Near to Gobabis
Near to Gobabis,
(when it still was South West Africa)
a farmer gave me a lift
when I was on military leave
and that hardened pioneer
who daily struggled against the desert
told me about the grace of God
and about His great love
while he watched me
where I was sweating in his pickup truck
and I was very sure that God measures out
the way of each human being
and the urgent blue eyes of that man
still stays with me
as he did know
something more about his creator.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
Farm On The Freeway
Nine miles of two-strand topped with barbed wire
Laid by the father for the son.
Good shelter down there on the valley floor,
Down by where the sweet stream run.
Now they might give me compensation...
Thats not what Im chasing. I was a rich man before yesterday.
Now all I have got is a cheque and a pickup truck.
I left my farm on the freeway.
Theyre busy building airports on the south side...
Silicon chip factory on the east.
And the big roads pushing through along the valley floor.
Hot machine pouring six lanes at the very least.
Now, they say they gave me compensation...
Thats not what Im chasing. I was a rich man before yesterday.
Now all I have left is a broken-down pickup truck.
Looks like my farm is a freeway.
They forgot they told us what this old land was for.
Grow two tons the acre, boy, between the stones.
This was no southfork, it was no ponderosa.
But it was the place that I called home.
They say they gave me compensation...
Thats not what Im chasing. I was a rich man before yesterday.
And what do I want with a million dollars and a pickup truck?
When I left my farm under the freeway.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Santa's Gonna Come In A Pickup Truck
Well I've been sorta worried
About Santa Claus this year
Cause we live way down south
and it didn't snow down here
But I'm telling you not to worry
Cause I just got the word
Everybody listen closely
And I'll tell you what I heard
Santa's comin in a pickup
Instead of his trusty sleigh
He'll have a truck instead of reindeer
To carry him on his way
Cause the weatherman had some problems
He couldn't get snow you see
Santa's gonna come in a pickup truck
When he visits you and me
Santa can't bring his reindeer
He'll leave them far away
But don't you worry 'bout him
He's gonna be here Christmas day
He's got a big red pickup
With four-wheel drive and all
And there's gonna be a Merry Christmas
A Merry Christmas for all
chorus
Santa's gonna come in a pick up truck
When he visits you and me
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Santa's Gonna Come In A Pickup Truck (feat. The Chipmunks)
(Don Rich/Red Simpson)
Well I've been sorta worried
About Santa Claus this year
Cause we live way down south
And it didn't snow down here
But I'm telling you not to worry
Cause I just got the word
Everybody listen closely
And I'll tell you what I heard
Santa's comin in a pickup
Instead of his trusty sleigh
He'll have a truck instead of reindeer
To carry him on his way
Cause the weatherman had some problems
He couldn't get snow you see
Santa's gonna come in a pickup truck
When he visits you and me
Santa can't bring his reindeer
He'll leave them far away
But don't you worry 'bout him
He's gonna be here Christmas day
He's got a big red pickup
With four-wheel drive and all
And there's gonna be a Merry Christmas
A Merry Christmas for all
Santa's gonna come in a pick up truck
When he visits you and me
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I love Africa in general South Africa and West Africa, they are both great countries.
quote by Paris Hilton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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South Africa Is Also My Country
From my birth South Africa is my own country
and my people can flee to an island
but my own culture and language stays holy
although this place is not safe,
I still trust on a much higher hand,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
From my birth South Africa is my own country
even if the struggling government gives me resistance,
do oppress me with unfair laws,
even if nothing can stop the disintegration,
even if I am not safe against the onslaught,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
From my birth South Africa is my own country,
even if some act with effrontery against my people
I come from a noble heritage,
I am proud on my Afrikaner lineage,
even if people and buildings are set alight,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
From my birth South Africa is my own country
with no other place I have such a deep bond
and even if here I will never have any job,
I believe in God and a Christian church,
God himself still keeps my ways intact,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Irene
She seems such a nice lady the beautiful Irene
Her hair as dark as raven's wing her countenance serene
She came out from South Africa with her husband and family
And in Australia for her kids she says more opportunity.
Some of her children miss South Africa still homesick so she say
But Australia they may grow to love at least she hopes one day
She emigrated for their sake she hopes they understand
Still young people have been known to yearn for years for their Homeland.
She talks about South Africa her Homeland far away
But she's not sorry that she left and here she plans to stay
When the Springboks played in the World cup final she watched that on T.V.
