's as if the colour and texture catches me

that is spread over the bright blue in small pieces
that brings me back to another time and place
where I see clouds as flakes,

and I am again full of joy and happiness
and the whole sky is full with specks between the blue and white
that brings me back to another time and place,

to the memories of my childhood days
when I see the summer sun rising golden
and the whole sky is full with specks between the blue and white

and the birds and insects are of the loveliness some proof.
Sometimes it's as if my childhood days come back
when I see the summer sun rising golden,
when I am astounded by the sheer beauty of things.

poem by Gert Strydom
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A hunting expedition

Far off in the bush veldt near to Marken,
where the red sand lies like sea sand,
a young hunter on a day
takes a old.303 rifle with open sights

and walks following a tracker,
that they call a guide,
past green thorn trees
with long white camel-thorns

to where a impala
is standing against a hillock
and he aims for a headshot
and I say to him: “shoot for the shoulder-blade”

but he doesn’t listen
and when the shot resounds
the antelope lowers its head
and the bullet whistles away from a rock plate

with the antelope
running away in a red brown stripe
disappearing into the bushes
and the bush veldt sun
burns without mercy down on us.

poem by Gert Strydom
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In the Land of Childhood

In the magic land of childhood,
Where all children fondly dwell,
There’s a pocketful of daydreams,
And a story sweet to tell,
A land of true believing,
Where each happy child stands tall,
And a million golden moments,
Where life’s tiny sunbeams fall.

Childhood holds a place enchanted,
Where no grownup can invade.
There’s an ignorance unequalled,
That just never seems to fade.
There is laughter soft and gentle,
With a hope that’s running wild,
And a world of dreaming,
In the heart of every child.

I am sure the children are loved,
As he gazes from above,
Lending peace and special meaning,
To these ting bits of love.
Pleasant barefoot days in summer,
Fantasy and joys untold,
In the magic land of childhood…..
Silver raindrops-sun of gold.

© S.E.S

poem by Sara Stowell
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