Rinkhals thoughts
I sail to wherever I want to be,
sometimes lie stretched out
in the hot African sun
always inspecting the air
with my forked tongue
sensing with my black shiny eyes
if there’s movement anywhere,
something to spray with my deadly spit
a enemy to strike out at
before it can squash me
and forever I am free
to hit at the heel
to find my own way
through the undergrowth,
to prey whenever I want
with a deadly flash,
to end life, I am created for it
and nothing but death stops me
and sometimes you will find
where I have been
by the marks on the sand,
the remains of my skin
or victims that I have left
or turned right over
poising as if dead,
waiting on the right moment
to come to life, to hit with great speed.
[Reference: Rinkhals: Ring necked African spitting cobra.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
Encounter with a Rinkhals
It was lying on the ground
turned on its back
with its black-brown
body shining and mouth agape
and looked like dead
and I could see
yellow-white bands ringing
the top of its torso.
Still something in that lifeless
ring necked spitting cobra
scared the living daylight
out of me
and like a lightning bolt
the death-shamming snake
shot upright spreading its hood
and hissing loudly.
Luck was on my side
when that evil reptile
spat at my eyes
and its venimous spray
splattered my glasses.
One moment it looked dead
and the next
it was viciously alive
and struck out at me,
but missed me by a mile.
[Reference: “The Rinkhals also called the Ringhals or Ring-necked Spitting Cobra (Hemachatus haemachatus) is a venomous elapid found in parts of southern Africa. It is one of a group of cobras that has developed the ability to spit venom as a defence mechanism.” Wikipedia.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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How to paint a striking Rinkhals
Green knee high grass
paves, covers the veldt
making the snake's hideout
its place from where it sails.
First observe the snake
sneaking from the grass
while it passes camouflaged
to the next shade
or lies turned over
as if dead, showing its stomach
enticing you to pass, or to come near
to investigate,
maybe you'll see the stripes
ringing its neck
in colours of cream
or something near to white
or maybe you may not
when in terror astounded
to whoever looks
it flashes alive
like a lightning rod
with death sizzling out of its mouth
and if you can paint this
you have the essence of it,
making terror alive,
in a snake which looks placid
but which can spit and strike
carrying death as far as it goes.
[Rinkhals: Spitting African Cobra.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Spittoon
Spitting in any form is bad
Spitfire is dangerous
Spit destroy everything.
Spitting cobra spray venom
Unbalanced man spit emotion
Scorn fear condemnation.
Spitupon is not civilised
Spit it out left manything.
Here is spittoon
If you want to be good
throw out everything spit
In this spittoon
And get a bonbon
And get a boon.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Indian minors
Deadly like ravens, are the ever pecking
Indian minors on the lawn
with yellow beaks, legs and feet,
camouflaged brown with sharp black eyes
ever inspecting, single-minded killing
all insects that they find,
walking around like soldiers
that landed from the air,
looking for the enemy
as if it can be anywhere.
poem by Gert Strydom
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a Ray of sunlight
It was in the middle of the day
and the sun was high and bright,
in the deep blue African sky.
The LMG was getting heavy
and hot in my hands
and gnats were turning
round the piece of grass
in my brown bush hat.
Sweat were running
down my face
and like any other day,
a patrol in the hot
African bush was great fun
especially when your water
bottle was near empty
and your throat started to burn
and the going was fast.
The bushman tracker
was hot on the enemy spoor
and where the terrain
got more open,
we halted for a moment.
a Ray of sunlight
reflected bright like a flash light,
somewhere to the left
and pointed out an enemy ambush.
We half circled past
and attacked from their rear
and the LMG stuttered
from my hip
and suddenly the bush was clear
and the firefight was over
and an ominous silence hanged
deep in the African bush.
[Reference: => LMG=> Light machine gun. Spoor=>Track]
poem by Gert Strydom
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A brush with death
Gliding out of my boot you came
and I stood thunderstruck as if lame
while you slithered out
pitch black with ridged scales
and light rings around your neck
and I waited for you to strike
facing death with white gleaming fangs,
seeing you uncoil and hypnotized
rather by common sense than fear,
seeing your forked tongue
testing the air
and the hair on my bare arms rise.
