It was in a light blue sky
It was in a light blue sky
on a cloudless day,
that images with great speed.
swept out of the sun
We cheered as the war planes
passed overhead
and waved at Mirages,
but they were enemy Migs.
Missiles and bombs dropped
and a destroyed buffel apc burned
and my ears resounded,
while I rolled into a ditch and saw the planes
turning and pitching away.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
Good Luck
Your good luck happens to us all,
Especially when the stagnant pond is disturbed.
Life will explain why your deeds are complete,
Here the dice are rolled for the future, and we command.
The lost angels of the One Above are against us,
Now they fly out to lower planes, we have occupied
Higher planes to escape, and escapades such as these
Shall be wrong in feeling, we have not transgressed.
Your good luck is again arriving to take the place
Of bad luck.
Your enemy has lost over you, over your place,
They decided the higher planes were yours.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Trains And Boats And Planes
Trains and boats and planes are passing by
They mean a trip to Paris or Rome
To someone else but not for me
The trains and boats and planes
Took you away, away from me
We were so in love, and high above
We had a star to wish upon. Wish
And dreams come true, but not for me
The trains and boats and planes
Took you away, away from me
You are from another part of the world
You had to go back a while and then
You said you soon would return again
I'm waiting here like I promised to
I'm waiting here but where are you?
Trains and boats and planes took you a way
But every time I see them I pray
And if my prayers can cross the sea
The trains and the boats and planes
song performed by by Fountains Of Wayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The old savage dream again was back
The old savage dream again was back
of enemy tanks coming down the track,
useless the light machinegun was stuttering
as exploding shells made both my ears sing
while I could find no kind of escape,
events caught speed like a winding video tape,
I was firing from the hip without effect
had no ready rocket launcher to select,
heard the nearing enemy tank tracks groan,
while my limbs were slow, turning to stone;
from the blue sky a screeching eagle fell,
death was in its claws, triumph in its yell,
while it dropped scorching deadly flame,
heroic returning under fire to do the same.
poem by Gert Strydom
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War Song
In the morning when you wake up
You've got planes flying in the sky
Flying bombs made to break up
All the lies in your eyes
There's a man says
he can put an end to war
They shot George Wallace down
He'll never walk around
Our mines are sleeping in the sea
Blow those bridges down
And burn that jungle down
And kill those Vietnamese
There's a man says
he can put an end to war
In the morning when you wake up
You've got planes flying in the sky
Flying bombs made to break up
All the lies in your eyes
There's a man says
he can put an end to war
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We have as many planes of speech as does a painting planes of perspective which create perspective in a phrase. The most important word stands out most vividly defined in the very foreground of the sound plane. Less important words create a series of deeper planes.
quote by Konstantin Stanislavisky
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Enough, Enough,
Sounding sirens, roaring planes,
Parading men, thundering guns,
Rising mushroom, exploding bombs,
Launched missiles, advancing troops,
All are behind the human existence,
How long Mankind might exist,
On the Earth.
Think awhile,
Resting your head on the pillow,
When your engagements allow you,
And when worries do not linger around,
Pray to Almighty: It is enough, it is enough,
Now supply not the world with characters,
Merely with heads stuffed with straw.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Ebenezer Shillingtree.R.I.P
I sit and muse amongst the tombs.
Only disturbed by sonic booms
as fighter planes pass overhead.
A noise enough to wake the dead.
The dead do not agree with me.
Continue sleeping peacefully.
Planes interrupt my train of thought
I cannot get the peace I sought
I seek peace in this cemetery
So I can write my poetry
The dead don’t question what I do.
Perhaps they might do if they knew.
Their headstones can inspire me
I use their strange names shamelessly.
18-May-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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For days long the rain falls
For days long the rain falls,
not like flying bullets
somewhere in the Middle East
or bombs from American war planes
dropping down on who knows whom,
killing children, women and men,
or like missiles from war ships
or projectiles fired from tanks.
God sends his blessings on everyone,
opens the clouds and let His rain pour down
and the thirsty earth rejoices before it’s gone,
plants, insects and birds let their joy be known
and man is only interested in power of his own
and while tears pour down looks with a nasty frown.
poem by Gert Strydom
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They Gave Us A War That Nobody Wanted
I
They gave us a war that nobody wanted
The warnings unheard or simply discounted
The men of the Pentagon surely undaunted
Gave us a war that nobody wanted
II
The weapoms of war are tested and counted
Military hardware displayed and dismounted
Allies ignored and the enemy taunted
They gave us a war that nobody wanted
III
Divisions of men and weaponry flaunted
Ships tanks and planes in quantity granted
By death and destruction civilians are haunted
They gave us a war that nobody wanted
IV
Prime ministers presidents and generals have ranted
Television pictures and news are being slanted
Voices are raised and slogans are chanted
They gave us a war that nobody wanted
V
High powered weapoms and missiles are vaunted
The guns have been fired and the bombs have been planted
All shall be well when the foe is surmounted
They gave us a war that nobody wanted
VI
When the conflict is over and the story recounted
We'll forget the destruction and horror implanted
But remember the soldiers and statesman enchanted
By this terrible war that nobody wanted
poem by Patrick O'Donnell
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Let the scoundrels return
Like a lightning bolt
coming out of a blue sky
there are bombs falling
in a field where maze
stand green and ripe in neat rows
and craters are left and the field is on fire.