And with her family she rejoiced at their great victory.
She has a Grecian background but the moment that she speak
You know she is South African she doesn't sound like a Greek,
She came out to Australia just for her children's sake
And I thought that quite brave of her such a sacrifice to make.
Dark haired Irene from Africa so human and so warm
She's not a proud or showy type she has a quiet charm
And though I only spoke with her for a brief while that memory remain
And what's a loss to South Africa must be Australia's gain
poem by Francis Duggan
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I'm gonna take the South out of South Africa
I'm gonna take the South out of South Africa
the home of the slaves
and the land of no freedom
I'm gonna take the south out of South Africa
where George Wallace stood
on the University steps
and said no blacks
no blacks shall enter here
except over my dead
and crippled body
I'm gonna take the South out of South Africa
where separate but equal means
that blacks lived in the homelands
and not in their homes
I'm gonna take the South out of South Africa
where Jim Crow laws
have tried to change their colors
but it's still the same old shackles
call Apartheid
I'm gonna take the South out of South Africa
where young people are detained
...without trials
...without lawyers
...without rights
but never
... without hope
I'm gonna take the South out of South Africa
poem by Oscar Mireles
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The Dust Of Africa
The dust of Africa,
Born into the mist of a dusty atmosphere;
What does the future hold for us?
Oh Africa! Oh Africa! ! Oh Africa! ! !
The misty mix of a Black Continent;
From the desert up there to the south,
The wind blows the natural air to all mankind.
On this earth,
We Africans are mixed with a dusty air!
The dust of Africa,
Have you seen it in Libya, Tunisia, Egypt and Morocco?
The dust of Africa,
What about Algeria, Western Sahara and Mauritania?
The dust of Africa,
Do visit Mali, Niger, Chad, Sudan, Eritrea and Ethiopia;
Also, down south to Namibia!
The misty mix of a Black Continent;
Oh Africa! The dust of Africa! !
To the outstretched sandy dust of the desert,
This could be sold for money.
What about the West Coast of Africa?
From Senegal, Gambia, Guinea Bissau, Guinea and Sierra Leone;
From Liberia, Ivory Coast, Burkina Faso, Ghana and Togo;
From Benin to Nigeria with the same problem of the dust,
The dusty wind changes the colour in our rooms too.
Live in Africa to experience this act,
Shop in Africa to know the facts;
From Cameroon, Central African Republic and Congo Brazzaville;
From The Democratic Republic of Congo, Kenya and Uganda;
From Tanzania, Angola, Zambia, Zimbabwe and Mozambique;
From Botswana, Lesotho, Swaziland, Somalia and South Africa;
Our eyes and our clothes do ell it all in Madagascar also.
What about Cape Verde Island, Comoros Island and Mauritius?
What about Seychelles, Equatorial Guinea, Sao Tome and Principe?
Dusty wind, dusty wind, the dusty wind of Africa!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Pride To Be An African
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of which everybody imitates
My Africa of which culture exceed the Greek
My Africa of which everyone is jealous of
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of enormous natural endowment
My Africa of Non-Violence
My Africa of Amorous populates
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of patriot men and women
My Africa of shelter and vintage hospitality
My Africa of great ancestral mythology
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa that bore fruits of black diamonds
My Africa which is a gift to the whole world
My Africa of great leadership
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of learned youths
My Africa of a bright generation
My Africa true tradition
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of black pageant women
My Africa of strong men
My Africa from who we all hail from
For every African deserves a Nobel Prize in
Existence.
poem by Fasan paul
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White Trucks Galore
It was on the day of the 24th
I saw white pickup trucks heading south and north.
Now that was unusual I do say
it didn't happen again till pass the
month of May.
It happened in June -
but instead of one now there is two-
white trucks appear out of the blue.
