Minefield
Thunder came from the grass
and open the earth split
tearing the wheels from a armoured car
and again the ear deafening roar
just as before lightening leaped
right from the ground
slicing at a battle tank
and then most of the armour
draw back to safe ground
and two officers went right in
through the battle din of machinegun
and tank canon
to extract a tank with a wounded man
while shrapnel fell and bullets screamed
across their heads
and at the craters edge repaired,
got that piece of armour moving again.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
The road ahead dissolved into dust
The road ahead dissolved into dust
and we could not see the track
nor any of the other fighting vehicles
consisting out of Olifant main battle tanks
and Ratel armoured cars that were ahead of us.
Bushes were covering the veldt
on all sides and around us,
the early morning fog
had drifted over from the river
and worse still tried to cover things
and in the distance I heard the cannon
of a enemy tank blasting off a projectile
and almost felt the impact hitting us,
but it shrieked past
and at speed we left the track
rammed through some bushes
and the Ratel-90 armoured car
draw to a halt
and our return shot
found its mark
and we had to take another one
to make dead sure
of the destruction
of the Russian manufactured T-55 tank
before speeding away
trying to avoid being hit
and found another target
and one more and another after that
and later even filling the night
with bright flashing canon flame,
sending death out with projectiles
to whichever enemy that we found.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Carrion
a Enemy soldier lies motionless
and his limbs are twisted,
reaching for the last
energy of live
and a hand still holds a gun.
Blood and guts
are splattered about,
where a mortar bomb
hit home
and some flies gather.
The strong sulphur smell
mixed with fried human
burns my nose,
where smoke rises
from a shot out
enemy battle tank.
Another tank stand moveless
with its barrel
still aiming somewhere
and the remains
of its occupants hatched inside.
About a hundred Cuban tanks
and twice that much
enemy armoured cars,
stand lifeless in the African bush.
The battle scene is a graveyard
and my Ratel tank destroyer drives past,
to cross the Lomba river.
Before nightfall I fight
the darkness of my soul
and struggle with God
and to this day,
still no one can answer why.
[References: => Ratel tank destroyer=>Ratel ZT-3 (the anti-tank guided missile version) . Reference are given here to the “battle for Africa, ” fought by 61 South African mechanized battalion group and 32 South African battalion group against four brigades of the Soviet-led FAPLA forces (the 47th,59th,16th and 21st brigades) in Angola in August 1987.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The havoc of war
a Smoking and burning
enemy battle tank
stands stopped in its tracks,
like a metal coffin
with its occupants
still hatched in.
a BRDM enemy armoured car
is encased by leaping flames
and the phosphoric burning smell
is churning in my guts.
Some dead Cuban soldiers lay
cut from the stem
mangled in blood and guts
and the machinegun is still chattering
and I wish to be,
in another place and time
than to be a part
of this slaughtering.
a Bleating Gemsbok rushes past
trying to outrun the flames,
that leap through the field
while the machines of war
brings death to the living.
Shot after shot is fired
at killing range
and it’s hot and deafening
inside the Ratel,
but the wind
brushes through my hair
where I stand
in the top hatch
and trees and bushes
sweep past
as if screened in a movie house.
Enemy armour keeps exploding
and my voice sounds strange
and unfamiliar to me,
while I give directions
for the next killing.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A shot rang out like lightning out of a gun
Goodbye to the land where the sun always shine,
to the blue sky that always is bright,
goodbye to the light that comes every day
and hello to that midnight which is cold and dark.
A shot rang out like lightning out of a gun
fading the sun while white vapour rose
out of a shot out armoured car,
I couldn’t close my eyes or look away.
Goodbye to that enemy tank stopped in its tracks
against a bank of earth
while my armoured car’s gun rang out
sending a phosphorus shell with fire from hell.
A rocket flew past with a flaming tail
like a star falling from the sky
before exploding against a tree with a blast
and goodbye to the enemy soldiers who fired it
while we moved past at speed
with a machinegun howling a great cry.
