The Cassinga jump (Enclosed Triplet)
That night great strain was on each youthful face,
in the hangar we did equipment check,
called-up each from a different place.
The Hercules roared at a quick pace
as in many sticks we were strapped in,
with the flashing red light my heart did race;
to some an enemy jump is commonplace,
a paratrooper did vomit on me
and I begged God for His saving grace.
Suddenly I had to step into space,
I heard the roar of anti-aircraft guns,
snipers in trees was another menace
while I felt the wind’s jerking soft embrace,
as we got down in a wooded terrain,
saw some women of the fleeing populace,
but that was only the smallest preface
as rockets and bullets whooshed over us,
called-up each from a different place.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
The Cassinga jump
Fear and tension was written over the faces
of paratroopers next to,
in front and at the back of me
when the red light
began to flash in the Hercules
and we went to action stations
still skimming barely over the tops
of taller trees at about two hundred feet
and most of us had two weeks earlier
been home at our civilian jobs.
One paratrooper vomited
right over me in yellow stinking
half fermented food
and the retching smell
made me nauseas as well
while the aircraft pitched steeply
with its last-minute manoeuvres
coming to jumping height
of eight hundred feet.
Mushroom clouds left by exploding bombs
billowed up from Cassinga
and in trenches I saw
people shooting upwards at us
and suddenly bombers dived
through our formation.
The sticks in front of me jumped
and air rushed into my face
at the open door
while the pit of my stomach went numb
and I stepped into space
falling, falling and seeing
a rocket-propelled grenade exploding
near the aircraft above me
and it veering away.
While the opening parachute jerked me up
I heard the deep roar
of a anti-aircraft gun
shooting from below
and it was clear that we
had jumped later
than we were supposed to
or the dropping zone
was too small to take
a full stick
of thirty-two paratroopers at a time.
We were dropping about
five hundred meters farther south
than were we should have been
and a strong wind
was driving from the northeast.
We landed in wooded terrain
which made grouping very difficult
and among the trees were drawing fire
before even touching down.
Immediately after hitting the ground
I returned fire
and the enemy fire became more sporadic
and we assaulted the group of buildings
that intelligence identified as the enemy
engineer complex,
running into groups
of our own B and C companies
and for a time was shooting at each other
before realizing it was own forces.
We were just taking the engineer complex
now formed up with the other soldiers
when we came under rocket attack
from RPG-7’s
and had to kill the crew
at a enemy B-10 recoilless gun
where I threw several hand grenades
and then ammunition stores
in the building complex started exploding
but only one paratrooper was wounded
when we took up our stop-line positions
to block off the escape route
lying south from Cassinga
and the anti-tank platoon was sent away
to set up a tank ambush
on the road running from Techamutete.
By this time I had picked up an enemy
LMG and more than enough
ammunition for it
and shot from the hip
at any movement that I saw
and until then it had been
easy as pie.
Then the commander of our company
left some men at the stop-line
and about twenty of us
along with him
went to the enemy vehicle park
where we ran into a crowd of civilians
fleeing into the surrounding bushes.
I opened up with the LMG
as we launched the attack
in the direction
of the lowered anti-aircraft guns
and we entered the trenches,
finding some civilians there,
but heavy fire came directly
from behind them.
It turned into a matter of killing
or be killed and even the women
that we met were armed
and in enemy uniform
and I lobbed hand grenades
into the next leg of the trench
and kept firing from the hip
and was splattered in blood
by a woman’s body
that was blown right out of the parapet
and what was left of her
was still in green fatigues
and blown to shreds.
Then I had nausea again,
retching uncontrollably
and somehow I stared to cry
with tears running down
my cheeks,
but like a machine moved on
seeing enemy soldiers
scrambling from the trenches
to replace the ones killed
at the three lowered anti-aircraft guns
with a bravery running near
to madness.
The closed quarter struggle
were worst than fierce
and cruelly savage
and we could only clear
just one leg of the zigzagging
ditches at a time
with supporting fire helping
from the outside.
