Punishment parade
I was in residence in Salisbury house
at the private university
lying at the foot
of Helderberg mountain
when in my fourth year
somebody with a master key
broke in to my room
stole clothes
and some bottles of cool drink
and even took a cake
out of the refrigerator.
Nols, a first year friend,
who was studying the same degree
was fresh out of the army
where he had been a lieutenant
and caught the thief red handed
stealing from his room
and to this day I do not know
how he convinced him
to confess,
but like a military prisoner
he and his roommate
marched that thief
right to my door.
His race was Coloured
mixed with Indian
(and why I address race here
will later become clear)
and sorry wasn’t enough
and what he didn’t sell
he drank and ate
and Nols asked:
“what do we do,
with the prisoner? ”
I made a joke
about a punishment parade,
which they took very seriously
and every day that student came
as their prisoner
and did push ups and lifted weights,
until he was convinced
to pay me back,
but it wasn’t the end
of the story.
Six o’clock one morning
on a winters day
the dean of Salisbury house
called me in.
“Who do you think you are
to call the Rector
at five in the morning
about your car
that was defecated on
and threaten with
a racial war? ”
My face was blank,
as it was the first
knowledge that I got
about faeces
on my yellow BMW.
A master degree student
who’s nickname was Ouboet (big brother)
walked in
and took the responsibility
for the call on him
but I wanted gibe that dean
and said that I am going
to the police to lay charges
and to let them take samples.
He took me very seriously,
tried to argue
and prayed for me
and both Ouboet and I suppressed laughs
and immediately I knew
which people had tampered
with my car
and I used a red fire house
to spray it off.
I didn’t have to wait long
before the responsible party
drove his new white Golf gti
straight into a big oak tree,
landed in hospital
and left the university.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The visit
You were residing in Anne Fisher house
and I in Salisbury
at the private university
lying at the foot
of Helderberg mountain.
I bought a box of chocolates
early one night
at a Café in Somerset West
and they even wrapped it
and while the sun
was still high in the sky
I went to visit you.
The student on duty
called you
over the microphone
and suddenly you looked shy
but was quite happy
to see me.
We walked out on the ramp
leading to the foyer
and you had a white jacket on
and stood chatting
in the open,
and we were just
a guy and a girl
that was falling in love.
I could see the beach
over your shoulder
and the blue sea
but my attention
was on your smiling face
and your mesmerizing eyes.
You gave me a quick kiss,
just a peck on the lips
to say thank you
and my heart sang
but suddenly
a camera flashed
catching us.
A day later
I was called in
by the men’s dean
and he spread
some photos
on his desk
out in front of me.
There was anger in his eyes
and he said
that my ridiculous relationship
with you must end immediately.
If I went out of my way
to do something seriously wrong
I would have been able
to understand his reaction,
but for trying to date you
and for a moment
I was dumfounded.
“I have proof that you were
closer than three meters to her
and you even kissed her
and it’s totally against the policy.”
Before coming to University
I was called up by the military,
completed two years of service
and I wasn’t a boy
after seeing action in the war
in South West Africa
and in Angola.
I told him
that he just as well
can stop the ridiculous relationship
with his wife.
He was well built
and probably a fitness freak
and got up so suddenly
that his chair
went to the ground.
His hands was on my chest
and he rammed me
into the wall
pushing his face
into mine
screaming: “Say that again.”
My anger went away
but the calm was the same
with which I had faced
the enemy
and in my eyes
he saw death
coming on.
“Take your hands of me, ”
I said to him
and didn’t have
to say anything more
and he stepped away,
closed his eyes
and prayed for me
and then dismissed me.
