Now that you are away
Now that you are away
days are falling apart
and I feel
like the stripped chestnut tree
that stands skeleton against the sky
and the colours of flowers are trying
to match your eyes
while a drawling sun
at of the beginning of winter
hangs in the sky.
The rest and peace
are suddenly gone
while I walk purposeless
up and down in the garden.
Bougainvilleas pierce me
when I cut the stems
and at places I am scratched
and there are other places
where I bleed
and I wonder what it takes
to let a perfect flower grow,
or do you look past it
while the glare of the sun
almost blinds you
and do not know how lucky you are
when you have all ready got it
and all others fade away in her shade?
poem by Gert Strydom
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Seasons
I
As if summer will never end
irises are everywhere in the garden
with opening flower after flower
in light yellow, deep purple and rust-brown.
The bright hot sun hangs day after day
in a cobalt blue sky and even carnations, geraniums
and flame lilies are showing their beauty,
are still holding onto summer.
Doves are still cooing in the oak tree,
their are finches and sparrows cavorting up and down
and it’s as if nature is thwarting autumn
while dew is still shining on the leaves in the mornings
until later the sky becomes dull blue
while the sun is getting much more faint.
II
Slowly the leaves are falling
descending in different colours,
in one’s and two’s and later in a bigger number
tree-trunks become dark brown, red and some pallid
until every tree but for those that are evergreen stand skeleton,
the birds that remain sit next to each other shivering,
wishing for the winter to past
having difficulty to find seeds and other food
and the cold winter wind blows through everything,
filling the air with whirling dust clouds
with stripped branches flinging up and down
and everywhere leaves and branches lie in a jumble
until the wind dies down and the morning fog hangs like vapour,
at times only at noon is dispersed by the sun.
III
Days are cold and grey while the sun hides,
with a owl hunting during the day
searching for hungry mice sneaking around in the yellow grass
and all other signs of animal life is missing
but for doves sitting here and there
on telephone wires,
in disconsolation staring into the distance
and early mornings the grass is covered with white ripe
and it is as if every flower succumbs,
is shrinking crumpled and are folding close
until the first spring rain comes suddenly,
with sprouts and buds appearing and new flowers folding open
when fruit trees are covered with white, pink and yellow blossoms
and the sudden beauty takes your breath away.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Beautiful Camellias
The camellias bloom in Winter when the skies are cold and gray
When the sun shines at it's weakest and the Spring seems far away
Each tree an individual by the shade of flowers they bear
An avenue of camellias of one shade of flowers more often than not rare.
In shades of pink and creams and reds the colours one might name
Each is an individual for no two look the same
The beautiful camellias resplendent in their flowers
They bloom in lawn and garden on Winter's coldest hours.
In late fall in Victoria in the Southern Hemisphere
The flower buds on camellia tell Winter days are near
And before the wattles come to bloom towards the end of July
The flowers on the camellia tree lose their petals and die.
The beautiful camellias bloom in the cold winter showers
And long before the southern spring they will have lost their flowers
And on June's coldest and wettest day great beauty I can see
A mass of pink flowers blooming on the green camellia tree.
poem by Francis Duggan
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In The Winter Garden
Winter has visited our garden my love
Trees have been stripped bare and flowers wilt
A frost has been laid upon the ground
Even the birds have taken to flight, away
Amid the silence of the morning I walk
Through our garden which we nurtured
How solemn it now looks without colour
The summer seems but a distant memory
How beautiful it looked back then
How beautiful it will look once more
But now in the mornings drab light
With barren trees and wilted flowers
I walk upon the hardened earth
Which feels like stone beneath my feet
We talked of planting a fruit tree
For flavour and shade in years to come
Now that is an idea in waiting
Till winter has passed, and spring returns
Winter is here in our garden my love
As I watch the vapour of my breath rise
I say your name, a love for all time
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Late autumn
The yellow veldt, the skeleton chestnut trees
specs of orange-red aloes in the kopje
are near to the old white house
and in the late afternoon shades draw long lines
while I walk up to the house on the red-brown dirt road
and most of the flowers in the garden are stripped bare
but a few irises are flowering yellow,
purple and cream brown
and the sky is dull blue and the early evening cold
is already on the wind that is rustling everything
and after years I open the garden gate
are coming back to my childhood home
stripped from illusions,
and I am bare from the childhood innocence
but full of hope
and looking through a mature man’s eyes.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Carnations in the garden
There are carnations in the garden
in colours of ruby red,
pure white and blossom pink
and some pink with deep purple inside
and others purple-blue.