I heard that enemy commander weeping over the radio
while his frequencies were blocked
being in shock
and sounding like the voices of many men
crying in the anguish of death
as if a deadly net had been cast
and I wish that I could understand Spanish
but the noise was ear-splitting
and it was goodbye to tank after tank
and goodbye with blast after blast and going in quick
stopping, firing and running away fast
and every enemy armoured car we found
only got one shot
till the last shell had being fired
and tired we went to fetch some more,
ate in a hurry before being wished good luck
and going back to war.
poem by Gert Strydom
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To true heroes
Under heavy fire from the enemy
into the landmine field they went,
two men went into that deadly place
to extract a lost tank,
and in they went again
to bring back
a wounded man.
Sometimes officers lead the way
scorning death in facing the enemy
and true heroes were they both.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The night is full of brown Ratel armoured cars
The night is full of brown Ratel armoured cars
and Olifant tanks
that drives and rolls in on the ground
and salvos from rocket launching trucks
that draws arcs
and in the distance howitzer canon reports
in volleys
and when a light flare suddenly falls
it is as if the bushes are teeming
with enemy tanks and armoured cars
just where I look
and it looks
like the day of judgement.
Projectiles find their targets
and canister-shot comes down exploding thundering
and it’s an apocalyptic night
for some of the enemy
who are burning,
scorched and blown to smithereens in their armour
and when a tank
suddenly appears out of the bushes
there is a hell of a red thunderclap
as a shot from another Ratel hits it deadly
and I realize that even here
a person’s time is measured out
and around me there are fireworks
like stars falling from the sky
while we stop and aim
the following killing shot.
poem by Gert Strydom
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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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A woman unconscious
The enemy were almost at the door,
coming with tanks, armoured cars,
rocket launching trucks,
helicopter gunship, fighter jets,
with supporting Cuban troops
under Russian command
and day after day
I prayed for it to end,
for the killing of them, to stop,
where my Ratel armoured car
send tank after tank and many more armoured cars
with phosphorous shells
straight to hell
and by calamity the future changed,
turned into a different world,
changed from the one
scared of them, dropping the annihilating bomb
of millions of people being killed and dead
and at home, the welcoming did not come
at my return
and your were not there,
were killed in a car accident instead,
were for a time unconscious
in a white hospital bed
and the evidence of how cruel
the world can be
still walks with me,
while life goes on.
[Reference: A woman unconscious by Ted Hughes.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Tanks For The Memories
tank you, tank you, tank you
we told the fish, those wonderful fish
those little tropical fish, that could reboot our dreary days
we could imagine their little fish politics and why one was chased
the tail nippers, the food stealers, the baby filled fish mothers
what wonderful memories I have of the fish tanks of yesterday
and today, now that my child has befriended the fish
relax, techno man, relax
and just rest with the fishes
poem by Louis Marvin
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Insertion (In Answer To Pieter Strauss)
With the moon that is tonight missing
as if it has strayed somewhere
and the stars dimmed out
by dark clouds
and just now and then
a bolt of thunder
that hits bleak white downwards
I am let free from very high
and are almost a machine
that breathes through a mask
where a tank is attached on to my back
and from higher than the horizon
and with every enemy guard, guard-tower
radar station primed
against foreign penetration, intrusion
I fall hyper-quick, as if I am passing time
while life, the whole world
comes to a standstill around me
until I am mechanically reminded
that the ground is almost too near
and the parachute jerks open,
pulling me back into time
with the ground almost touching my boots.
poem by Gert Strydom
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I saw him smoke a cigar
I saw him smoke a cigar
and the binoculars
brought him here with me.
His cap was at a rakish angle
and sweat from the early morning sun,
was running down his face.
He stood in his tank’s open hatch
and gestured and laughed
with a comrade.
It was like a moment of peace,
but my Ratel’s gun
send a deadly shell at point blank range.