[Note: The sun at times in summer sets at eight (20h00) in the Cape Town aria.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Face
You take a final look around
And then you put your house-key down
Upon the table by the note
You take your handbag and your coat
You don't want too much to carry
To slow you down on the way
You picture his face
In the morning
As he was going to work
Without saying a word
You saw the face
Of a stranger
It wasn't always like this before
His face like a stranger
You didn't know what to say
So you are going away
From the face of a stranger
And not the lover you knew before
Why should you want to call your friends
Why should you want to start again
You tried explaining through the years
But it would always end in tears
And one thing you know for certain
You've said goodbye to that place
But still
You picture his face
In the morning
As he was going to work
Without saying a word
You saw the face
Of a stranger
It wasn't always like this before
His face like a stranger
You didn't know what to say
So you are going away
From the face of a stranger
And not the lover you knew before
Somewhere a telephone
Is ringing in an empty room
Miles away
You are looking at a new town
But you are thinking of the past
The rain is falling down
Why do you keep that photograph
Of his face like a stranger
As he was going to work
Without saying a word
You saw the face
Of a stranger
And not the lover you knew before
His face
In the morning
As he was going to work
Without saying a word
You saw the face
Of a stranger
It wasn't always like this before
His face like a stranger
You didn't know what to say
So you are going away
From the face of a stranger
And not the lover you knew before
His face
In the morning
As he was going to work
Without saying a word
You saw the face
Of a stranger
It wasn't always like this before
song performed by by Anni Frid Lyngstad from Shine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wrong House
I went into a house, and it wasn't a house,
It has big steps and a great big hall;
But it hasn't got a garden,
A garden,
A garden,
It isn't like a house at all.
I went into a house, and it wasn't a house,
It has a big garden and great high wall;
But it hasn't got a may-tree,
A may-tree,
A may-tree,
It isn't like a house at all.
I went into a house, and it wasn't a house -
Slow white petals from the may-tree fall;
But it hasn't got a blackbird,
A blackbird,
A blackbird,
It isn't like a house at all.
I went into a house, and I thought it was a house,
I could hear from the may-tree the blackbird call…
But nobody listened to it,
Nobody
Liked it,
Nobody wanted it at all.
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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Prisoner
`Prisoner, tell me, who was it that bound you?'
`It was my master,' said the prisoner.
`I thought I could outdo everybody in the world in wealth and power,
and I amassed in my own treasure-house the money due to my king.
When sleep overcame me I lay upon the bed that was for my lord,
and on waking up I found I was a prisoner in my own treasure-house.'
`Prisoner, tell me, who was it that wrought this unbreakable chain?'
`It was I,' said the prisoner, `who forged this chain very carefully.
I thought my invincible power would hold the world captive
leaving me in a freedom undisturbed.
Thus night and day I worked at the chain
with huge fires and cruel hard strokes.
When at last the work was done
and the links were complete and unbreakable,
I found that it held me in its grip.'
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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My Best Friend Danny
I met him in nineteen fifty-six
he was my best friend
him and I, was always in a fix
of our fights, we always did mend.
There was the time
we painted the fence
wanted to do the job, real fine
used a whole gallon of paint
it didn't make sense
my brother dave asked,
'What happened to all the paint'?
when we told him, 'We used it all, '
he laughed, I thought, he was going to faint,
thru the years, with that story,
we have really had a ball
Then there was the time
we tried to chop down the tree
my brother got mad, but the three was mine
oh, we were so care-free
I never forget the racoon,
that followed us home,
he seemed to like our radio
that was playing a tune
the racoon, seemed so a lone
I never forgot the indian head
pennies, he sold me,
he stole them, of crime he led,
he had taken them from his dad
I should have known, he sold them so cheap
to get them back, his father was glad
He always did something
to me that was real mean
to make up, a present he would bring
of our friendship, he would lean
He taught me how to smoke
this you say, you call a friend.
when I could have had a stroke,
but he always had money to lend
When I didn't have any friends at all,
Danny was always, by my side
and it sure made me feel tall
if any one picked on me, he would
beat their hide
Every one called him and I a clown,
each one laughed so hard
that it, really brought them down,
at poker, he could really hide a card
Every morning before school
we played poker, he cheated a lot
and with him, I wanted to fight a duel
but he told me 'I cheat not.'