A few more bombs fall exploding
between cattle grazing in the field
and some are blasted to pieces
and the cows in terror forget about their milk.
The farmer is woken from his afternoon nap
and grabs his hunting rifle.
“We hit the wrong target”
the flight leader confirms
and the farmer waits with a gun in hand
on the planes to return and says:
“let the scoundress return.”
poem by Gert Strydom
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Heaven Is Falling
As I walk beneath the valley
I shall fear no evil
for thanks to King George and his rainbow cabinet
today murder is legal
God I know that it's wrong
to kill my brother for what he hasn't done
and as the planes blacken the sky
it sounds like heaven is falling
it sounds like heaven is falling
you promises me a new day a'dawning
I've seen a thousand points of light
like so many points of hatred, shame and horror
God I want to be a man
but I don't want to die with a rifle in my hand
and as the planes blacken the sky
it sounds like heaven is falling
it sounds like heaven is falling
you promised me a new day a'dawning
well nothing here looks new to me
but a score of mothers' sons
caught 'tween the devil and the deep blue sea
song performed by by Ataris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Birds Never Sang Or Flew
The dawn awoke one morning
to start a day brand new
but there was something wrong
outside no birds sang or flew.
The skies that normally teamed with life
on the day before
now fell silent empty and abandoned
by all that flew there.
While in a great city
twin towers crumpled into dust,
its plumes of agony stretched
high up in the air for the world to see
that a new demon with a cancerous soul
was about to scourge the earth
to corrupt others to follow him
into the damnation of hell.
Was this the Armageddon that was prophesied,
in which the world as we know it died?
As the tentacles of this demon,
who dressed as a man
stretched around the world
penetrating every land.
Hence, the battle of good against evil began
in the day of infamy known simply as 9/11.
In the days that followed as no planes flew,
no birds sang or took to the skies
as if in a mark of respect from them to
for those who had fallen
in this demons evil plan.
13 October 2009
Author’s note:
Following the horror of 9/11 when all the planes around the world were grounded a strange phenomena occurred. For all the time the planes were grounded the world seemed absent of birds. My late brother brought it to my attention and when I looked, he was right. I did not see or hear a bird until the planes few again.
poem by David Harris
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Freedom Park
Build your monument to a war
that you have lost at Cuito Cuanavale
and try to deceive the world
about your victory
which was rather your huge loss
and hail Russians and Cubans as your heroes
and we who have paid the cost
knows where victory really laid
and that no bugle ever played its last farewell
to the enemy we sent to hell
and although no one mourns our dead
most of us live on instead.
We do not need to be on any
honour wall
or to be associated
with your heroes
who mowed down people
praying in a church
and set off bombs in the street.
We never lost any battle
nor a war
and our honour is in the lives
of every man, women and child
who in a way are still free.
[Reference: “The results of the campaign up to April 1988 were 4,785 killed on the Cuban/Faplan side, with 94 tanks and hundreds of combat vehicles destroyed, against 31 South Africans killed in action,3 tanks destroyed (SADF tanks entered the war after the Lomba River campaign) and 11 SADF armoured cars and troop carriers lost. A total of 9 Migs were destroyed and only 1 SAAF Mirage shot down.” Jannie Geldenhuys.1994. At the front. P240. Johanathan Ball Publishers.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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They Are All The Same
the silver fishes grouping
and scattering on the depths
of the dark blue sea
the white flapping wings of
birds within the circle of their
species, poised to fly far distances
the leaves falling from a tree to
the ground then blown by the
wind towards the desert and
the immeasurable mirages
oh, they are all the same
they are going somewhere
they are taken by what their
instincts and their hearts say
like us here, we are packing
we are always leaving so what
is the use of crying or even
laughing and merry making?
we are destined for some place
higher than this one
we are meant not for this or for
us but for some planes of
mystical existence that for
now we cannot really understand
prepare for that destiny
you do not have to carry a cent.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Forever young
I saw boys driving away to war
in a Ratel-90 armoured car
and they were well trained,
ready for action
and called up for military service
against their will.
Two smiled and a few
waved goodbye
and there was dirt
in my eyes,
when my armoured car
caught speed.
Enemy battle tanks were everywhere
and we fought right through the night
and with first light
an armoured car was stuck
in a mine field
and they were hoping for the best
but the worst was there
and shot out they paid the cost.