There were screaming and crying
women and children among the enemy
and we had to kill or be killed
and a chill ran through me
and the noise was just terrible
with mortar bombs exploding
at the anti-aircraft guns,
shooting from almost
any direction onto them
and bullets ripping the walls
of the trench next to me
and I almost choked in the smoke,
dust and cordite fumes enveloping me
and finally those trenches were cleared
and the anti-aircraft guns stopped firing.
[References: LMG= Light machine gun. Read my poems Cassinga and Wings of destiny, for a full account of this battle and what happened when South African paratroopers faced enemy (Cuban) armour.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Saving Grace
Without direction I walk the night
I was alone in a single beam of light
One glance and you changed my blues
To a prism of light
A thousand hues
Now I must climb to the rainbows arc
Who knows I might find a halo for your heart
Whenever I'm lost for words
And my whole world is falling apart
You are my saving grace
You are the light of a love everlasting
I find hiding place
In your arms
My one and only
Saving grace
My saving grace
I fought the world with a restless heart
Kept my emotions locked away in the dark
Then you came to build me up
When this world could only tear me apart
You are my saving grace
You are the light of a love everlasting
And I find hiding place in your arms
My one and only
Saving grace
For the rest of your life
You can count on me
To never let you down
When you whisper to me
You give me strength to believe that I can hold on
Somehow
You are my saving grace
You are the light of a love everlasting
I find a hiding place
In your arms
My one and only
Saving grace
You are my light and my love everlasting
And I find a hiding place
In your arms
My one and only
Saving grace
My saving grace....
My saving grace
song performed by by 38 Special
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cassinga
Just like spring when the blue sky is full of falling leaves,
there are three hundred and seventy parachutes that decent,
on a ominous day
with enemy AA-guns reporting
and the enemy are more
than a thousand and a half in number.
The barrels of the enemy AA-guns are lowered,
to break us
and the enemy tries to sow havoc
and to decimate us.
Enemy snipers are shooting from trees
and from everywhere
there are shots being fired,
that munches pieces from us
From behind ruins
we fire almost endlessly
at trenches where some enemy soldiers hide
and launch mortar bombs
all over the place,
while bullets are coming down like rain.
We return heavy fire
to the enemy at the AA-guns,
while other soldiers replace them
which keeps the battle hanging in balance
Shot after shot are being fired
and the smell of death
is strong in the air
and there’s nowhere
for the enemy to escape to.
The last resistance disappears
and there’s apparent peace
and dead enemies everywhere
and some of the bats,
get into pumas
and the rest of us wait
with nowhere to go.
The border is too far to walk
and there’s nothing to drive away with,
when Cuban tanks and armoured cars
find us there.
.
With RPG-7 iron fists
four tanks are destroyed
and a landmine stops another tank in its tracks,
but only paratroops against oncoming armour
are canon feed
and nothing diminishes the danger
of a Cuban mechanized battalion.
Till two Mirages destroys ten armoured cars
and everywhere there’s smoke and dust
and a Buccaneer comes from the sun,
to let moments turn into eternity.
Time after time
it flashes by and fires its rockets
at the oncoming tanks
and with no ammo left,
dives fearlessly over shooting AA-guns
to make the tanks take cover.
It’s very ruff going
but the last pumas land
in a clouds of dust,
to evacuate us
while enemy tanks keep firing.
I try and hold the rearguard with a LMG
before the shot out ruins fades away from me
and we leave forty living enemies behind
and all of us are safely gone,
but for four brave men
whose lives are spent.
[References: AA-guns=> Anti aircraft guns. Bats=>Parabats=>Airbourne soldiers. RPG-7 iron fists=> Rocket propelled grenade launchers=> Bazookas. Mirages=> Mirage fighter jets. Buccaneer=> Buccaneer ground support bomber. Pumas=> Puma helicopters. LMG=> Light machinegun.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Hiding Place
Hail sov'reign love that first began,
The scheme to rescue fallen man;
Hail matchless, free, eternal grace,
That gave my soul a Hiding-Place.
Against the God that rules the sky,
I fought with hands uplifted high;
Despis'd the mentions of his grace,
Too proud to seek a Hiding-Place.