Of the down town loop, we did ride
in nine-teen fifty-nine
our car through the streets, would glide
trying to find girls
that would be his or mine
In nine-teen sixty, my dog shep died,
it was very depressing and sad
him and I, all day we cried
it made me unhappy and a little mad
In nine-teen sixty-two
he joined the army
I tried to join, but didn't make it
those days were very stormy
after what he went through,
I didn't mind a bit
In nine-teen sixty-seven
the army let him go,
at home at last, I thought I was
in heaven
but I soon found out, it wasn't so
The army had changed him, in many ways
Danny was not the same anymore
as I looked back, at those good old days
when I always heard him, knock on the door
All he wanted to do now, is go drink
he could'nt sit still very long
and he was really starting to sink
he had seen action, against the Viet Cong
Next to him one night
a man's throat was slashed, a man who was kind
it wasn't good, or right
and what it must have done, to Danny's mind
Over the years, I saw him, until eighty-one
hav'nt seen him since
remember well, good times and all the fun
Danny where ever you are,
you are still my best friend
does that make sense.
The words of a child
When we were small
my younger brother and I
had to stay with the Von Hörsten’s
during the day,
when my mother went to work
and we had to play outside
and was threatened
that we would get dresses
when we wanted
to come into the house,
but this staying
ended dramatically
in my sixth year.
One night my mother wanted to know
how it is going
with out daily visitation,
whereupon I told her
that every thing was well
and my brother said
that I eat my food very slowly.
I told her
that I do not like cabbage
and that we have to eat everything
or get a hiding
if something is left
on our plates.
My mother said that vegetables
are good and necessary to eat
and I accepted it like that,
but it wasn’t the end
of the story.
As a innocent child
my brother told this incident
to one of the Von Hörsten boys
who told it to his dad.
I played in the hillock above their house
when all of the Von Hörsten boys suddenly
came running out of the farmhouse
and went in all directions
calling for me,
but I could immediately see
that there was big trouble
from the way
that they were shouting and searching.
So I stayed were I was
and wondered about what was going on
and what terrible thing
I had done unknowing?
The much older and bigger boys
sneaked up that hill
and jumped on me
from behind
and grabbed me
and I was carried
right up to their dad.
Uncle Hendrik was a man
that didn’t take nonsense
from anyone
and wanted to know from me,
why I did not want to eat
his wife’s food
and why I am saying
that her food tastes awful?
So I said that it isn’t true
and he shouted
that I must stop lying
and jagged me closer
on my neck
with the hook of his walking stick
and hit me with it.
Stuttering I couldn’t get words
to explain
the circumstances
and then he shouted
talk man talk
and stop thinking
what to lie about
while he was still hitting me.
So I said
that I didn’t like cabbage
and got another hiding
and was said to be silent
or to talk the truth.
So I said that God is my witness
and that a day would come
that his words would also dry up
and be totally in confusion.
Like a dog I was chased away
with a footsack shouted at me
and fled away from
his walking stick
to our house.
The Von Hörsten’s called my mother
and told her about every thing
and she knew
from where my trouble came
and for a whole month
my brother had to eat cabbage,
because he talked
out of the house
and never again
we stayed over with the Von Hörsten’s.
l’Envoi
Many years later
when I was at University
I saw uncle Hendrik Von Hörsten
on the campus
and we greeted each other
and spoke normally
about the things happening in the country
and about our families,
but when he walked away
other students spoke to him
and the once known writer
spoke back in jabbering language
as if he didn’t know
what to say
and was totally confused.
It was said
that he had Alzheimer’s,
but until today I wonder
about the power
coming from
the words of a child.
[Reference: The word uncle used here out of respect and local custom and not to point out family relationship.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Student Demonstration Time
Starting out with berkeley free speech
And later on at peoples park
The winds of change fanned into flames
Student demonstrations spark
Down to isla vista where police felt so harassed
They called the special riot squad of the l. a. county sheriff
Well theres a riot going on
Theres a riot going on
Theres a riot going on
Student demonstration time
The violence spread down south to where jackson state brothers
Learned not to say nasty things about southern policemens mothers
Nothing much was said about it and really next to nothing done
The pen is mightier than the sword, but no match for a gun
Well theres a riot going on
Theres a riot going on
Well theres a riot going on
cause its student demonstration time
America was stunned on may 4, 1970
When rally turned to riot up at kent state university
They said the students scared the guard
Though the troops were battle dressed
Four martyrs earned a new degree
The bachelor of bullets
I know were all fed up with useless wars and racial strife
But next time theres a riot, well, you best stay out of sight
Well theres a riot going on
Theres a riot going on
Well theres a riot going on
Student demonstration time
Stay away when theres a riot going on
Student demonstration
Stay away when theres a riot going on
Student demonstration
Stay away when theres a riot going on
Student demonstration
Stay away when theres a riot going on
Its student demonstration
Stay away when theres a riot going on
Student demonstration
Stay away when theres a riot going on
Student demonstration
Stay away when theres a riot going on
Its student demonstration
Stay away when theres a riot going on
Student demonstration
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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College Kids
Someone please save us, us college kids!