He was no more and splattered
and just another casualty of war
and burning white phosphor decimated
the enemy tank’s entire crew.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Our enemies and our would-be enemies are working very hard at cyberterrorism... They're trying to level the playing field because they know they can't beat us tank for tank, plane for plane.
quote by Curt Weldon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I used to wear boxers and a tank top, but now I sleep in the nude. It's kind of weird, because I used to have to wear something to bed, whether it was a tank top or whatever. And now if I have any clothes at all on, it's really hard to get to sleep.
quote by Laura Prepon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tank and Bank
With think tank and
Sorrow bank
How can I remain alone!
You are putting me in test.
And I
Putting aside these
Tank and bank
I try to prove myself
The best.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Johnny Goes To War
At the age of eighteen
just after writing his final matriculation exam,
Johnny is called up to do military service
and when the pickup on the farm
have two flat tyres
and Johnny cannot get to the station in time,
he is fetched by three broad shouldered
military policemen who initially
want to arrest him
and shove him into a waiting military pickup van.
In the army he receives food
that gives him stomach flue
and for the first week
is almost stuck to the loo
and the mash potatoes
coming from a packet as powder,
runs into everything and has no salt in it
while the Colonel, the officers
and non-commissioned officers
have a feast in their mess,
having roasted beef and chicken
and eat as if they are truly blessed
and his hair is cut just above the scull,
he’s forced into an overall,
feels and looks like a criminal
while the instructors, the officers
and commanders wear normal uniforms
and he is chased up and down,
has to run to some trees
three kilometres far and back,
to bring a leave
and every time it’s not the right one
and the passing black citizens
at the railway tracks and on the road
shake their heads
and think that white men are nuts.
Day and night the instructor
slanders and curses at him,
he is put on duty
to guard armoured cars and trucks,
forced to run with poles and truck tyres
and to be just like his fellow military men,
even his girlfriend’s love letters,
are read by the instructor to the rest of them
and he is given a rifle and taught to love it,
while the instructor makes sure
that he knows the difference
between his rifle and his gun
he is forced to sleep with it like a fiancé
while movement and fire tactics
is being drilled in,
while life bullets whistle past him
and a bit later he knows about hand grenades,
mortars and rockets
and then he is shipped out
by train, truck and helicopter
to the war on the border
to meet the enemy
who is waiting for him
and while on patrol with some Unitas
he faces Cuban armour, a huge battle tank
and fires a rocket propelled grenade
at point blank range straight at it
and the trooper next to him,
looses his head, it’s blown off
and Johnny is scared out of his wits,
wishing to be dead
but forced into another firefight instead.
When after two years of being a soldier
he gets home
Johnny is totally nuts, bomb happy
and nobody knows him
when to his mother, his girlfriend
he is is somewhat strange
while life in the town goes on
like it did before
and Johnny becomes a farmer
and trusts in the Lord,
cares for his cattle and sheep
and not one night he can sleep right through,
without having a nightmare
and the president PW Botha, his whole cabinet,
the military officers have a great life,
ignores his mothers letters,
doesn’t care about her tears,
about Johnny’s state of mind
and before long
he is called up for a military camp
and when he doesn’t appear
he is fetched by the military police
and sent back once more
to war, to killing and death.
poem by Gert Strydom
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031010 Food Power
i reach the bottom of fish tank
to touch the bottom dweller
stuck to a rock like suction cup
she let me caress her as if she
know me, she's grown a bit
since i bought her at pet shop
this black big head fish i love
she doesn't move that much
i watch her gills close and open
she is always watching me
sometimes i saw her swim
just to get away from other fish
i used to tap the fish tank cover
before feeding them, amazing
every time i tap, they surface
how's that for teaching a fish
food is really powerful thing
just me i can't stop eating
poem by Manonton Dalan
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Butch Weldy
After I got religion and steadied down
They gave me a job in the canning works,
And every morning I had to fill
The tank in the yard with gasoline,
That fed the blow-fires in the sheds
To heat the soldering irons.