Although the enemy
paid a much higher price
and lost,
it’s like yesterday that they
waved goodbye
and sacrificed in vain
their lives for people
that does not honour them
and remain forever young.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Stain
they bury the bodies
in shallow graves....
never forgetting the faces
of hunger and need.
great planes flying overhead,
covered trucks on dusty roads.
soldiers with guns, blank stares,
cold as the oil in their veins....
the reporter speaks, eyes half lowered...
you turn off the tv,
and go to wash your hands...
but you cant wash away the stain!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Skies Fell Silent
Written in memory of all those who perished in the 9/11 terror attacks.
Ten years have passed
since a day of infamy
that shook the world
and the skies fell silent.
It was a day the world mourned
and a war against terror began.
However, for weeks after
the skies fell silent,
not only of planes,
but birds as well.
It was as if nature
was paying its respects
for those who perished as well.
It was not until the planes flew again
did we see birds again in the sky.
9 September 2011
Author’s Note:
My late brother brought the lack of birds to my attention. He made me search the skies for them and I did not see any. I have no explanation for the phenomena only that it happened.
DVH.
poem by David Harris
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Cassinga
Just like spring when the blue sky is full of falling leaves,
there are three hundred and seventy parachutes that decent,
on a ominous day
with enemy AA-guns reporting
and the enemy are more
than a thousand and a half in number.
The barrels of the enemy AA-guns are lowered,
to break us
and the enemy tries to sow havoc
and to decimate us.
Enemy snipers are shooting from trees
and from everywhere
there are shots being fired,
that munches pieces from us
From behind ruins
we fire almost endlessly
at trenches where some enemy soldiers hide
and launch mortar bombs
all over the place,
while bullets are coming down like rain.
We return heavy fire
to the enemy at the AA-guns,
while other soldiers replace them
which keeps the battle hanging in balance
Shot after shot are being fired
and the smell of death
is strong in the air
and there’s nowhere
for the enemy to escape to.
The last resistance disappears
and there’s apparent peace
and dead enemies everywhere
and some of the bats,
get into pumas
and the rest of us wait
with nowhere to go.
The border is too far to walk
and there’s nothing to drive away with,
when Cuban tanks and armoured cars
find us there.
.
With RPG-7 iron fists
four tanks are destroyed
and a landmine stops another tank in its tracks,
but only paratroops against oncoming armour
are canon feed
and nothing diminishes the danger
of a Cuban mechanized battalion.
Till two Mirages destroys ten armoured cars
and everywhere there’s smoke and dust
and a Buccaneer comes from the sun,
to let moments turn into eternity.
Time after time
it flashes by and fires its rockets
at the oncoming tanks
and with no ammo left,
dives fearlessly over shooting AA-guns
to make the tanks take cover.
It’s very ruff going
but the last pumas land
in a clouds of dust,
to evacuate us
while enemy tanks keep firing.
I try and hold the rearguard with a LMG
before the shot out ruins fades away from me
and we leave forty living enemies behind
and all of us are safely gone,
but for four brave men
whose lives are spent.
[References: AA-guns=> Anti aircraft guns. Bats=>Parabats=>Airbourne soldiers. RPG-7 iron fists=> Rocket propelled grenade launchers=> Bazookas. Mirages=> Mirage fighter jets. Buccaneer=> Buccaneer ground support bomber. Pumas=> Puma helicopters. LMG=> Light machinegun.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Remembering 9/11
September 11,2001
Starting the day
With the rising sun
We rushed around
At the break of day
How many of us
Remembered to pray?
The day began as all days do
No differently for me and you
The rush of traffic,
The clank of trains,
The ringing of phones,
The roar of planes.
Then horror struck
Terror from the sky
Buildings fell,
We questioned why
We stopped, we watched
As planes collide
The gasps, the screams
To God we cried.
September 11,2011
We mourn our loved ones
Now in Heaven
The years have passed
Though things have changed
Routines returned
Lives rearranged
Have we truly
Changed our lives?
Do we honor daily
Those who died?
Do we now remember
At the start of the day
To take the time
To stop and pray?
poem by R.L. Kerst
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When the flaming wagon comes
One night I see a shooting star
in the open twilight of the karoo
that draws a line of light past,
but it comes nearer
and there are flames
around it
while it shines metallic.
My ears almost want to burst
when a squadron of war planes
cut past low over the earth
and with afterburners
climb with power into the air
following the unknown flaming wagon.
Things just past far too quickly
to grab a camera of sell phone
and when the flaming wagon
with speed swerve away
and nothing can keep up with it,
I wonder if it is a secret weapon
or are there somewhere going to be
little green men that land with impudence
and ask for the big leader
or will it be beings
that is just like humans
and wear space suits?
poem by Gert Strydom
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