Maybe I am suppose to buy a white truck—
maybe I will have all kinds of luck—
I know I can't play a truck in the lottery game—
but I can buy one and on the back put my name.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on June 27,2012
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Vagabond Of The Western World
I could tell you the story of a vagabond
A playboy of the western world
One day by chance he came upon
A fair young maid, a country girl
He told her that he loved her
And he took all of her silver
He told her that he needed her too
He said hey baby, you got eyes of blue
But he was a vagabond
Blue eyes, oh baby blue, oh blue eyes
The kind of eyes that say I do eyes
Oh baby blue, oh blue eyes
Oh baby blue, oh blue eyes
He roamed around the cities
Searching for his fortune and fame
No lady ever got to know his name
Shame, but that was his game
Gave a girl a baby boy
He said this child is my pride and joy
Im busy running wild and free
Make sure he grows up like me
And Im a vagabond
Blue eyes, oh baby blue, oh blue eyes
The kind of eyes that say I do eyes
Oh baby blue, oh blue eyes
Oh baby blue, oh blue eyes
Oh I could tell you a story of a vagabond
He was a playboy of the western world
He wore an earring in his left ear
You see his father he was a gypsy
You just might meet him upon the highway
Pretty fine dancer too
But hes leave you blue, hed leave
Hed leave you woman
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Black Continent
Africa, Africa, Africa!
The Black Continent full of raw materials and talented people;
For the Blackman is capable of managing his own affairs.
Beautiful South Africa,
Beautiful North Africa,
Beautiful East Africa,
Beautiful West Africa,
And beautiful Central Africa! !
This Black Continent is full of natural resources.
Visit Africa to understand our ways,
For we have more to the world!
And like the muse of the animals in the forest,
But The Black Continent means a lot to all of us on this earth:
Africa, Africa, Africa! !
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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To Doris
She said I come from a land flanked by the warmer seas
A flat brown land that stretch for miles with hardly any trees
In my dreams I see the big game parks and the open plains I see
'Oh' Africa my Africa I hear you calling me.
I hear the male lion cough and roar and the wild hyena scream
And the Natives dance before my eyes so real to me they seem
I hear them singing in the night and their drumming I too hear
And Africa close to my heart though miles away from here.
Doris accent is a give away as accents often are
You'd know that to get to this great Land that she's had to travel far
Her lovely South African accent one never should mistake
The migrant may live far from home but ties that bind are hard to break.
A farmer's daughter from South Africa her life story ought be told
A woman close to eighty years though she doesn't look that old
A teenager in the thirties the hard life she has been through
Her only brother a prisoner of war in Europe in world war two.
Her ill mother convinced her son had died lost the will to live on
And he returned home to the tragic news that his mum was dead and gone
There's sorrow blood and tears in war and tragedy as well
And for mums with sons on battlefields life must be living hell.
She raised five sons in South Africa and one died at twenty five
Brain damaged by measles as a child she helped him to survive
And Doris with great sadness says that her son's life was far too brief
There's ups and downs in life she says and there's happiness and grief.
With her son and daughter in law she lives east of Melbourne now by road off 'One Tree Hill'
A woman from a far Country and suppose she always will
Feel homesick for her home Country, I love Australia she say
But my homeland is South Africa the brown Land far away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Is that creator in you?
Let their sun rise to them from our west,
Let the doubtful ignorance be cleared as the mist,
Let the program on every chip be our tips,
Let our people wake up in pleasant hand shake.
The old civilizations and new world in Pacific Ocean,
The same old genes of first generation peaceful human,
The chart of nomenclature with variant faith, dream and color,
under the great grand name of Human, the creator.
The creator of the fire for the food,
The creator of tools for the growth,
The creator of mechanics for the transport,
The creator of electricity for the comfort,
The creator of magnificent diodes,
The creator of tiny humble chips,
The creator of laptop and internet,
The creator of wars based on faith,
The creator of ignorance,
To destroy all these intelligence.
Let the creator of peace in you evolve,
to teach the destroyers who revolve,
to reach those hearts that tremble,
Let us have the peace that triumphs.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Urgent
Youre not shy, you get around
You wanna fly, dont want your feet on the ground
You stay up, you wont come down
You wanna live, you wanna move to the sound
Got fire in your veins
Burnin hot but you dont feel the pain
Your desire is insane
You cant stop until you do it again
But sometimes I wonder as I look in your eyes
Maybe youre thinking of some other guy
But I know, yes I know, how to treat you right
Thats why you call me in the middle of the night
You say its urgent
So urgent, so oh oh urgent
Just wait and see
How urgent my love can be
Its urgent
You play tricks on my mind
Youre everywhere but youre so hard to find
Youre not warm or sentimental
Youre so extreme, you can be so temperamental
But Im not looking for a love that will last
I know what I need and I need it fast
Yeah, theres one thing in common that we both share
Thats a need for for each other anytime, anywhere
It gets so urgent
So urgent
You know its urgent
I wanna tell you its the same for me
So oh oh urgent
Just you wait and see
How urgent our love can be
Its urgent
You say its urgent
Make it fast, make it urgent
Do it quick, do it urgent
Gotta rush, make it urgent
Want it quick
Urgent, urgent, emergency
Urgent, urgent, emergency
Urgent, urgent, emergency
Urgent, urgent, emergency
So urgent, emergency
Emer... emer... emer...