Enwrapt in thick Egyptian night,
And fond of darkness more than light,
Madly I ran the sinful race,
Secure without a Hiding-Place.
But thus the eternal counsel ran,
Almighty Love arrest that man;
I felt the arrows of distress,
And saw that I'd no Hiding-Place.
Indignant Justice stood in view,
To Sina's fiery mount I flew;
But Justice cry'd with frowning face,
This mountain is no Hiding-Place.
Ere long a Heav'nly voice I heard,
And Mercy's angel form appear'd,
She led me on with placid pace,
To Jesus as my Hiding-Place.
Should storms of sevenfold thunder roll,
And shake the globe from pole to pole,
No flaming bolt should daunt my face,
For Jesus is my Hiding-Place.
On him almighty vengeance fell,
That must have sunk the world to hell:
He bore it for the chosen race,
And thus became their Hiding-Place.
A few more rolling suns at most,
Shall land us on fair Canaan's coast,
Where we shall sing the song of grace,
And see our glorious Hiding-Place.
poem by Major Henry Livingston Jr.
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Wings of destiny
I
Ask any parabat that jumped at Cassinga
and he would tell you
that destiny has wings.
While facing a battalion of
Cuban tanks and armoured cars,
out of the blue and as if by magic
a Buccaneer appeared.
There was nothing more beautiful
than to see that jet
making self-sacrificing dives,
before it flew off to disappear
into the blue sky,
but let me tell that heroic story
as I know it.
II
Coming back from a bombing raid on Cassinga
the next target of Captain Dries Marais was
the Swapo camp at Chetequera
and he insisted
on arming the Buccaneer bomber,
with armour penetrating rockets
in addition to the standard
high explosive rockets.
Andries Marais himself
couldn’t explain the reason
for the irregular request,
but kept on insisting
that every third rocket
should be armour piercing.
Even navigator Ernie Harvey
was perplexed with this request
and they were tense,
while preparing for
the strike mission.
The Buccaneer took of
and in a short while
crossed the Angolan border
and just when Ernie Harvey
were going to check in
with Tactical headquarters
things went mad
on the operational frequency.
The pilot Warneke
who had relieved them at Cassinga,
reported a armoured battalion
consisting out of tanks
and BTR 152 personnel carriers approaching.
The operational frequency
was far too cluttered
to get through to Tactical headquarters
and they heard
two Mirages being scrambled,
but there wasn’t time to arm them
and they had only
only 30 mm cannon.
You need an excellent navigator
to keep tract to a target
over the featureless Angolan countryside
and navigator and weapon systems operator Ernie Harvey
had replaced the maps
with the ones of the new target,
but the navigation computer
still had the settings.
III
When fighting against tanks
and armoured cars
with only a few landmines
and rocket propelled grenades
to stop them,
even light machine guns
are quite useless
and still I kept on shooting
while the LMG’s barrel got red hot
and I tried to keep the enemy back.
There was great joy
to see two Mirages
cutting the armoured cars apart,
but the surprise on the enemy
of that Buccaneer
dropping out of the sky
with its armour piercing
rockets will stay with me
to eternity.
Two tanks were shattered
and stood burning
after the first past
and the twin-barrelled 14.5 mm anti-aircraft guns
that the BTRs were trailing
were being deployed
and the Buccaneer
took one of the anti-aircraft guns out.
Suddenly the air was filled
with Puma helicopters landing
and the Buccaneer
took out a BTR
and two tanks started shelling us
and the Buccaneer kept diving
at close to the speed of sound
until the tanks disappeared
into the bush
and we lifted of safely.
There was nothing more beautiful
than to see that jet
making self-sacrificing dives,
before it flew off to disappear
into the blue sky.
Later I heard that 17 hits
were counted on that Buccaneer
that safely landed at Grootfontein base
and to this day,
I know about no greater heroes
than the two
flying in that Buccaneer.
.