I smell the sweet fresh flowers
and look at colours
hue as if by magic
into each other.
Some grow in flowering pots,
some are planted in flowerbeds,
others even in the rock garden
and the flowers at places are mixed
to catch the eye
and everywhere there’s care
and a lot of love
that went into the tending of it.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Rose Tree Of Winter
In the cold winds of Winter she stands thorny and bare
In Summer large beautiful red flowers she did wear
The Rose tree of Winter not a pretty sight
At a time of year with litle warmth in the sunlight,
When the birds in the sunlit gardens will nest and sing
She will wear her new leaves and rosebuds of the Spring
As a tree the rose tree does not grow very tall
Compared to most trees she does seem very small
But in her full bloom none as lovely as she
In her cloak of flowers she's a beautiful tree
But in Winter she stands there by the garden wall
Of the garden trees the most forlorn one of all
And though it may still be a few months from the Spring
The white backed magpie on the blackwood tree sing
But without her leaves and flowers prickly looking and bare
The rose tree looks drab in the cool morning air.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Falling Flowers
In the beginning I saw your smile…the unwithering flower…
I was dancing onside of thousand blooming flowers…
The bud’s fragrance was overwhelming silently.
That moment, I felt it in the town of wind with calm breeze.
Every tear and smile has a beginning and ending.
This time, my unwithering flower is falling down onto my tainted road…
The song of storm and fire take away all of my unwithering flowers.
The fragrance, the flower’s colours…everything is melt vastly.
Inside the locked remorse, I find a falling flower.
Inside the cold guiltiness, I start dancing and plant the flower.
This falling flower, I plant it…on the empty soil named despair.
This falling flower, I water it…with my tears named blood.
poem by Mizushi Hikari
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Lonely Places
Along came all the determinism,
I have always been a fighter,
The bravery I knew vanished,
The vision so vivid and intense,
Temptation faught me to the grave,
Hanging my neck with great precision,
Falling in battle was always rare,
All dragged into oblivion,
When it was just me and her,
Together in lonely places
Sitting there, sitting with me,
Looking there, loking at me,
Her thighs I longed to reach,
Her lips I longed to kiss,
We were a perfect match,
Just in an imperfect moment,
I picked a rose,
Its scent so strong and pure,
The tears can flow down,
But the love cannot
Upon what grounds shall you love me,
The pain of a dying soldier,
A tale of fighting temptation,
It remains you and me along,
Perfect match with smiling faces,
Falling love in lonely places
Will it ever be be fine,
Fighting against all time,
Will you ever be mine,
Poor me standing in the line,
Fight me not beautiful,
Im a boy falling in love
Come along lets have a dance,
Of course in our lonely places
In the face of the earth there we are,
An express manifestation of care,
Am I lover or a friend,
Are we in, or yet to discover,
Your heart shall you release,
To the rescue of my long agony,
So shall we go in our lonely places,
This time I will whisper the words,
Yes in the cold of the night,
Never friends under the blue sky,
Ever there under the dark sky,
Never friends in the free world,
Ever there in lonely places
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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Not a yellow or blue iris
Not a yellow or blue iris
that flowers in a cup right through the winter
not a pepper tree
that throws shadows the whole time
but to me you are
purple-blue morning glories
that folds open with the sun,
trailing everywhere
and when the dark days come,
with rain falling almost unstoppable
your grow densely
and with the first sunshine
there are flower upon flower.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Astral Plane
I lie down
On the bed
Relax into my own head
I start to feel
The power
Of the astral light
Rising through my body
Faster than
The speed of light
I feel a calm
As my body shoots
Into an astral time
As I ride along
On the colours
Of the astral plane
I see far away places
Sandy beaches
Seas so blue
I see places
With no faces
Faces with no places
People from my past life
People from the next
Then I return to my bed
With peace in my head
Knowing it's not
My journeys end
poem by Dave Alan Walker
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Falling Petal
It starts to grow in the morning dew
The beauty it shines through and through
Until one-day it is fully grown
Being grateful its seeds were sown
The flower has blossomed and it stands tall
But sadly it knows it soon will fall
For right now, it is so proud
And in the shade, it does not shrowd
For something that was once a beautiful flower
It now just withers and in a corner it cowers
It used to bloom in the light of day
Hoping its beauty will always stay
But now winter is here and the beauty's no-more
And the future of this flower has nothing in store
When the winter snow begins to settle
