Open letter (parody)
(with apology to Koos A. Kombuis)
Are you still living?
Do you sleep peacefully during the day,
while at the work being totally nuts?
Without being able to do a single stitch?
In the battle you fight
against everything that is orderly or looks white,
in back street
at your whorehouses?
Is there a little bit of dust
in your kitchens or behind your cupboards?
Is your black PA full of emotion?
Do you sit comfortable on the porch?
(Mind it, with too many ignorant people you have got trouble,
that lets a company go down and makes people call on God.)
If you do not care and have wiped
all the murders from your hands
or do really understand
or sell it like a burlesque on television
and without people knowing it are resting
while unholy fire burns in your beds,
you can break eleven commandments
and put guns to the heads of people
while you kick them
against their shoulders saying:
“Good, we will go further,
this is how it’s supposed to be
when some winters come to the white man.
Take everything and invade without mercy
even rob the poor and the drunk,
even insult an envoy of Bill Clinton
while spit runs from your mouths.”
(but be very angry
and killers and thieves without any ambition.)
Do you political role players
really find equity for the injustice and crime that are gnawing?
Can you instigate the masses still further?
(for heaven’s sake)
“Does God not hear our prayers? ”
[Reference: Ope brief aan die body corporate (Open letter to the body corporate) by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
Smoke and poker (parody
(with apology to Koos A. Kombuis)
in the lane of the light
we go into the location
and there create family
on beds with blankets without sheets.
[Rook en poker (Smoke and poker) by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Sunday afternoon at the monument (parody)
(with apology to Koos A. Kombuis)
My love and song is totally wrong
not like something out of Afrikaner blood,
my love and song is for everyone
who undress for me, who eat with me
and fold open at a picnic
in the shades of the language monument rock
to my thanks my love and song proclaims me as the boss
it is refused in this country
with smells on the wind
and by laymen on sidewalks
with their prayers
my love and song is for everyone whom I like
but without a church or a law;
just where I am going, without suspicion and totally immoral
– casual and with ceremony -
my love and song is fragrant, like cheese you can smell it from far
and my fingers dance
on my small cellular phone.
[Sondagmiddag by die monument by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Forced Song (parody)
(with apology to Koos A. Kombuis)
Like a tart
in hungry weeks,
I yearn to reel
– with a flowering girl-
with pornography
in children’s libraries
my members and I
are stinking rotten
like my god Hitler
that lives with me in Soweto,
like honourable gentlemen
visiting a in ghetto
heavy and bulky,
I am writing in a hurry
even when I bump my head
just as it pleases me.
[Reference: Kwang-gesang (Kwang hymn) by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Afrikaner genetics (in answer to Koos A. Kombuis)
Maybe wild trees grow
the yards of your ancestors,
their worth have become nothing
like stale salt,
their faces are yellow
and most of them are squint,
they walk without words to nowhere
but I have a God that stands with me
and my ancestors,
with brave men that do not disregard their duty
who do not imagine them above others
who had chosen their wives
out of a people that God himself planted
and your insults of my people and me
make me raving mad, worse that just angry.
[Reference: Afrikanergenetika (Afrikaner genetics) by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Like a light coming in darkness (in answer to Koos A. Kombuis)
Like a light coming in darkness
I am waiting on You my God
to lead me to the right road
languishing for Your words and commandments
and ask that You do not look past
people that mock You openly
and amusingly serve Satan
as if their destiny in life
are in their own hands
and I need You to fill my lamp
and ask for Your forgiving of them too
and forgive the whole lot of them
that do not have a clue of who and what You are
and if it’s possible lead them from the darkness.
[Reference: Kwang-gesang (Kwang song) by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Two Different People
Two different people
Black people, white people
Black world, White world
A black person thinks different from the white people
White people thinks highly of himself
White people works very hard for his living
Black's are lazy
They don't want to work, they just want the money
You have to work for the money, they just don't get it
White people knows that there are no free ride in life
Black's want a free ride, there are no free ride in life
Nothing is free in life except for the air that you breathe
The white people have to be careful of what they say to the black People
Whatever you say to the black people if they don't like it they will say it Is discrimination
We can't understand them
They have a mind of their own
The white people are loving and caring
What about the black people?
