One evening I see a thing
One evening
I see a thing
that let’s my blood boil,
while I watch the news
on the television set.
I know a bold man
without hair
that stands before a big crowd,
his country, the world
and the God of gods
and lays his hand
on the holy black book
and lies a promise down and gives a solemn oath
to be true to his country and fellow man.
His government drove me to Angola
and back again
and all of the oppressed
really did have to get freedom,
but where did he stay
his brother’s keeper?
Now it seems
that he really doesn’t have a clue
about how a white man
with a degree and lots of experience
has difficulty
to find a permanent job at forty five
and to put food on the table
and all of government
falls apart
through people that have no clue
how to do their work.
Thousands of rands of tax
are subtracted from my contract work
and tax pays
his fat pension.
I want to blister
like a hot potato,
because he has the impudence
to say something about affirmative action
and I pray for him
and ask God to change him
and for him to be blessed,
as it is the way
that my mother taught me
to do to my enemies.
My contract is finished
and I have to find another job
and from that,
he stands totally free.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Two people separate
Two people separate where one
says that she’s met another man
and suddenly everything that we had is gone
and missing you my life is empty
while I am forced to move on
with your face in every other woman’s face that I see
but even worse my job is done, my contract ended
and according to the company
it could no longer be extended
and I am living in a country where the colour of skin
in times of affirmative action
becomes the deciding thing
to have a job or to be jobless,
where to find a permanent job is almost impossible
and the companies that contract temporary cares less.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The White Man Blues
An AK-47 submachine gun shoots stammering,
a rocket propelled grenade whooshes past
and I am in the middle
of another country’s civil war
shooting off short bursts, trying to stay alive
while forced into military service
by the government
and this day could be my last,
but it’s ok as I am still alive
and praying to an almighty God.
Having lost two cars, in less than a week
from theft by some black hooligans
who thinks that what you own
belongs to them
from which the insurance absolved themselves,
having lost my job by affirmative action
and only receiving a few months salary as pay
with all the fringe benefits being cut away
with the wife and her kids walking out
into the arms and the charms
of her new boyfriend
and in Soweto and wherever
the gangsters and politicians live, they know,
they wait and try to relieve me
from my humanity
and to turn me into a ravenous hating thing
and it isn’t news to them
they see my plight
as they are causing it
and even the government holds out its hand
for taxes when and where I have a contract work
but it’s ok as I am still alive
and praying to an almighty God.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Blessed are those (in answer to Dikobe wa Mogale)
Blessed are those
who jumped at Cassinga,
courted death while outnumbered
by the enemy and Cuban battle tanks
and are still living
to tell the story
blessed are those who are killed, slaughtered
in the thousands on there farmsteads,
while the police
do not tract down the killers
and these killings continues
to still go on
blessed are those who are burgled, hijacked
and raped
in the cities
and are still living
while every criminal in Africa
floods in to the country
blessed are those who choose
to remain here as white citizens
while being oppressed
by the laws laid down
by the current government
and are left without income
by the effect
of affirmative action
and who still believe and pray
while their days drag on aimlessly.
[Reference: blood of the martyrs by Dikobe wa Mogale.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Let South Africa be our country again
Let South Africa be our country again
and South Africans from all over the world
stream back,
to dream here like before,
to hope, to wish
of a place
not bordered of by burglar bars
where people can stay free
before God and man.
Let merit and respect be present
and people receive what they deserve
rather than expecting affirmative-action
and mercy from others
and the whole world
and like in the past
let us successfully do our own thing.
Let opportunities really exist
to be free in work,
living and association,
to study in your own language,
let us pull the teeth of the dogs
that rips others apart to rule,
of might that shatters the weak.
Let the animal inside us die
and we really become people
that does not burn each other,
crush and vituperate
and in groups jeering urge the killing on
and do not rob, but work
for the life that we have got.
Let we break the chains
of people ruling
with profit, might
and work people into the ground
and misuse others to gain prosperity.
I am the white Afrikaner that had to fight in war
and now are unemployed and hungry,
while I have a university degree.
I am the black man that without education
have to dig holes and man garbage trucks
and conclude my life in a shack.
I am the coloured that always stand between all groups
and do not know where I belong
and rather gather in gangs.