Thats when you see the first falling petal
poem by Jane Allan
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the Falling Petal
It starts to grow in the morning dew
The beauty it shines through and through
Until one-day it is fully grown
Being grateful its seeds were sown
The flower has blossomed and it stands tall
But sadly it knows it soon will fall
For right now, it is so proud
And in the shade, it does not shrowd
For something that was once a beautiful flower
It now just withers and in a corner it cowers
It used to bloom in the light of day
Hoping its beauty will always stay
But now winter is here and the beauty's no-more
And the future of this flower has nothing in store
When the winter snow begins to settle
Thats when you see the first falling petal
poem by Shirts Williams
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Everywhere in the garden flowers grow in bright colours
Everywhere in the garden flowers grow in bright colours
and in this small paradise the last winter wind blows,
when the air is filled with the smell of jasmine and gardenia
and with each other we are without talking somewhat familiar
when the other world of work and worries is reduced,
when we hear doves sing their songs of love,
when the sun like a red ball returns to its resting place,
when sparrows watch us from tree branches
and the evening star and the darkness comes suddenly
but still we are smitten with each other,
with something intimate in each moment
when the moon hangs red brown
and the I find in you a resting place for my heart,
some joy and happiness in a world full of pain and sorrow.
poem by Gert Strydom
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My little flower
“MY little flower”
Christmas is fast approaching and nearing
Whole year we were threatened and fearing
What will be the forecast for the whole year?
Any how I dream about an hear some good music in ears
I wish to put many light on Christmas tree
With flowers boom around it to grow free
I love those pretty flowers in different colors
As if freshness has just arrived after showers
I wish to remain them in same position
With fragrance and smell in good combination
How cute and good they look to see with eyes?
Memory suddenly rushes in mind and make me cry
She had made first entry in our home few years ago
I was childless and it was entire the time hurting ego
Now so beautiful flower is in my garden
It adds to our joy and happiness even
Now when I look at her it adds to worry
I may be without her after sometime and feel sorry
She may have her own wings and fly away
She is indeed butterfly and searching the way
I wish her to grow in elegant style
Have her own way and move for a while
Who knows what will be she in days to come?
But whatever be the luck, she will always be welcome
Today I am decorating house with good faith
Wishing entire community and world with no more deaths
Let peace and harmony prevail among all walks of life
Let the life move smoothly and free from any strife
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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At Springs
I am trying to get a job
at Springs
and wonder why people live here
away from Johannesburg
and Pretoria
and what fountains
spring out at this place
and all that I find
is rotten smells
rising from the Blesbok river
where sewerage is flowing in freely.
The town lies stretched out
up to Brakpan
and has two internet cafés
that I know about
and a computer shop
where the people
know less about computers than I
and my animals
may not come into the house
and I must explain why
they are barking at the gate.
One of my cats
Lurks in the a storm water drain
against the road
and I am tired and fed up
with lifting concrete blocks
with a crowbar
to free the Persian cat
on his cries for help.
The mines are stripped bare
and at places there are pans
with poison
that has accumulated there for years
and at times there are friendly neighbours
with whom I talk
and virtually every second day
the weather is overcast
with falling rain
and thunderbolts
hitting outside around my animals
but mother’s garden
is a real idyllic spot
with hollyhocks bursting out pink
over fallen trees
in a rock garden,
geraniums of all colours
growing very rampant,
flame lilies blooming orange,
morning glories coming up anywhere
and a much larger vegetable garden
than I could plant in Pretoria
and over the yard
the Creator spreads His hand
and there are new flowers
sprouting almost every day
and I am astonished
at how easy
things grow here
and how high
the plants are suddenly
and the yard is so big
that the animals
almost play in a field
and it’s actually past lovely
to stay for a time
with my mother
as she loves me very much.
poem by Gert Strydom
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To me you are
To me you are the woman
that walks up and down
at the traffic light
and smiles almost shy,
when I look up
and still give a view
of her breasts
To me you are
the hunger and pain,
that I hear in the voices
of children in back streets
where they loose all courage.
To me you are
the crippled gum sniffing children,
that swing walk
with eyes without hope.