What my parents told me is what I did
They said go to school and be a college kid
But in the end I question why I did
Im poor, Im starving, Im flat broke, Ive got no cash to spend
Sell all my books for front row tickets to dave matthews band
My girlfriends at another school, I know this year will test her
I called, found out she had three other boyfriends last semester
And thats why I say
Oh no! not for me, not for me
Call it torture, call it university
No! arts and crafts is all I need
Ill take calligraphy and then Ill make a fake degree
80 grand later I found out that all that I had learned
Is that you should show up to take your finals and your midterms
The party scene is kinda mean, I think its sick and twisted
The navy showed up at my dorm and claimed that I enlisted
And thats why I say
Oh no! not for me, not for me
Call it torture, call it university
No! arts and crafts is all I need
Ill take calligraphy and then Ill make a fake degree
Dont get excited. shell say no without a doubt you see
And Ive decided college girls just wont go out with me
They make me nervous and they always catch me off my guard
Like cell phone services I drop out cause college is too hard
Its time to call my father
Cause its his alma mater
Good grades arent what they seem
I think he knows the dean
Its time to call my father
Cause its his alma mater
He says hes proud of me
But college always was his dream
And I would always say its not for me
Oh no! not for me, not for me
Call it torture, call it university
No! arts and crafts is all I need
Ill take calligraphy and then Ill make a fake degree
Someone please save us, us college kids!
What my parents told me is what I did
They said go to school and be a college kid
But in the end I question why I did
Do what will make you happy
Do what you feel is right
Only but one thing matters
Learn how to live your life
[in background:]
(phi, beta, delta, cappa
Someone please save us, us college kids!
What my parents told me is what I did
They said go to school and be a college kid
But in the end I question why I did)
Do what will make God happy
Do what you feel is right
Only but one thing matters
Learn how to live your life
song performed by by Relient K
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Alive And Killing
I once knew this boy
Who was in his teens,
A dog tag around his neck
A pair of low waist jeans
A ragged shirt, streaked hair
Branded shoes, the thuggish stare
It all fitted him very well
Yet his darkest secret he would never tell.
There was one little piece
The jigsaw was missing
That one thing that seemed out of place
That one thing that didn't fit in.
He had everything,
Yet he seemed depressed
'Is it your marks? Your studies? '
'Why are you looking so stressed? '
His parents would give him
Everything he needed and more
Yet his wasn’t as bright
As the clothes he wore
He was always missing from class and home alike
No one knew where he went
Except his little brother
He had followed him that day
To see where he went alone
He followed him to a house
He followed him back home
He saw what his brother did
He saw his brothers near death
He knew he had to stop him
He would fight till his final breath
Seven years of mystery
Was uncovered that day
But only his brother knew
When his motionless brother lay
His brother was dead
Dead of drugs
That seventeen year old
Had been dealing with thugs
The brother didn’t reveal
The information he had
He knew his brother wasn’t the only one
What he knew was driving him mad
He was going to do something
About these killing things
Going to take action
Going to spread out his wings
He was only thirteen
What could he do?
Nothing was in his hands
That he knew
Then he decided to take his stand
For his brothers sake and all like him
He knew what power lay in his hands
He knew how he could inspire a change
He knew precisely what he had to do
He walked to his brother’s room
And picked up his pen
And with a firm mind
And an urge to make a difference
He began to write....