Any movement would make you strike
or spit or both in quick succession
and I waited there
while you sailed away
and sometimes cursing
and blessing that day
as you kept me
from stepping on a landmine
which I spotted gleaming
where you brushed some sand away.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Deadly
I often wish that I could fly
Up into a darkening sky
But something stops my deadly flight
A hidden voice a shining light
'What makes you want to take your life
With a cold and ruthless knife? '
The voice it asks me time and time
'I wish to wash away my crime.'
That is what I wish to say
But the words won't come my way
So I write them in a book
And hide it so no one can look
On the pages are my dreams
My plots, my plans, my deadly schemes
Deadly pleasure, deadly pain
Deadly sun and deadly rain
Poisoned food, corupted drink
Standing on the very brink
And when my soul if finally freed
Do not follow my deadly lead
poem by Anonymous Ghurl
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The Rinkhals in Muckleneuk Ridge
We were living in the mansion
in Muckleneuk Ridge
when Heinrich wheeled the
rubbish bin out to the street
to leave it for the collectors,
and the red haired neighbour woman
started to shout at him.
I was just getting out of my Volkswagen Polo
and within a minute I was there
like a avenging angel,
telling her to leave the boy alone
and that the pavement
doesn’t belong to her
and that we have got the right
to put out the rubbish bin
for the rubbish collectors.
She got red with anger in her face,
hissed like a snake trying to spit
and cursed me in English
and I told her to get lost.
That woman was aquatically
quite funny and always dressed
in a track suit,
(as if she had no other
type of clothes)
living in a dilapidated house
like a hermit
with rusting sink plate roof
and weeds standing knee high
in her garden
in that rich man’s neighbourhood.
It was when the dogs
tried to catch a half grown coucal
which the wind had blown
out of its nest
and I jumped down the steps
of some terraces
to rescue the poor thing
and I and that wild bird
got to love each other
and it would start to scream
with excitement as soon
as it heard my car
coming near
that Heinrich trapped a venomous
ring-neck spitting cobra
in our garden
and I wanted to kill it
and you said
that even snakes
have a right to live.
I told you that the snake
was apt to kill somebody
as I was leaving for work
and you took the kids
to let it free in the field,
(or so I was told) ,
but a few days later
that utterly rude woman
was really surprised
and screamed for her life
when a snake hissed at her
spitting in her eyes.
[Rinkhals = ring-neck spitting cobra.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Ac her forþ beraò; fugelas singaò, gylleò grœghama
Gnashing enemy tanks are coming on
while the Ratel-90 stands still
and many things
goes through my mind.
The shot sounds thundering
and for a moment I am blinded
by smoke, dust and giant flames
that devours things.
The redneck is still shooting
through branches and bushes
with the front machinegun
and it can cost his life
but he shoots on like a machine
and feeds the ammunition belt
and I let the driver pull him in
and he’s again aboard
locked behind armoured steel
where he curses and takes out his rage
and shoot from within
and he speaks a foreign tongue:
“Ac her forþ beraò;
fugelas singaò,
gylleò grœghama”
We drive away with speed
and stop and shoot and drive again
and let projectiles
find their targets deadly
and so we continue for hours
that drag into days
and around us the enemy is shot out
and what is not burning,
is already junk
or just left behind.
Enemy soldiers of Fapla,
Cuba and a few from Russia
lie shot to pieces,
some half burnt
and whole brigades are wiped out
and in the distance I hear jackals howling
and the air is full of vultures
turning in it
while the stench of death,
phosphorous and gunpowder almost suffocates me
and some more dust or maybe emotions
makes my eyes tear.
[References: Redneck=>Englishman. “Ac her forþ beraò; fugelas singaò, gylleò grœghama” => Gaelic for: “For here starts war; carrion birds sing, and grey wolves howl.” From: “The Fight at Finnsburh.” Jackal => a African fox.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Fishing for carp
Fishing for carp, probably kurper or yellow-fish
with the woman leaving to prepare sausage
frying it near to the car on a Cadac frying pan,
(you know how it is)
with a six-pack cooling in the river
and then a sound, a movement making you shiver
when on your right a banded spitting cobra appears
and girly is ready with the food, ready to deliver
a tray full of goodies that she made with loving care
and you wish for her to be anywhere
but right there, but luckily she notices the snake
freezes behind you somewhere
and the ringhals till now with eyes brown and unaware
only half awake senses something testing the air
with forked tongue and rears up ready to strike or spit
and this is it, you have had your share of luck, but still you dare
and using the rod in your hands you slam with all your might,
you slam to your right
striking the spitting hissing thing and it is flying
and it misses sweetie by a mile and luckily it is the last sight
that you have of it, while she screams in fright
and curses the day, morning sun and night
as a rattled girl sometimes does
and you assure her that every thing is well, is all right
and then unexpectedly you have a bite,
the policeman jumps and you are in for a fight
while the mother of all fishes
struggles to be free and you smite
the other rod, hooking it well and good
and the rites of fishing is well understood
and girly is handy with the catching net,
smiles in a better mood.