Its urgent
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don’t Cry For Me Africa
Don’t cry for me Africa
Because I will never let you out of my mind
I hear your voices people of Africa
I hear your cries people of Africa
I see pain in your eyes people of Africa
It is hard to describe what you people of Africa are going through
Poverty strikes you all people of Africa
Don’t cry for me Africa
Because I will keep you in my prayers people of Africa
Power to the people of Africa
People of Africa lift your spirit higher
Lord is the light and truth people of Africa
The Lord sends you a message from his heart to you people of Africa
He said because I love you
I will answer your prayers
I hear your prayers
Don’t cry for me Africa
Because you have a friend that is the Lord
People of Africa continue doing the Lords work
Make a wish people of Africa
The people of Africa are looking at the Lord face to face
Lord here is no paradise
We dream a little dream said the people of Africa to the Lord
The People of Africa Pray that the Lord will give each other strength every day
Don’t cry for me Africa
Save the people of Africa
Strengthened the people of Africa each day
Because I’ll be there in your dreams people of Africa
The people of Africa tells The Lord how much they love him
Don’t cry for me Africa
Lord comes when you are ready people of Africa
Feelings you have for your Lord People of Africa
And I know you will never let it die
Nothing but flowers the people of Africa will plant in the sea shore for the Lord
Don’t cry for me Africa
The people of Africa needs hope to heal there land
The Lord rose up on you people of Africa
Don’t cry for me Africa
My heart will go on
Once I close this door of the ship I will sail across the Atlantic Sea
poem by Aldo Kraas
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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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Good times, bad times & my cactus Christmas tree
My first Christmas tree, thirty years ago
Upon my arrival in Las Vegas
Shall always be remembered so,
As one of my greatest
My pickup truck was my home
My refuge and my castle
I was totally, absolutely alone…
But… it wasn’t such a hassle
I drove into the desert one day
To see what I could see
And lo and behold beside the road
Found my perfect Christmas tree
It was a three inch tall cactus
All attitude, prickly and brash
And I proudly installed it
Upon my ol’ trucks dash
I used cigarette cellophane
As tinsel you see
Stuck tight to the spines
Of my lil’ Christmas tree
Many times it fell off
My prickly lil’ friend
When I would start off too fast
Or career round a bend
Though small, and deceptive
It was easy to find you see
Usually stuck quite painfully
Upon my bony right knee
It was all I had that christmas
And I was lonely you see
Just me and my ol’ pickup truck
And my cactus Christmas tree
Childhood memories are nice…
But the one I’ll most remember will be
The one in which, all there was in my world
Was just me…my ol’ pickup
And my cactus Christmas tree
poem by David Whalen
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Frota
There is a sweet love flowing inside me and,
Your love is like the tea from South Africa;
And i can see true love in your eyes.
Your mother is not telling you the truth about this love,
But i will live to make it work between us;
For my name of Frota and, i come from Brazil.
I am glad to see the shadow of your love and,
You are like the sweet of wine of South Africa;
So come and let us share this love together.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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All Dad's Fault!
Great grandchildren…
More that just a few
Grandchildren…
Got a lot of them too
Lot's of happy
Lot's of sad…
Lot's of goodness
And a bit of bad
A few deaths…
Lot's of life
Many fantasies
Just one wife
Many lives created
Most due to chance (or luck)
It all started on a warm summer evening
In the back of my dad's ol' pickup truck
The lightning bugs were glowin'
The hormones were flowin'
The attraction was growin'
And we were too young to be knowin'
Of the consequences of that summer night
And all the joy and heartbreak to be
Well…It was all my dad's fault…
This patchwork quilt of family
It all began
when I held out my hand
And he gave the pickup's
key to me
I think he knew all the while
What was goin' to be in store for me
Cause he had a bittersweet smile
As he handed me that key
poem by David Whalen
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