[Reference: Cassinga Swapo military camp / town. Parabat=> South African Airborne / Parachuting soldier.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Definition of happiness
ITS A place we have all been to:
a place were difficulties are forgotten
were only joyful events are certain
its a place you cant go to everyday
when you get there not long enough you can stay
a place safe and secure
a shield that deflects any bad thing that could accrue
a place were poise and pride are not neglected
a place were negative thoughts, ideas are not selected
a place far away from here
a place that does not recognize fear
a place that needs along time to get to
yet you arrive and forget any negative thing you have been through
a place that effects so deep
a place were you cant fall asleep
a place that does not exist
yet we have all been there I still insist
a place that’s not defined as a dream or a fantasy
a place that is only called happiness and ecstasy
Yet it is the most beautiful place
where sound of laughter and shape of smile race
on ones face like it would be in grace
poem by Ayesha Sartawi
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A Woman’s Place
Many say
A woman’s place belongs in the kitchen
As if it a sin
That statement is pathetically mean
I mean why are we so keen
To have men as chefs
Gone are the days
When she’s only good in bed
Fattened up from being well fed
Now A woman’s place
Is with her child
To tame it from growing wild
Apart from flashing her smile and her eyelids
She’s a gem
She knows how to dance
And the true meaning of romance
To state a woman’s place
Is simply a hopeless case
A woman’s place
Is hard to say
A woman’s place
Is in her brain
She knows how to save your pennies
For the day it heavily rains
Saving you from losing face
A woman’s place is at work
For without her
There will be no sweet talk
Her place is also with her man
The guy who is her ultimate fan
She is the only one that
can soothe a mans disturbed mind
Her specie is really one of a kind
That melodic union she must span
A womans place
in this day and age
is one which we must embrace
Her changeless face
invigorates any race
© Sylvia Chidi- 17 October 2005
www.sylviachidi.com
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Missing You
It's been a while since I saw your smile,
Never seen your face but I felt your grace,
From a distance your gaze,
Your eyes, they warm my heart,
What a great place to start!
In my heart, always,
Always a place for you,
A quiet space,
What a beautiful place!
Lost in time, no rhythm nor rhyme,
Until at last,
We find the peace we deserve,
To live, breathe and to serve,
So when you think of me,
Remember to feel free,
Live life through freedoms door,
Know that I will love you evermore,
I will see you in a quiet room,
A dark corner where you light the gloom,
In a moment of silence, a quiet breath,
Moves us one step further from death,
Sometimes I feel there can be no end,
As long as our hearts mend,
A soul that is your friend,
Then the light of love will know no end.
26 June 2012
poem by David Andre' Klopper
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A Commonplace Song
Ebbs and flows the restless river
In the city street
Where the great nerve centres quiver,
Where the pulses beat.
Where the human waves are driving
Drifts a woman’s face,
White and worn by ceaseless striving
With the commonplace.
Want has written strange inscriptions
On the brow and cheek;
Pain could weave some weird descriptions
If the lips would speak;
Toil has touched the lines of beauty
And, the curves of grace.
Comeliness is good, but duty
Rules the commonplace.
Thick-soled shoes and shabby bonnet,
Dingy cotton gloves,
Old turned dress with darns upon it
(Not what woman loves),
Gaunt umbrella, green with weather—
One must self efface
To keep home and bairns together
In the commonplace.
Late and early, never shirking
Tub and scrub and broom,
Late at night with needle working
In the dwelling-room;
Yet when week’s receipts are thinner
Grocers’ bills to face—
Tenpence means three children’s dinner
In the commonplace!
Poets sing their wild Iambics—
Love and War and Gods—
Let us sing of humble women
Fighting fearful odds,
Not where steel and bullets rattle
And the squadrons race,
But the grim unending battle
With the commonplace.
Now they shriek the creeds are dying!
Faith is of the air!
Wailfully their lyres are sighing
Sonnets of despair!
All the scheme of things evolving
Somehow out of Space!
Darken then, instead of solving,
This grim commonplace!
Rogues may win success and glory,
Beauty pride of fame,
Statesmen make a nation’s story,
Poets deathless name.
But the patient woman Toiler
What is hers to win?
On the one hand—Want, the Spoiler,
On the other—Sin!