I am the South African that life
drives down the whole time
and have to pray all the time,
to know how to carry on.
l’Envoi
Still, I am the one that dream
of a country free from crime,
where everybody have equal opportunity,
where rape, corruption
and lawlessness ends
and where South Africa is our country again.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Leaves
I had never thought
that I would meet artisans
living on the street.
I found a welder, mechanic,
a jack-of-all-trades
and master of many and some
and even an electrician or two
and with my degree
couldn’t get a contract
and neither could they
and destiny shatters lives,
letting people blow around
like autumn leaves
being discarded by society
as work had been reserved,
not by merit, qualifications or experience
but by the colour of skin
and affirmative action
they call the demon
(the new in thing)
that has been released
and I wonder if God
hears the sad songs
flowing from guitars,
falling like leaves
in tragic melodies
and if ever a new tomorrow
would rise for the oppressed
and if ever they will be blessed?
[Reference: Leaves by Lisa Zaran.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Anarchists
The leaders of this country,
Think were the ones that do wrong,
They take control of the power,
and steal this land of forgotten freedom
Its not the people afraid of the government,
Its the government afraid of the people
They call the ones dressed in black,
The evil ones but we fight back,
We've got hackers, we've got protesters,
we let no man left behind
Its not the people afraid of the government,
Its the government afraid of the people
The unions dressed in black,
With their flag raised up high,
Don't take no for an answer,
As the forces stain the streets with blood
Its not the people afraid of the government,
Its the government afraid of the people
We fight for the people,
Our obligation is good as gold,
And though we fight with arms of steel,
we don't let death go in vein
Its not the people afraid of the government,
Its the government afraid of the people
poem by Bing D'Amico
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A statesman: then and now
He stands on the podium
with his hat
in his hand
pressed against his chest
on the border with Angola
in his country
(as he still rules
over South West Africa)
and his bare head shines
under the bright Africa sun
where he himself was born
and Ratel armoured cars,
tanks, rocket launchers
and artillery drive past in convoys
back from Angola
to get a salute from him.
He stands like a giant
alone against dark Africa
will nuclear devices
waiting ready in bombs
and missiles
for ballistic purposes
are being manufactured.
Later lump after lump
of sand
falls down in his grave
while a lost journalist
runs for photos around it
and he doesn’t any more know
what is happening
in his own country
and about thunderbolts
that falls from everywhere
on his people
and rumble ominous
above his grave,
not even about water flowing
above him in a rain stream
and every sunrise
that without equal
unfolds above him
and worms gnawing
patiently on his body
since every thing
fades for him to nothing.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Even though
Even though a new government
is in place,
in Soweto, Alexandra and Mamelodi
there are still hungry children
playing in the streets.
Even though BEE and opportunity
knocks on every black mans door,
hungered out dogs
still prowl the streets
and gangs of criminals
do not have respect
for any law at all
and steal and kill
and society in a way
is much worst than it was before.
Even though black politicians rule
the Filemons, the Thabo’s and most
other black men
still do the jobs
that they did before
and most of those
that now work for the government
do not know
how to work at all.
Even though mister Nelson Mandela is free
and in Dar es-Salaam
a statue of a black man
breaks its chains
and freedom is proclaimed
to be everywhere in this country,
freedom does not really matter
when a nation still lives in poverty
and corruption makes some people
more free than others
know how to be.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Waiting on the barbarians (a reply to C.P. Cavafy)
Called up for armed military service
hundreds of thousands white boys
are forced into a war
of whom I am but a single one
and with all battles won and even the war,
with the enemy forces shattered,
thousands of Cubans killed,
almost a hundred enemy tanks shot out,
hundreds of enemy armoured cars destroyed,
even the soviets admitting that no victory
against us is possible
the man with the bold polished head
doesn’t surrender, doesn’t even sell out,
no, he gives the whole country away
and gets a Nobel Prize for it
he opens the prison doors for the leaders
of bomb planting killers
to walk to freedom
and we and the world expect the barbarians
who used burning tires as necklaces
to appear
and out steps a man, dignified
and also receives a Nobel Prize
for his charity
and now years later the damage is done
with affirmative action
and nobody that is white who still has a job
realizes the impact of it,
that it is just another kind of racial discrimination
and slowly but surely in the long run
every white person is forced to into poverty
and the bold man sees himself
as a hero,
is viewed as a type of messiah by some
and the utmost traitor by others
and I wonder where the barbarians are
who torched living people?