Alive and killing.
poem by Abhishek Vishwanathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tiny Mountain
The year was 1972
Tiny Mountain had a lot to do.
He volunteered to be in the Vietnam War,
He was only 17 years young,
his adventure had just begun.
He rescued 600 Marines who where Prisoner's of War,
He was a brave soul for the war took it's toll.
He shot 18 " canons on a US Battleship,
to scare the Vietnamese to give up without a quip.
The Vietnamese waved their white flags and
let his ship come to shore,
to get the rest of the Prisoner's of War.
There was a lot of tunnels underground,
Tiny Mountain didn't go, he left without a sound.
He was too big to rescue POW under there,
there was cities with stores everywhere.
Like the subway system in NYC,
it was totally different not glittery.
Now Tiny Mountain made it back,
he made it without an attack.
Thanks Tiny Mountain for rescuing our POW's,
We the people of US of A and POW's Thank you.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on August 17,2011
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Tiny Mountain
The year was 1972
Tiny Mountain had a lot to do.
He volunteered to be in the Vietnam War,
He was only 17 years young,
his adventure had just begun.
He rescued 600 Marines who where Prisoner’s of War,
He was a brave soul for the war took it’s toll.
He shot 18 “ cannons on a US Battleship,
to scare the Vietnamese to give up without a quip.
The Vietnamese waved their white flags and
let his ship come to shore,
to get the rest of the Prisoner’s of War.
There was a lot of tunnels underground,
Tiny Mountain didn’t go, he left without a sound.
He was too big to rescue POW under there,
there was cities with stores everywhere.
Like the subway system in NYC,
it was totally different not glittery.
Now Tiny Mountain made it back,
he made it without an attack.
Thanks Tiny Mountain for rescuing our POW’s,
We the people of US of A and POW’s Thank you.
Written by Christina Sunrise on August 17,2011 at 4: 19pm.
www.purplepoems.com www.christinasunrise.com
www.puppitlady.com
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tiny Mountain
The year was 1972
Tiny Mountain had a lot to do.
He volunteered to be in the Vietnam War,
He was only 17 years young,
his adventure had just begun.
He rescued 600 Marines who where Prisoner’s of War,
He was a brave soul for the war took it’s toll.
He shot 18 “ canons on a US Battleship,
to scare the Vietnamese to give up without a quip.
The Vietnamese waved their white flags and
let his ship come to shore,
to get the rest of the Prisoner’s of War.
There was a lot of tunnels underground,
Tiny Mountain didn’t go, he left without a sound.
He was too big to rescue POW under there,
there was cities with stores everywhere.
Like the subway system in NYC,
it was totally different not glittery.
Now Tiny Mountain made it back,
he made it without an attack.
Thanks Tiny Mountain for rescuing our POW’s,
We the people of US of A and POW’s Thank you.
Written by Christina Sunrise on August 17,2011
www.purplepoems.com www.christinasunrise.com
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Case Of The Demon Drink
How many times have we heard
alcohol called the demon drink,
many.many times I suppose,
but there is no such thing as the demon drink.
Now when Jesus turned water into wine,
I’m sure that he didn’t put any demons in it
just to spice it up.
The demon drink as it is called
originated with the Temperance Movement.
Astonishing enough the movement was not started
by a woman, but was formed by a man.
What I am about to tell you
is the untold story about its origins.
It all started in the early 1800’s
with Henry Whittle and his wife Gertrude.
Now Henry was a boozer
who could lay the drink down
with the best of them.
One night he got carried away
on a sea of alcohol.
He went so far that
he wasn’t sure just where he lived.
He left his friends at the bar
and off he staggered.
He found the street where he lived
and staggered down it.
What house did he live at he wasn’t really sure.
All he knew was his Gertrude
always left the door unlocked for him.
He began to try the doors one by one,
when one opened
he quickly stumbled in.
He climbed the stairs as quietly as he could,
shucking his clothes as he went.
Until finally all that he had on
was his red long johns and his boots.
He tiptoed along to the bedroom
where he could hear Gertrude snoring.
Moving inside he climbed into bed.
What Henry didn’t know
he was in the wrong house.