Ye who swear and strut and bluster,
So-called manly pride,
When you answer at the muster
On the other side,
Will the courage you have vaunted
Stand you in such grace
As weak hands that fought undaunted
With the commonplace?
Noblest worth works ever humbly,
Oftest is unseen,
Half the world is toiling dumbly
In the gray routine.
Sing, O Poet of the Morrow!
Cheer the weary face
Where brave women moil and sorrow
In the commonplace!
poem by George Essex Evans
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Road to Success
The road to success is not straight,
There is a curve called FAILURE,
A loop called CONFUSION,
Speed bumps called FRIENDS,
Red light called ENEMIES and
caution lights called FAMILY.
But if you have a spare called
DETERMINATION,
An engine called PERSEVERANCE,
Insurance called FAITH and
A driver called JESUS (GOD, ALLAH, ISHVAR)
You will make it to a place called
SUCCESS
poem by Pratiksha Jain
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Women
Women...
Some budy
Called flower...
Some budy
Called moon...
Some budy
Called Brandy...
Somebudy
Called hourse...
Some budy
Called donkey...
Some budy
Called basterd...
Some calling
Some of word's
Women with women's...
This words are
Not full fill
The women...
World wide
Women is beauty...
Women is sexy...
Thats thats...
But...
Women is what...?
Not only women
Women is your mother...
Women is your sister...
Women is your wife...
Women is doughter...
Women is your gran mother...
Women is your friend...
Not only above...
Women is a human...
Human is women...
Understand too
All women's...
With your heart...
At your humunity...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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I want to be with you always
I want to be with you always
That is what my heart says…
I want to be with you always
All the nights and all the days
I want to be with you always
Like the two eyes on your face.
I want to be with you always….
Be it devil’s curse or God’s grace
I want to be with you always
For you, no one can replace.
I want to be with you always….
In the warmth of your embrace
I want to be with you always…
As without you, I’m just a trace.
I want to be with you always
Like Hanuman Ji and his mace!
I want to be with you always
Be it fame or disgrace.
I want to be with you always…
Like a frock’s embroidered lace
I want to be with you always....
For you, from my life I cannot erase.
I want to be with you always
Be it life’s race or gentle pace
I want to be with you always
You are my world’s every place.
I want to be with you always
In my life’s cards, you are the Ace.
I want to be with you always....
Wherever I am, you fill that space.
I want to be with you always
Death, are you listening?
If you take him, take me
And let me rest my case.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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I Love You (Villanelle)
(after Elizabeth Barrett Browning)
I love you with feelings that are true and right,
as our relationship has come with Godly grace,
I do love you through every day and night,
even when times of joy are far from sight
as you make this earth a heavenly place.
I love you with feelings that are true and right,
while I long to be to you the companion that I might
as the depth of our feelings are sometimes without a trace,
I do love you through every day and night,
while you draw me nearer to the Godly light
and onward daily our lives do constantly race.
I love you with feelings that are true and right,
with gentleness, without any fear and fright
although my childish ways might be commonplace
I do love you through every day and night.
Even if for you I have got struggle and fight
have got to face the most dangerous menace;
I love you with feelings that are true and right,
I do love you through every day and night.
[Reference: 'XLIII' 'How do I love thee? Let me count the ways']
poem by Gert Strydom
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Flying at night
The sticks are strapped in
and there’s a slight chill,
in the early morning air.
Black tiger stripes,
are painted over our faces
and we are waiting for takeoff.
It’s much colder when the plane rises
and flies low to avoid enemy radar
and enemy Mig fighters.
There’s a yellow moon hanging low
and some stars pass,
with bright twinkling eyes.
The plane gains altitude,
before the light starts flashing
and the end of the flight draws near.
Commands are given
and something hard is in my stomach
and I hear air rushing at the open door.
I get my turn to jump and I’m free
and it’s like falling away into oblivion,
but the ground is rushing towards me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Contentment
Where Cupid wears no double face, -
beholder and beholden trace
together love in love's embrace
as each heart charts the other's pace.