Since they did not come but for one
who was the leader of our own ranks
whose actions are forcing everyone
slowly but surely into the gutter
and now the present government
wants to implement a law
to take away freedom of speech
to quench, to sensor, to scrap all poems all stories,
all news articles like this.
[Reference: Waiting on the Barbarians by C.P. Cavafy.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Day They Robbed Me Of My Life (In Answer To Don Mattera)
Black people have got power
in this government that rules,
to sing songs of hatred
like kill the Boer, kill the farmer,
kill the white man
and to sit back in comfortable chairs,
while pillage, rape, torture
and robberies takes place
and then when crime is out of control
to be about it totally amazed
Black people have got power
in this government that rules,
to destroy a lifetime’s career,
years of study at university,
years of experience
of doing a person’s utter best
in moments with affirmative action
and turning lives into nothing but dust.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lotus land
I.
There are no more oxen
to tread through the dust,
not even those of A.G. Visser
or Jan F.E. Cilliers
because they have died long ago
or are eaten
by Afrikaners as steak
and there’s no wagon
to be drawn,
because every chariot has its own power
and its own beauty too.
II.
Fast the kilometres rush past
and marsh and meadow
are driven through before sunrise
and if you leave at dawn
you can reach the Cape before dusk
and we are already living in a languid country
where the sauce train
comes and get many people
while the others
still have to pay tax.
Some sit without education in offices
passing the hours on their chairs
while they do not know how to work
or to do a task
and are just waiting for their wage
or to talk on the phone
III.
The rich get richer
while white men
that can work and have university education,
are jobless
and women now try to do their thing.
The ignorant becomes bosses
that only knows how to cringe
and by black economic empowerment
and affirmative action
uneducated get big salaries
while the country slides backwards.
IV.
Wanderers even come from other countries
and just where they can
they squat.
At every traffic light people stand and beg
and do not know
how to work
and with coins and rands
that everybody give in pity
this evil is strengthened.
V.
Caning is gone out of the schools
and most children do not know
respect anymore
and do not know how to learn
or to honour their parents
and I wonder what have become of my people
and where our country is going
and if everything is rushing to the end?
[References: “Lotus-Land” by A.G. Visser and “Die Ossewa” by Jan F.E. Celliers.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The true view of my country: Swaziland
The true colors of my country
The true Swaziland
The true view of my country
How long have you been deceived?
How long have you received
How long have you conceived
Deceived of a peaceful country
Received about a democratic country
Conceived a developing country
This then is melody of the true Swaziland
A voice of the real Swaziland
A roar of the future of Swaziland
Around the cities of Manzini
Around the mountains of Mdzimba
Around the rivers of Shiselweni
Around the deserts of Lavumisa
You shall find the poor Swazis
You shall find the poor schools
You shall find the starving Swazis
You shall find the dying Swazis
Around the cities of Africa
Around the cities of Europe
Around the hospitals of South Africa
You shall find children of the leaders of Swaziland
You shall find brothers of the leader of Swaziland
For our education is less valued
For our hospitals are critical
For our salaries are drops
For our lives are miserable
Why my country
Why Swaziland
Houses of the leaders are a paradise
Our homesteads are falling mud and sticks
Their cars are glittering engines
Our cars were God given, ever barefooted
Food beyond measure is theirs
We rely on donations; see our water sources, fields and work places
The true image of my country
They call themselves members of parliament
Warming the chairs with not effective policies
Swazis have turned to misinterpret the duties of members of parliament
They are elected to donate food for them
Why my country
Why Swaziland.
Listen as I throw a true picture of my country
Hearken to my joyful tidings
We lead the world in HIV prevalence
We lead the world in violation of human rights
We lead the world in degrading of freedom of expression
My country is not white in color
My country is painted white
Swaziland is a dark black country
But so colorful
Colored white
Our voices are not heard in Africa
Our tears are not seen across the world
Our feelings are not noted in Africa
Our funerals are not counted in Africa
Our unjust imprisonments are not considered across the world
Are we in a different plant?
Is this Pluto
To Africa I sing this song
To the world I throw these words
We need a better Swaziland
We need a better country
A free Swaziland
A living, not leaving Swaziland
A true picture of my country
My country
poem by Alex Lushaba
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Freedom For Palestine! ...