poem by Gert Strydom
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African Moon
African moon
Roll with the mighty waves
Well be there soon
Feel the winds as we sail on home to african moon
African moon
My heart beats like the drum
Now it is noon
Loved ones we left behind Ill see again
African moon
African moon
I will see you once more
Yes again Ill adore the real sound of the drum
Oh yes Im sailing feel your hot sun
African moon
African moon
Looking out to the sea
A reunion therell be in the evening sun
Oh theres a new life thats awaiting me
African moon
African moon
This land is my rightful home
Well never roam
Youll weep fou your sons no more and daughters
African moon
Hold up your head
One day youll be understood
Stand and be proud
Your sorrows are gone for good
Hold up your head
And youll be satisfied!
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Terzanelle to a pet Cobra
Within your exposed white fangs
I look into the abyss
where death hangs
and with a soft hiss
you come erect.
I look into the abyss
without my own neglect
with a deadly sting
you come erect
and I see friendship in the hissing thing
being a comrade in loneliness.
With a deadly sting,
spreading your hood to some as a token of holiness
you come to peace closing the recess
being a comrade in loneliness
and sail over me as if with a pre-creation caress.
Within your exposed white fangs
you come to peace closing the recess
where death hangs.
[Reference: To a pet Cobra by Roy Campbell.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Endless Vacation
I kill myself kill the pain
a suicide death a suicide game
my skull he's bleaching in the dust
my rage turns to insane lust
all depressed all alone
I drift into the danger zone
deadly spitten cobra life of crime
I want revenge I want what's mine
like takin' Carrie to the high school prom
something always goin' wrong
hair trigger temper tormented mind
deadly spitten cobra I am the losin' kind
the heart is the place devils congregate
when you're raised on andiet of bickering at hate
hair trigger temper tormented mind
deadly spitten cobra I am the losin' kind
endless vacation
endless vacation
endless vacation
song performed by by Ramones from Too Tough To Die
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the veldt a spitting cobra is suddenly onto me
In the veldt a spitting cobra is suddenly onto me
and before it can strike or spray poison
there’s a rock that comes to hand
and I smash the head of the spitting snake
but where it lies toppled jerking
the grass, bushes and veldt trembles
there’s a curse that it says with its last breath
as if the dying of it mentions something unheard.
The vast earth grind and boil
as if rock banks gnash on each other
when the leviathan with its smoking breath
bursts from the depths
where suddenly sinister it peers at me
and seven snakeheads spit fire.
poem by Gert Strydom
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7 Deadly Sins
7 seven deadly sins
Thats how the world begins
Watch out when you step in
For seven deadly sins
Seven deadly sins
Thats when the fun begins
(seven deadly sins)
(sin number one) was when you left me
(sin number two) you said goodbye
(sin number three) was when you told me a little white lie
Seven deadly sins
Once it starts, it never ends (seven deadly sins)
Watch out aroung the bend (seven deadly sins)
A seven deadly sins (seven deadly sins)
(sin number four) was when you looked my way
(sin number five) was when you smiled
(sin number six) was when you let me stay
Sin number seven was when you touched me and told me why
Seven deadly sins
So many rules to bend
Time and time again
Seven deadly sins
Seven deadly sins
(seven deadly sins)
(seven deadly sins)
(seven deadly sins)
Seven deadly sins
Thats how the world begins (seven deadly sins)
Watch out when you step in (seven deadly sins)
For seven deadly sins
Seven (seven) seven (seven) seven (seven) seven (deadly sins)
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The White African
The White African
By
Ross Dix-Peek
Over the great ocean seas
My ancestors did choose to flee,
Europe’s rumblings and poverty,
And to “Darkest Africa” did journey
It was many, many years past,
When Queen Vic’ was still at the mast,
When my forebears resolute did come,
To live beneath the great African sun
Since has Mother Africa suckled our young
To us her lullabies and sweet songs sung,
And all this time ‘neath her fiery mantle
Did my people in Africa live, toil and battle
Africa is not for the mild and the meek,
It's no place at all for the feeble and the weak,
And the days oft be savage and so very long,
Yes, it's only for the brave and the very strong
Many generations did pass, and many years shorn,
Before I too upon African soil was born,
Like my fathers’ before, a White African,
Created and cast beneath her scorching sun
And although I have since her rugged shores left,
My soul to Mother Africa’s bosom will forever be cleft,
And though I may miss the tight embrace of an African sun,
It matters not, for I will forever be a White African!
poem by Ross DixPeek
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An angel's deadly kiss
an angel's deadly kiss
tastes so sweet...