The house belonged to Pierre the lumberjack,
and when he climbed into bed,
he climbed in bed it was with Pierre.
As you don’t cut down trees in the winter,
Pierre had come home.
He was a big man
with a big red Santa Claus beard,
and Henry had crawled into bed with him.
Morning awoke and so did Henry
just as Pierre rolled over.
Henry stared wide-eyed,
confronting the bushy whiskers of Pierre.
Henry’s first thoughts were
Gertrude had grown a beard overnight.
He rolled his eyes around
staring at the bushy faced figure,
then realise it was not Gertrude, but Pierre.
You can imagine his horror
as he slipped out of bed,
gathered up his clothes and ran.
Getting outside he darted up the road
with the back of his red long johns flapping.
People in the street looked around
at Henry doing a moony
and shook their heads.
We can imagine what they were thinking.
Finally, Henry got home
and who was waiting for him,
Gertrude with a rolling pin in hand.
“What floozy were you with last night? ”
She asked. “Don’t you like to me.”
Before Henry could answer,
the rolling pin came down
and Henry saw stars.
As a consequence,
Henry never drank again.
He tried to encourage his friends
to do the same.
The Temperance Movement was born
and Henry’s alcoholic demons
died of dehydration.
After that, he walked around
with a sign saying
DOWN WITH THE DEMON DRINK.
1 April 2008
Happy April Fools Day.
Hoping no one fooled you today.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sean
Dear brother,
How I love you so,
For I am so glad that you are in
A better mood than you were
Once long ago.
I am sorry about what our father
Did to you,
For I can relate to you,
For I know what he did to me,
And I am sorry about
The anger you felt for so long.
You seem a lot happier now,
Dear brother,
For I am happy
That you are happy
And that this house
Can be peaceful once again.
I am also happy that
You have become more appreciative,
After Philmont
And you realised what you had,
And you realised what you were missing,
And that you do not take anything for granted.
I am happy that
You are happy to be who
You are,
And that you are a more
Cheerful person,
And more of an optimist,
Than what you were long ago.
Dear brother,
I am glad you are
Not doing immoral things
In high school,
Such as cheating,
And lying,
And other things,
And that you are now giving your
Best effort.
I am glad that you
Are doing better
Than what you once did,
For you can do great things.
I hope you do well
In high school,
Dear brother,
And I hope you do well
In everything you do.
I know you want to be
An orthopaedic surgeon,
And it will suit you well,
Once you work towards it.
You can go to U-M,
If you work really hard,
And if you do well
In your AP classes,
Dear brother,
You can work off
Your freshman
Core classes,
And you can go on
And earn your
Bachelor's and Master's Degree
In college,
Just like your older sister did.
You do not have to be valedictorian,
Nor a salutatorian,
But as long as you get that 3.8
Or 3.9
That you really want,
You can get to U-M,
And be in Ann Arbour
In a heartbeat,
For you can do great things.
Apply with pride,
For you know you did well,
And the Board will notice you,
And you will be a Wolverine
Before you know it.
Brother, you can work hard
In college,
And you can get a Bachelour's Degree
And a Master's Degree
In college,
Just like your sister did.
Then you can go into med school,
Whether it be at U-M,
Michigan State University,
Wayne State University,
Harvard,
Yale,
Or even Princeton,
And you can do extremely well,
Because I believe in you,
Dear brother,
And you can get that white coat,
And get your stethoscope,
Just like your sister did.
Dear brother,
I know you can take the Hippocratic Oath,
And take med school seriously,
And become a great surgeon,
And I know you would love your patients dearly,
For you will become a great man,
But all you have to do is work hard,
And do not get discouraged,
For that will bring you down
To the Ground.
I know you can do it well,
Dear brother,
And I hope you do well with life,
For I wish you the best of luck.
poem by James Roberts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Muckleneuk Ridge
We sat between packed boxes
in a sold house
and I made some tea
and while we drank
the hot liquid
I told you that I
cannot afford the mansion
in Muckleneuk Ridge
near Unisa University
of which the rent included
water and electricity.