My country, my people, my land
Oh do I wish to be with my people hand in hand
With all wars abolished and all pain gone
With death and pain vanished that has been accepted for very long
Oh do I hope for my country’s independence and self-rule
Oh do I wish to destroy my enemies that have been and are still cruel
With all this evil destroyed and finally stopped
Then no more dreadful missiles could be dropped
Where finally a child can sleep silently in his bed
Not worrying about the next day if he’ll be dead
Where children are happy and finally sense the feeling of fun
Where a father could finally live in peace with his son
Yes, it’s my country Palestine
A country that will always stay mine
Oh do I wish the world could just for once say no and mean it
Oh do I wish the people in this universe could just admit
That what’s going on in Palestine is totally wrong
Then the war that’s still happening would’ve not stayed for so long
I don’t see the reason on why an innocent child deserves to die
I don’t see why a mother should look at her dead children and cry
We are all people...Our differences doesn’t matter anymore
Freedom and peace is what we all should be looking for
May the Palestinian pain and misery just fade away
That’s all I pray for every single day.
poem by Marria Attar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Government
The Government -- I heard about the Government and
I went out to find it. I said I would look closely at
it when I saw it.
Then I saw a policeman dragging a drunken man to
the callaboose. It was the Government in action.
I saw a ward alderman slip into an office one morning
and talk with a judge. Later in the day the judge
dismissed a case against a pickpocket who was a
live ward worker for the alderman. Again I saw
this was the Government, doing things.
I saw militiamen level their rifles at a crowd of
workingmen who were trying to get other workingmen
to stay away from a shop where there was a strike
on. Government in action.
Everywhere I saw that Government is a thing made of
men, that Government has blood and bones, it is
many mouths whispering into many ears, sending
telegrams, aiming rifles, writing orders, saying
"yes" and "no."
Government dies as the men who form it die and are laid
away in their graves and the new Government that
comes after is human, made of heartbeats of blood,
ambitions, lusts, and money running through it all,
money paid and money taken, and money covered
up and spoken of with hushed voices.
A Government is just as secret and mysterious and sensitive
as any human sinner carrying a load of germs,
traditions and corpuscles handed down from
fathers and mothers away back.
poem by Carl Sandburg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Why Me
Why me? was the question running down my spine Why me? so i asked myself Why me? Why me? my heart was panting for an answer Why me? my brain could not find an answer at last it gave a reasonable one that made a lot of meaning I am left in a lonely world, to make me to reason that this world is not worth living Boko Haram sect became a terror Vampire they became over night sucking human blood at will killing innocent victims with out impunity The people turn to shred, through the bomb blast killing them for nothing No shelter to live for survival No food to eat for the day No water to sustain life in turbulence A country we see without a government When people are wiped out of existence, the government will rule the dust of the earth with a pity The government can only pity those that are dead and buried Their people suffer brain touch, heavy heart, crying eyes with out control They suffer without care from the government Why me? was my question do we call this a government The government that sleeps when the houses are on fire Fire the houses are burnt to black dust and crumbs as we touch it again and again Mend are threatening to carry firearms to fight the government that cannot run state affairs The government is sleeping while her house is on fire My country Nigeria is on fire, sitting on the keg of gun powder blasting in the air and we can do nothing
poem by Olayemi Ayo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I believe in an America with a government of men devoted solely to the public interests — men of ability and dedication, free from conflict or corruption or other commitment — a responsible government that is efficient and economical, with a balanced budget over the years of the cycle, reducing its debt in prosperous times — a government willing to entrust the people with the facts that they have — not a businessman's government, with business in the saddle … not a labor government, not a farmer's government, not a government of one section of the country or another, but a government of, for and by the people.
quote by John F. Kennedy
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Lives In The Balance
Ive been waiting for something to happen
For a week or a month or a year
With the blood in the ink of the headlines
And the sound of the crowd in my ear
You might ask what it takes to remember
When you know that youve seen it before
Where a government lies to a people
And a country is drifting to war
And theres a shadow on the faces
Of the men who send the guns
To the wars that are fought in places
Where their business interest runs
On the radio talk shows and the t.v.
You hear one thing again and again
How the u.s.a. stands for freedom
And we come to the aid of a friend
But who are the ones that we call our friends--
These governments killing their own?