Not a hope in hell
I don't want any part of the black world
The black world is not safe for me
So I rather stay in my white world where I feel safe
We can't trust them
The reason why there is violence in this world is because the black People cause it
Now they don't like it because they have to live with it
We want a safe world for our people
The black people don't care about it because the only thing they know And seen is violence
There is too much violence on TV
They like it
They like the feeling of danger
We white don't like the feeling of danger
The blacks hate the white people and the white people don't like them Either
The white people knows when to shut up
The black people never knows when to shut up
There is why there are always problem with them
They make life miserable for us
The white people will always be a good friend
The black people can never be your friend
They will take everything they can get from you for free
poem by Aldo Kraas
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If you keep straying with unhappiness (in answer to Koos A. Kombuis)
If you keep straying with unhappiness
and take the beauty out of everything
are looking for evil in everything
your life turns into a miserable story
you are wandering through the desert
where your tears disappear,
you are scorched
while the sun is shining overwhelming for others
you find thorns on the most beautiful flower,
are already old, before age sets in,
as if you are cursed by a spell
that gives words even if your are dumb
and you break Afrikaans down to clay,
as if nothing have to remain of that language and people
and you take LSD and who knows what
to find life in something
and to you life is a lost dream
as if it is allotted to another man, another guy
and your trousseau and love is buried
where nobody can explore
and you are in your own whirlpool.
[Atlantis in jou lyf (Atlantis in your body) by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Terrible mathematics (in answer to Koos A. Kombuis.)
By man’s own actions
the world has become dreary
and sly foxes sneak around
among the rubbish dumps
but my people
have a covenant with the almighty God
who mercifully rescues them from distress
and everyone that follows Him is chosen.
By man’s own ingenuity and profit mongering
there are natural disasters waiting,
the unrest of the sea is instigated
while factories fill the air with smoke
and according to the word of God
He is the source from where selfless love comes.
[Reference: 1999½ by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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By man’s own actions (in answer to Koos A. Kombuis)
By man’s own actions
the world has become dreary
and sly foxes sneak around
among the rubbish dumps
but my people
have a covenant with the almighty God
who mercifully rescues them from distress
and everyone that follows Him is chosen.
By man’s own ingenuity and profit mongering
there are natural disasters waiting,
the unrest of the sea is instigated
while factories fill the air with smoke
and according to the word of God
He is the source from where selfless love comes.
[Reference: 1999½ by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The approaching day of judgement (in answer to Koos A. Kombuis)
Make a big mockery and laugh
about the approaching day of judgement
as if the destiny of man is a myth,
when the almighty God comes at His time in power
people will beg mountains to fall on them,
when his dire thunders flash everywhere
and graves open,
you will stand before the creator of the universe.
[Rook en oker (Smoke and ochre) by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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For too long I am waiting (in answer to Koos A. Kombuis)
For too long I am waiting
caught in a anthill,
that people call an apartment,
where everyone lives for himself
as if the others do not exist
and music bleats right through the night,
people of another race shamelessly
cavort, whore and drink.
For too long criminals stare at me on the street,
Zimbabweans, Tanzanians and people
from right across Africa sniggers
as if my music system, DVD player and TV
in the lounge belongs to them
and hit with lashing tongues
in French and Portuguese
which here is totally foreign
and I have got to look if an AK-47
is pointing at me
when I drive with my car from the garage.
For too long I receive foolish electronic mails
and SMS’s on my computer and cellular phone
from a certain political party,
as if these people in a way
have an interest in my jobless situation
while in parliament
they do not oppose affirmative action
and my last cents left my purse.
I despise the rubbish
on the front papers of newspapers
and do not want to know
how the president’s seventh wife looks like
while my whole country
is falling to pieces bit by bit
and the Afrikaner is systematically mauled
with poverty waiting
and like a total idiot
is totally unaware of it
until catastrophe hits him.
Knights swear at others on the road
and have relationships with each other’s wives
while they live only for the here and now
and Philistines from right across Africa
surge in millions
and overnight become citizens
with greater and better rights
and to nowhere else
they are going to drive me out
even if they write abusive names
and who now what
in graffiti writing
while every morning, afternoon and night
I lift my eyes to the almighty God.
[Reference: Psalm 150 (b) by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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A three double session on a Sunday in Cape Town (parody)
(with apologies to Koos A. Kombuis)
I
My heart wants to sleep tonight
with dull tiredness
and my wavy tool
is having trouble.
Everything is squandered, degenerates
from the girl at the red traffic light
till the platonic smiles
of the two dolls in the guest room.
If my winds would just stop turning!