And I mounted a rickety ladder to do it,
Carrying buckets full of the stuff.
One morning, as I stood there pouring,
The air grew still and seemed to heave,
And I shot up as the tank exploded,
And down I came with both legs broken,
And my eyes burned crisp as a couple of eggs.
For someone left a blow-fire going,
And something sucked the flame in the tank.
The Circuit Judge said whoever did it
Was a fellow-servant of mine, and so
Old Rhodes' son didn't have to pay me.
And I sat on the witness stand as blind
As Jack the Fiddler, saying over and over,
"l didn't know him at all."
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Somewhere Near The Lomba River
The guns of enemy tanks are flashing
like bolts of thunder while I am glancing,
the night air is full of the smell of cordite
and luckily those shots are passing
while the armoured car draws to a sudden halt
for its gun to take aim and on my lips I taste salt
before the armour piercing shell is fired
and at a direct hit around me the crew exalt
before at speed we move on
and some more enemy Cuban soldiers are gone,
are burnt in the fiery hell
while my heart, my brain feels like stone.
An enemy shell strikes another armoured car
like a exploding flaming star
and I can smell torched human flesh,
while I wish to be away very far,
to be away from killing
and this chilling
kind of machination of machines and men
who at each other are firing
but to survive we battle on right through the night,
are still trying to find some more enemies in the broad daylight,
find two abounded stationary pristine enemy battle tanks
from which the enemy had run in fright.
poem by Gert Strydom
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How I wish I go back to that safe, harmless dark fluid pool
I was far beneath
In a fluid pool
In the company of
Harmless friends
All looking alike
Though dark
It was safe for me
And my friends
With a lot of freedom
To swim around
Playing hide and seek
Suddenly penetrated
A large dia pipe
Into our rocky cave
With a deafening sound
And I was sucked into
With many of my friends
Being taken up against gravity
Only to come up onto the
Earth's surface
We all fell into a container
Only to be cocked
And again we were in dark
With much little space
To move around and play
We felt we were always
On the move
Only to be later
Heated and separated
Into different components
Now I was able to see
That all friends were
Just similar
We were still moving
At times in a pipe
Or in a container
And at last we reached
A pool, which appeared
To have breather
Helping us to air
Our exhaustion
One day I found myself
Moving up in a smaller pipe
And we were filling a
Very small metallic tank
With a very limited space
And it was hardly
Possible for us to breathe
After sometime I was drawn
Into the thin tube
And I was in a hot chamber
Where we were just burnt
And we expanded suddenly
Pushing a piston back
I saw myself in totally different company
All my earlier associates gone
And when the piston moved towards us
We knocked out in the open
Through a pipe with a thud
Along with a number of
Foul smelling dark guys
Whom I have not seen before
I am in the association
Two similar looking allies
Who always tease me
Making fun of my smaller size
Nagging me
Moving round and round me
I am now air borne
Finding it difficult
To manage these naughty neighbours
As I am looking for a separation
From these two friends
I hear a slogan
'Kick the CO2 habit'
This may help some of my
Friends down there
Continue to stay where they are
And
How I wish I go back to that
Safe, harmless, dark fluid pool
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Hamster In A Tiger Tank (A Poem For Children)
There’s a hamster in a Tiger Tank,
I saw it driving down the street.
Despite its furry features,
crushing cars is just not sweet.
It’s firing the big cannon,
and shooting the machine gun.
It just took a shot at Tiddles,
you should have seen that kitty run.
I don’t know where it got it,
where do you get a Tiger Tank?
But it’s clear it is up to no good,
because hamster just blew up a bank.
Oh can’t anybody stop it?
The airforce, navy or army?
But when we rang they wouldn’t come,
they laughed and said “you’re barmy! ”
poem by Jojoba Mansell
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