Or the people who finally cant take any more
And they pick up a gun or a brick or a stone
There are lives in the balance
There are people under fire
There are children at the cannons
And there is blood on the wire
Theres a shadow on the faces
Of the men who fan the flames
Of the wars that are fought in places
Where we cant even say the names
They sell us the president the same way
They sell us our clothes and our cars
They sell us every thing from youth to religion
The same time they sell us our wars
I want to know who the men in the shadows are
I want to hear somebody asking them why
They can be counted on to tell us who our enemies are
But theyre never the ones to fight or to die
And there are lives in the balance
There are people under fire
There are children at the cannons
And there is blood on the wire
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Our time together has passed
I cannot under stand you
and love that’s vaporized and is suddenly gone.
It’s quarter to twelve at night
and you have broken my heart
and I can’t close an eye.
You say that I must leave you and go
and I do not know
where to go from here
and life squashes me
and my contract is finished
and I have no fixed job
and cannot find it at any place
and every thing ends
just like my work..
It’s a hell of a thing
to look at someone
and to see how it looks,
when love is totally gone.
Suddenly every thing that was right
is gone from you and I do not know why
and it cuts me in two,
but maybe I just tried to hard
to make a life with you.
I do not know when
I hurt you so much,
that the walls
are folding in on you
and how our relationship
can be destroying you
and you want me to go
to find yourself again.
On a day you write a wonderful love poem
and two days later,
there’s nothing of that love left
and I get no answer
and do not know why I have lost you
and still I pray about it,
but you laugh when I cry
and beg you to try one more time..
Later you are crying
and my heart breaks for you
and you say goodnight
and I do not know,
how to say anything back
while I go and lie in the lounge
and this is the most painful goodbye.
I remember your voice
of moon drops in the night
and wish
that I still could stay with you,
but darkness folds around me
and our time together has passed.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
But how long will this peace last
The night that peace comes
torches are launched into the sky
like stars
to glide hanging to the ground
and as far as I look
I see fireworks near and far,
but how long will this peace last?
Nelson Mandela walks out of jail
and there are people cheering
and dancing from joy
and some think
that now they are totally free,
but how long will this peace last?
His rainbow nation disappears
into the naught
and although the sun still shines
work are reserved for some
and people begin to leave the country
while others from all over Africa stream in
and South Africans are jobless,
but how long will this peace last?
There are incapable people getting positions
and the country goes years back
and murder and killings
are totally out of control
and the police are powerless
to stop it,
but how long will this peace last?
The government takes legal firearms in
while crime spreads wider
and the state are trying to control lives
more and more
and corruption, fraud, rape,
murder and robbery
happens every day,
but how long will this peace last?
l’Envoi
The slaughter of black on white
and robbery are urged on
and reverse racism
talked good
and the country is in chaos
with incapables controlling it
and the dilapidation nobody can stop
but how long will this peace last
before the country
gets another hell of a war?
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When times are bad
When times are bad
and I am with my hands in my hair
and black foreigners from all over Africa
overnight becomes citizens
and have more rights as a citizen than me
and affirmative action
puts her claws into my life
then I wonder about justice
and when merit and experience
will ever again apply
where my ancestors Joost Strydom
from Liefenshoek in the Netherlands
as a merchant seaman of the VOC
in 1678 came to Cape Town,
married his pretty well know wife
Maryna Ras who with a horse
could alone ride days long to Cape Town
with whom noblemen tried to have relationships,
where the indigenous zulu-xhosa-pondo-swazi people
are originating from a group
that during the same time
immigrated far away out of the north
from eMbo at the big lakes in central Africa
under the leadership of Nguni and later Dlamini
and then I wonder how
this country rather belongs to them
and they have to have work opportunities before me
and if you now say anything
about the new migration out of the whole of Africa
for which the country’s borders are now wide open
(in such a way that South Africans
must now get visas for Great Britain)
you are seen as xenophobic
and then there are citizens from right over Africa
who become South Africans overnight
attaining more rights than you
who forced by law
get secure job opportunities
and do people from Mozambique murder
Eugene Terreblance,
drug dealers from Nigeria
are caught by the local police
while against your will
you were forced into an army, into a war
still faithfully pay your taxes
when and where you have a job
and the current government
tries to stay in power
while Aids devours its voter numbers
and you as a white man
are despised by the current regime,
are treaded into the ground
while the country are falling to pieces
and then you pray
to Him (the God of the universe) who controls everything
to drastically intervene
rather than rousing people
for a civil war.
[Reference: VOC Verenigde Oost Indiëse companje.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!