I would with earthquakes stir their salad!
from the Cape Town women on the waterfront
everywhere there are neon lights flashing
messages that I am celibate
and full of expectation.
Al my gates are closed.
I let no maids in.
The party of two has already left,
went to the house of another rich jolly guy
I am full of my own knowledge.
I sneak past the refrigerator
wishing the weekend’s hangover away.
In the suburbs I do not have a horn.
II
All my friends have a session.
Everybody is half way mad.
Everybody asks girls to undress.
Everybody is mad with a small town sex hormone.
Only I am more desperate.
I do not get a girl in the street.
All my friends are undressing the whole time
and at times have to leave a girl behind for commitments.
Everybody that does not know and can’t even guess.
Although I look endowed in the right way.
I am really endowed.
I am really wired desperate.
I do not get a girl in the street.
When the front bell rings
I am closing inside.
I am a ducktail without vitamins.
For hours long I bake food and cake.
The neighbours compete to be my friends
and come from far.
They say I am celibate.
I do not get a girl in the street.
III
I wish that I had been locked open,
rather in my parents house
between singing girls with condoms,
eatable girls.
I wish I had been at the end of my struggle
right next to the garden gate,
while a love girl jogs past.
I am endowed and have a struggle.
My fascism does not draw applause anymore.
I have served everyone. Nobody is as low as I am feeling.
I am devoted to sex
and cripple with delirium.
– Be silent my friend, while I am getting an urge.
There’s a big fire in my loins
while girls are avoiding me.
[Reference: Driedubbele depressie op ‘n sondagnag in Kaapstad (three double depression on a Sunday night in Cape Town) by Koos A. Kombuis. ]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Clinton administration launched an attack on people in Texas because those people were religious nuts with guns. Hell, this country was founded by religious nuts with guns. Who does Bill Clinton think stepped ashore on Plymouth Rock?
quote by P.J. O'Rourke
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The monster
Some people believe
that in everyone’s heart, blood and body
there is a monster
and Raka unaware is present
as if deep in us
darkness is overwhelming
and are just waiting
on a destined time and opportunity
to mercilessly strike out
but I rather believe
that the Spirit of God
live in many hearts
and in words and deeds
at times are present in man.
[References: Die mens van God (The man of God) by Ina Rousseau, Gee jou hart vir Raka (Give your heart to Raka) by Koos A. Kombuis. Raka (epic poem) by N.P. van Wyk Louw.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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If people fabricate situations (in answer to Koos A. Kombuis)
If people fabricate situations
where you want to fit in
the culture, values and norms
(like in the voortrekkers or army)
of the Afrikaner
as if we are people
in whom everything is noted to book
who destroy ourselves
to fit into the system
you are totally lost
and maybe it’s in your own spirit
where the fear bites, bites
as if you yourself do not fulfil
do not know God, honour our serve Him
and systematically is busy destroying yourself
where you believe that Johnny has not died
from a overdose of drugs
and are just lying unconscious and you yourself
are existing half lifeless
as if you are standing at the forefront
of a new revolution
while really you are perishing like Johnny.
[References: voortrekkers: A youth organization like the boy scouts. Calvyn op hitte (Calvin on heat) by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The People's World
people are good;
people are bad;
people are happy;
people are sad;
people are near;
people are far;
people are true;
people are blue;
people are white;
people are right;
people are silent;
people are violent;
people can throw;
people can grow;
people can share;
people can care;
people can unite;
people can divide;
people can fool;
people can rule;
people can trust;
people are worst;
don't think i became mad.... what ever i wrote is very common things known about people but what i want to show is that i cannot describe everything about the people as it is impossible in the same way it is impossible to understand and make every person happy around us that's it.got it!
poem by Fahmina Arjumand Misha
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While the summer sun burns fiercely over us (in answer to Koos A. Kombuis)
While the summer sun burns fiercely over us,
we are already living in the Promised Land,
we are on no meandering road
that runs into the desert
as long as our eyes are focused
on the Lord
and we constantly trust Him.
We are in no desert
although foreigners crowd at our gates
and by criminal misdeeds
are transforming our Eden
into the portals of hell
and the God that we follow
has previously rescued our fathers
and He hears the prayers of everyone,
has got the omnipotence to act
against the mammon
that draws up in hordes
in the new morning.