The two boys
were playing outside
with the dogs
throwing a tennis ball
for them
and we could hear
their laughter and excitement
coming in.
It was a really grand place,
with five bedrooms, a study,
a very big lounge
and had a great modern kitchen.
It had huge rooms
with private entrances,
yellow wood floors,
pine ceilings,
a braai aria at the back
and sprinklers
in a huge garden.
You didn’t want to take
no for an answer,
started crying
and went on you knees
begging me please
and embraced my legs.
That house had caught
your heart,
spoke to something
in your soul
and made you truly
feel like a lady.
I helped you to your feet
drawing you up
by you hands
and we embraced.
There wasn’t much
that I could do, but to agree
and although we cut the finances,
I had to make a plan.
That house was like palace,
it was near to the highway
to Johannesburg
(where I worked) ,
right for the children’s school
right for your work
and just the place for you.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Untold Story
You once told me your race
(Not if I really cared)
You once showed me the true color of your face
(Not if that mattered)
You are whom you want to be
You are the sheep, you are the bee.
You once told me who you were
Once you discovered what the dean did
You called the police supervisor
And filed a report, there you hid
Your true genealogy
You wanted to be conveniently
Different than the jerk
Because there was no perk
For you to win
What an egregious sin
What a sad hypocrite
You are the pit
The pit bull that lies
And the other one, the cat
That steals the pies
You are no different than the bat
Who behaved like a wise crow
At day time and at night time
Chased the house mouse like a deadly owl
I never knew you’d stoop so low
By perjuring yourself; you duly committed a crime
By lying; you are just like the scarecrow
The kleptomaniac, which filed the death certificate
To claim the benefits that no longer fit.
You once told me your race
(Not if I really cared)
I just wanted the black ace
(Because that truly mattered)
The white pearl, the black gold
The white gold and my story told.
poem by Hebert Logerie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The meeting
I caught your eye
in the Afrikaans literature class
while studying business
at the private university
and you watched me
but the day your car cooked
on the soccer field,
we really met.
I saw your car parked
on the soccer field
and asked Marthinus
my roommate and friend
why it’s parked there?
He said that it belonged
to a really beautiful girl
who probably has trouble with it,
but that people like him and me
didn’t have a chance
with a girl like you.
So I asked him to introduced us
and your eyes were like the sky,
but not blue,
ever changing
sometimes green and brown
and your auburn hair
glittered in the sun.
I fiddled with a connector on the fan
and suddenly it came on
and when I looked
into your eyes
it was into your soul.
You smiled like an angel
and like magic
we were as if alone
and I was under your spell
and when I smiled back
it did something to you
and I knew
that you were the girl for me.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Drunk Driving
I went to a party, Mom, I remembered what you said.
You told me not to drink, Mom, so I drank soda instead
I really felt proud inside, Mom, the way you said I would.
I didn't drink and drive, Mom, even though the others said I should.
I know I did the right thing, Mom, I know you are always right.
Now the party is finally ending
Mom, as everyone is driving out of sight.
As I got into my car, Mom, I knew I'd get home in one piece.
Because of the way you raised me, so responsible and sweet.
I started to drive away, Mom, but as I pulled out into the road,
the other car didn't see me, Mom, and hit me like a load.
As I lay there on the pavement, Mom, I hear the policeman say,
the other guy is drunk, Mom, and now I'm the one who will pay.
I'm lying here dying, Mom.. I wish you'd get here soon.
How could this happen to me, Mom? My life just burst like a balloon.
There is blood all around me, Mom, and most of it is mine.
I hear the medic say, Mom, I'll die in a short time.
I just wanted to tell you, Mom, I swear I didn't drink.
It was the others, Mom. The others didn't think.
He was probably at the same party as I.
The only difference is, he drank and I will die.
Why do people drink, Mom? It can ruin your whole life.
I'm feeling sharp pains now. Pains just like a knife.
The guy who hit me is walking, Mom, and I don't think it's fair.
I'm lying here dying and all he can do is stare.
Tell my brother not to cry, Mom. Tell Daddy to be brave.
And when I go to heaven, Mom, put 'moms boy' on my grave.