To me you are the vagrant,
that struggles along shuffling
and worries about the next
sleeping place and food
and smile without teeth
when he gets a few coins.
To me you are the beggar
who stands unobserved
at a busy traffic light,
while cars are streaming past
where nobody knows or comprehends
his despair.
To me you are the drug dealers
who hangs out in clubs
and look whom they can still catch,
with their contaminating
deadly poison.
To me you are the street thug,
that brakes car windows with bricks
and steal the valuables of people
and sell it at only a Rand or two.
To me you are the criminal
that steals cars in the streets
and are happy
with the despair,
that he is dealing out unscrupulous.
In reality you are the big city
that gives and takes,
where people live like termites
past each other
and rowed in,
as if others do not exist
To rather stay far away from it all
and to get rest and peace there
at times wants to take predominance,
but I love you
like a husband does his wife.
In you is where
some people still build dreams
and wish and live
and have an own place.
In you I see children
giving bread to birds
and people,
giving money to car guards.
In you are places
where people are making a living
and really help each other
and still I believe,
that in places in you
there are more good than evil.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Crazy Garden ('In The Madness You Find An Order')
Have you seen impatiens grow on spikey stems
I have in the crazy garden
Here egg shells grow on cacti
The infamous egg tree you told me about
Here crows use white washed picket fences as serviettes
And metre long lizards tend the ferns
Where the garden lights never come on after dark
So you navigate the pathways by moonlight and birdcalls after 7
Where black monkeys are the upper tree gardeners
And civet cats use the golden cane ladders and
Together with the moon peer at you through holes
In old verandah ceilings
Where elephants are your front gate wardens
And antheriums are only matched by hibiscus
In their pinkness plentiness and placing
Have you played with cotton flower seeds
On evergreen tuft grass?
I have in the crazy garden
You can take the path of 10000 steps, you can stroll
The hedgerows or lay beneath the golmahore tree
Shaded and draped with cascading orange flowers
From an unknown vine seeded in an unknown time
You can invent characters, you can write insane poetry
You can laugh out loud you can cry to yourself,
Count the colours and talk with birds
You can hum with the bees
You can dream because you are allowed to be crazy
Here in India in the crazy garden.
poem by Geoffrey Fafard
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Mowing the Lawn
The chestnut tree is now stripped bare
and all of the golden leaves have been raked,
bagged in black sacks.
The last summer sun
hangs white hot in the autumn air
while the lawnmower growls willingly.
There’s sand and grass
coming into my nose and the weed-eater
cuts away the jungle.
I see the two cats
climbing down a evergreen tree
from the roof of the garage
and there are ripe yellow tomatoes
on stems in long rows
and a few figs swelling out
hanging on branches
and I cut tufts of grass
at the back of the prickly pears.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Flower’s Name
(after Robert Browing)
I
Through this garden her steps swept
before she opened the gate,
where roses with dew wept
and not a moment longer she could wait,
while there was something gracious in her walk
before she stopped a moment at the letterbox,
in the distance children’s voices she heard talk
while her arm brushed against the snow-white phlox.
II
Her feet carried her in ready steps as she passed by,
saw red carnations in a row
and her eyes sparkled bluer than the sky
while she felt a gentle breeze blow
everywhere flowers and buds did God praise
in their beauty almost casting a spell
while they were blooming for days
with more loveliness and vibrant colours than anyone can tell.
III
She found a flower much more lovely
than any other one she had ever seen
while bees were circling it lively
and to smell it she was keen
but did not know the flower’s name
while it was something precious that she did found,
the flower was blushing as if it were aflame
where it was growing in bloom upon bloom from the ground.
[Reference: “Garden Fancies: I: The flower’s name” by Robert Browing.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Flowers, Beautiful Flowers
Life is that precious and divine,
Souls journey as per schedule,
Visit places and people,
smile and laugh,
Weep and cry together,
Come alone and go alone,
Nothing brought, nothing taken!
Just it is like flower,
Blossom and spread its fragrance,
Put a signature on several hearts,
Gone flower, never come,
Memory of its beauty,
Aura remains all the time everywhere
In hearts of those who had seen it!
People too are like flowers,
That flowers in the garden of divine,
Some are beautiful,
Some by their wisdom and knowledge,
Some with deeds and virtues,
Flowers, beautiful flowers of God's Garden!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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