Every day it’s His pure light
that still constantly falls on us,
even when there is darkness
that now is at the order of things
and as long as we are living,
the hope remains that the almighty God
will bring His salvation like before
and we find our hope and trust in Him
and He draws his laager, His crowd of angels
around the house of each one
who trusts in Him and are awaiting His salvation
and let there burn flaming torches
in the churches of the night,
there is a new morning
on which we are waiting praying.
[Reference: Die kerke van die nag (The churches of the night) by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Murders In The Rue Morgue
I remember it as plain as day
although it happened in the dark of the night.
I was strolling through the streets of Paris
and it was cold it was starting to rain.
And then I heard a piercing scream
and I rushed to the scene of the crime
but all I found was the butchered remains
of two girls lay side by side.
Murders in the Rue Morgue
someone call the Gendarmes
Murders in the Rue Morgue
run before the killers go free
There's some people coming down the street
at last there's someone heard my call
I can't understand why they're pointing at me
I never done nothing at all.
But I must have got some blood on my hands
because everyone's shouting at me
I can't speak French so I couldn't explain
and like a fool I started running away.
Murders in the Rue Morgue
someone call the Gendarmes
Murders in the Rue Morgue
am I ever gonna be free.
And now I've gotta get away from the arms of the law.
All France is looking for me.
I've gotta find my way across the border for sure
down the south to Italy.
Murders in the Rue Morgue
someone call the Gendarmes
Murders in the Rue Morgue
I'm never going home.
Well I made it to the border at last
But I can't erase the scene from my mind
Anytime somebody stares at me, well
I just start running blind
Well I'm moving through the shadows at night
Away from the staring eyes
Any day they'll be looking for me
'Cause I know I show the signs of...
Murders in the Rue Morgue
running from the Gendarmes
Murders in the Rue Morgue
running from the arms of the law
Murders in the Rue Morgue
running from the Gendarmes
Murders in the Rue Morgue
am I ever gonna be free
It took so long and I'm getting so tired
I'm running out of places to hide
Should I return to the scene of the crime
Where the two young victims died
If I could go to somebody for help
It'd get me out of trouble for sure
But I know that it's on my mind
That my doctor said I've done it before.
Murders in the Rue Morgue
they're never gonna find me
Murders in the Rue Morgue
I'm never going home.
song performed by by In Flames
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Letter body
Everything is there in th letter
And the letter has no letter.
Your body is a letter
You have to read and float
And go further and further.
Are you feeling comfortable?
Have you ever enjoyed your sleep?
You are not at rest
And not seen your body yet
The most valuable gift given to you.
You have not kept the body
In good condition
And the body is taking your care
Read the body read the letter of the body
And go with the body to understand the letter
And make yourself ready to get the nector.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Murders In The Rue Morgue
I remember it as plain as day
Although it happened in the dark of the night.
I was strolling through the streets of paris
And it was cold it was starting to rain.
And then I heard a piercing scream
And I rushed to the scene of the crime
But all I found was the butchered remains
Of two girls lay side by side.
Murders in the rue morgue
Someone call the gendarmes
Murders in the rue morgue
Run before the killers go free
Theres some people coming down the street
At last theres someone heard my call
I cant understand why theyre pointing at me
I never done nothing at all.
But I must have got some blood on my hands
Because everyones shouting at me
I cant speak french so I couldnt explain
And like a fool I started running away.
Murders in the rue morgue
Someone call the gendarmes
Murders in the rue morgue
Am I ever gonna be free.
And now Ive gotta get away from the arms of the law.
All france is looking for me.
Ive gotta find my way across the border for sure
Down the south to italy.
Murders in the rue morgue
Someone call the gendarmes
Murders in the rue morgue
Im never going home.
Well I made it to the border at last
But I cant erase the scene from my mind
Anytime somebody stares at me, well
I just start running blind
Well Im moving through the shadows at night
Away from the staring eyes
Any day theyll be looking for me
cause I know I show the signs of...
Murders in the rue morgue
Running from the gendarmes
Murders in the rue morgue
Running from the arms of the law
Murders in the rue morgue
Running from the gendarmes
Murders in the rue morgue
Am I ever gonna be free
It took so long and Im getting so tired
Im running out of places to hide
Should I return to the scene of the crime
Where the two young victims died
If I could go to somebody for help
Itd get me out of trouble for sure
But I know that its on my mind
That my doctor said Ive done it before.
Murders in the rue morgue
Theyre never gonna find me
Murders in the rue morgue
Im never going home.
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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