No rush, no crush, no pride of place,
nor hide, nor free-ride commonplace,
as two take time to interface
outside of time in any case.
There’s chaste, no chaser and no chase,
there's no disgrace but only grace
and one shared chrysalid whose case
contentment spins as two enlace.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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A Place Called Eden
There was a paradise that ruled long ago.
Quiet.
Peaceful.
More beautiful than the human eye can ever perceive;
untainted by humans,
this Place called Eden.
This Garden was eternal, life-giving,
as perfect as the Heavens brought to Earth.
But along came Man,
swept in with a storm,
hiding the sun.
A pummeling rain flattened the flowers
and lightning licked at trees, destroying
this Place called Eden.
The clouds finally parted.
The sun peaked out fearfully, looking down
at Man, who stood alone.
Who felt himself powerful.
Betrayal drowned the Garden.
Mad smiled at his feat:
He had taken over with sin,
this Place called Eden.
Man cursed himself,
Perfection was lost, Misery
had taken over Man as Nature
healed itself for its revenge on the Destroyer.
Man learned self-loathing
and the true power of
this Place called Eden.
Death came to Earth. It punished Man fiercer
than Nature had: any man close
to finding the lost Land
was taken from Earth,
and Man was never to find it again,
this Place called Eden.
poem by Zoe Guillory
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Soldier (not really a poem)
the american revolution was fought witha new breed of soldier.
this country was founded on that soldier.
that soldier is the one that those on the front lines calls the coward
that soldier is the one that those on the front lines call when they need help
because these soldiers dont miss.
these soldiers are trained harder than the most elite frontline man
these soldiers are tought to kill their enemy before there enemy sees them.
these soldiers are the ghosts in the night,
these soldiers are the wind in the day
these soldiers are everywhere.
these soldiers are the bush next to u.
these soldiers are the the tree across the field.
these soldiers are the lump of snow in the flat plain.
these soldiers are snipers.
snipers are the reason we are free.
snipers stop the enemy before the enemy gets close to u,
poem by Joshua Decker
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This is heaven to no one else but me
In this place
I am safe
Safe from other opinions
The expectance to have courage and grace
Here in this place
I can be afraid
Of the words I want to say
But never will
In this place
I can be honest to my heart
I can’t lie and say I’m fine
In this place called heaven
The heaven that is only mine.
A place of broken grace and
The place of unknown time.
The title of this poem is a copy of the lyric from elsewhere by sara mclaughlin.(sorry if spelled incorrectly)
poem by Dying Iris
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Think...........
broken bottles, broken glass,
everywhere scattered on the grass.
once it was spiky and green,
wind was blowing,
moving grass in the stream can be clearly seen.
upon the mountain through the trees,
blows a sweet, soft breeze.
think what will happen if trees be tear,
there will be no loin, no tiger no any bear.
no place for birds to make a nest
where could running deer be take a rest.
no place for hiding nuts,
squirrels are homeless,
sparrow finding space in the huts.
see clouds seem as teddy bears,
see rabbits, peacocks roaming without fears.
watch and catch the stars at night,
stars will not be as bright.
with in few or someday,
everything not be in same way.
blue water, floating high waves,
no dolphin, no star fish to be gaze, ,
in human there is wealthy race,
time will come we won't have even a single standing place.
it is time to awareness be raised,
for saving environment plan must be traced..........
Never The Time And The Place
Never the time and the place
And the loved one all together!
This path--how soft to pace!
This May -- what magic weather!
Where is the loved one's face?
In a dream that loved one's face meets mine,
But the house is narrow, the place is bleak
Where, outside, rain and wind combine
With a furtive ear, if I strive to speak,
With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek,
With a malice that marks each word, each sign!
O enemy sly and serpentine,
Uncoil thee from the waking man!
Do I hold the Past
Thus firm and fast
Yet doubt if the Future hold I can?
This path so soft to pace shall lead
Thro' the magic of May to herself indeed!
Or narrow if needs the house must be,
Outside are the storms and strangers: we
Oh, close, safe, warm sleep I and she, --
I and she!
poem by Robert Browning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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