An angel's deadly kiss is like a satanic's oasis
her lips has peace and sorrow
embedded on the skin
An angel's deadly kiss
Is so cold, yet is a congenial sin
In the wake of her pursuit
She seduces her feeble pray dies as it begins
An angel's deadly kiss
her voice is soothing
as a song
Her skin smooth as a velvet silk
Her words chimed in perfect harmony
telling you where your soul belong
Her eyes danced
special and true
An angel's deadly kiss
J.V.Boyd
poem by Jeffrey Boyd
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Today I saw a man
Today I saw a man,
probably a grandpa,
standing with a short shirt and pants
in the sun
while life passes him.
Somehow things went terribly wrong
and he was almost stripped naked
and burnt red
and while we talked
he left a deep impression
on me.
Other Afrikaners avoided him
like the plague
too scared
to also get something of his misery
or even to share
a rand or two with him.
l’Envoi
There were already clouds
hanging heavy and black
in the sky
and around the corner
where he sleeps at night
there was nowhere
to really find some shelter
against the cold, whether and wind
and for a moment
his pain blinded me
and I asked myself
why life devours some people
without cause
while robbers drive in expensive cars
and sometimes live in palaces
and still he witnessed
that the Lord is great
and still cares
but things were getting dismal.
[Reference: The South African monetary currency is the rand.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Fishing For Carp (Hybridanelle)
Fishing for carp, with a six-pack cooling in the river
and the ringhals till now with eyes brown and unaware
something makes a sound, a movement making you shiver
when on your right a banded spitting cobra appears
with the woman leaving to prepare sausage
when it immediately rears
and girly is ready with the food, ready to deliver
and it gives her a great scare.
Fishing for carp, with a six-pack cooling in the river
and in your mind you are crunching gears
and you wish for her to be anywhere, but right there,
with the woman leaving to prepare sausage
and you are angry at the old deceiver
while she brings a tray full of goodies with loving care,
something makes a sound, a movement making you shiver
luckily she freezes behind you somewhere
and the snake only half alert senses something testing the air
and you wish for her to be anywhere, but right there,
and a nearby tree looks like a quiver
and you are looking for a kind of snare.
Fishing for carp, with a six-pack cooling in the river
and this is now a dangerous affair
and using the rod in your hands you slam with all your might,
and the snake only half alert senses something testing the air
slamming down on the snake like with golf driver
and this is it, you have had your share of luck, but still you dare,
something makes a sound, a movement making you shiver
she screams in fright, while you slam to your right
with your rod whistling
and using the rod in your hands you slam with all your might,
and the water shines like silver
and you cuddle her and there's a smile that you share.
Fishing for carp, with a six-pack cooling in the river
something makes a sound, a movement making you shiver
and you think: not again that spitting thing with its deadly sting,
when on your right a banded spitting cobra appears,
with your rod whistling
when it immediately rears.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Bird that lives forever
A geless and deathless Paliel vulture
One of African vulture species that
Lives in jonglei region of Sudan
Lives beyond any bird life span
When it bird life span finish
It stops to eat and drink
It plumes plummeted naturally
Until it come skinny
It start to metamorphoses
The beak, the legs grow soft fleshy
The body transform into battled slender creature
The two legs become small soft tails
The two wings become small fins
It gradually become an African youngest cobra
And again goes on living as snake beyond
Any snake lifespan in jonglei region.
When it become old, aile and about to die
It stops to eat and drink
It flake it dry scally-skin off
And become skinny
If fang fallen off
It two fins, tails project wings and legs
It grow plumes and feathers
It gradually grow until it
Become bird and fly up again
Paleil, dodge death by
Oldness in bird to youngness in snake
Oldness in snake to youngness bird
The catchyphrase!
Paleil lives forever in recuryring metamorphosis
poem by David Aoloch Bion
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