Someone should have told him, Mom, not to drink and drive.
If only they had told him, Mom, I would still be alive.
My breath is getting shorter, Mom. I'm becoming very scared.
Please don't cry for me, Mom. When I needed you, you were always there.
I have one last question, Mom, before I say good bye.
I didn't drink and drive, so why am I the one to die?
poem by Bailey Watkins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Drunk Driving Poem
I went to a party, Mom, I remembered what you said.
You told me not to drink, Mom, so I drank soda instead
I really felt proud inside, Mom, the way you said I would.
I didn't drink and drive, Mom, even though the others said I should.
I know I did the right thing, Mom, I know you are always right.
Now the party is finally ending
Mom, as everyone is driving out of sight.
As I got into my car, Mom, I knew I'd get home in one piece.
Because of the way you raised me, so responsible and sweet.
I started to drive away, Mom, but as I pulled out into the road,
the other car didn't see me, Mom, and hit me like a load.
As I lay there on the pavement, Mom, I hear the policeman say,
the other guy is drunk, Mom, and now I'm the one who will pay.
I'm lying here dying, Mom.. I wish you'd get here soon.
How could this happen to me, Mom? My life just burst like a balloon.
There is blood all around me, Mom, and most of it is mine.
I hear the medic say, Mom, I'll die in a short time.
I just wanted to tell you, Mom, I swear I didn't drink.
It was the others, Mom. The others didn't think.
He was probably at the same party as I.
The only difference is, he drank and I will die.
Why do people drink, Mom? It can ruin your whole life.
I'm feeling sharp pains now. Pains just like a knife.
The guy who hit me is walking, Mom, and I don't think it's fair.
I'm lying here dying and all he can do is stare.
Tell my brother not to cry, Mom. Tell Daddy to be brave.
And when I go to heaven, Mom, put 'moms boy' on my grave.
Someone should have told him, Mom, not to drink and drive.
If only they had told him, Mom, I would still be alive.
My breath is getting shorter, Mom. I'm becoming very scared.
Please don't cry for me, Mom. When I needed you, you were always there.
I have one last question, Mom, before I say good bye.
I didn't drink and drive, so why am I the one to die?
poem by Justin Hickman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My MOM
I went to a party Mom,
I remembered what you said.
You told me not to drink, Mom,
So I drank soda instead.
I really felt proud inside, Mom,
The way you said I would.
I didn't drink and drive, Mom,
Even though the others said I should.
I know I did the right thing, Mom,
I know you are always right.
Now the party is finally ending, Mom,
As everyone is driving out of sight.
As I got into my car, Mom,
I knew I'd get home in one piece.
Because of the way you raised me,
So responsible and sweet.
I started to drive away, Mom,
But as I pulled out into the road,
The other car didn't see me, Mom,
And hit me like a load...
As I lay there on the pavement, Mom,
I hear the policeman say,
'The other guy is drunk, ' Mom,
And now I'm the one who will pay.
I'm lying here dying, Mom....
I wish you'd get here soon.
How could this happen to me, Mom?
My life just burst like a balloon.
There is blood all around me, Mom,
And most of it is mine..
I hear the medic say, Mom,
I'll die in a short time.
I just wanted to tell you, Mom,
I swear I didn't drink..
It was the others, Mom..
The others didn't think.
He was probably at the same party as I.
The only difference is, he drank
And I will die.
Why do people drink, Mom?
It can ruin your whole life.
I'm feeling sharp pains now.
Pains just like a knife.
The guy who hit me is walking, Mom,
And I don't think it's fair.
I'm lying here dying
And all he can do is stare.
Tell my brother not to cry, Mom.
Tell Daddy to be brave.
And when I go to heaven, Mom,
Put 'GOOD BOY ' on my grave.
Someone should have told him, Mom,
Not to drink and drive..
If only they had told him, Mom,
I would still be alive..
My breath is getting shorter, Mom.
I'm becoming very scared.
Please don't cry for me, Mom.
When I needed you, you were always there.
I have one last question, Mom.
Before I say good bye.
I didn't drink and drive,
So why am I the one to die?
poem by Ashish Gutgutia
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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