The expelled farmer (parody)
(with apologies to fanie olivier)
At five to eleven there is thunder slamming down outside,
the winter chill is already cutting through his body.
Now in the folds of the bed he draws the blanket tightly
and look somewhat clinical at how it is flashing outside.
From above everything is washed neatly clean,
there is darkness covering the blue,
while like last night, he does not trust the peace,
being alone in his double bed.
He remembers how it had been
at the farm near to Pongola,
now with stripped grass, overgrazed, used far too much,
with shabby pineapples and he is fed-up,
has had too much of broken houses and poles,
of the joblessness with which the government
is trampling over white people.
The rain flows while he smells new life,
his county is being run into the ground.
[Reference: “retoer” “return trip” by fanie olivier.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
Winter (parody)
(with apologies to fanie olivier)
Already early in May you can feel the wind gallop,
it is already cutting icily from twelve o’clock
and blows sand
leaves and old plastic bags sky-high.
Across the street the neighbour’s drain is overflowing
and sewerage flows along at the end of the yard,
while the other neighbour’s wife forwardly winks at me
and she’s a flamboyant girl,
her husband is well built and somewhat angry
and she has got a teenage daughter, who draws attention like her mother,
dressing at times somewhat nakedly,
while the neighbour comforts himself with bottles of brandy,
sometimes wanting to know about his wife’s wiles from me,
when I see pain and grief eating at him.
[Reference: “winter” by fanie olivier.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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There’s a black child (in answer to fanie olivier)
There’s a black child
finding his way with goats through the cliffs
and his hair is blown in the wind
while grasses are braiding galloping around his feet.
He knows of the urge to want more,
how to take with force,
to draw his cross on the ballot paper, to say his say
and his feet walk on a dusty road
and in the dark night some of the tribe
gather around the fires, where spears are being melted
leaders armed with rifles arrive, who talk about plundering
torture and murder
and they are laughing as the war is over,
on what their hands fall they can take,
when suddenly they strike
a shaking white woman is raped
and there’s darkness hanging black over the country,
a darkness that no light can pierce,
with black faces smiling
in a circle around the fire.
[Reference: “by ruacana” (at ruacana) by fanie olivier.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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How is possible that dreams here are broken? (in answer to fanie olivier)
How is possible that dreams here are broken,
with life suddenly becoming threatening
with black criminals attacking, sneaking in at doors
and every home is barred like a fortress?
From every alleyway a drug peddler peeps out
or there’s a street whore
that patrols up and down at the corner
and I am just another white Afrikaner
that see my country is falling apart,
I hear shots being fired at the child’s school
where car hijackers suddenly strike
and numerous crimes are being committed
and no crying bird have got to warn me
about the new upside-down existence,
that every strange black man may be a criminal or terrorist
while jobless I worry about bread for my table
and it’s no war zone or the border that I am visiting
but raping robbers strike at the home on the corner
where the police later ineptly
gather with numerous cars.
[Reference: “grensbesoek” (border visit) by fanie olivier.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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There the river is bridged (in answer to fanie olivier)
There the river is bridged,
meandering place to place is bounded,
a road cuts right across the mountain’s back
and when in the evening you find a tired traveller
he has stopped at a place
where the sea to the furthest horizon
stretches to the heaven
and there are lorries crawling up the hill,
the town lies beneath sparkling like stars
with lights everywhere shining
where people from near and far
at times find a resting place
even the old black man riding past on his bicycle,
or the braggart that cuts through the mountain pass with his grand car.
[Reference: “hier breek die dorp die pad se rug” (here the town breaks the road’s back) by fanie olivier.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Journal
Alpine expanse, green all around never ending
Clear horizon, the sky blue as can be seen
for miles and miles
Natural habitat, the natives undisturbed and living
as one with nature
Tall grass, a green blanket covering the ground and
preserving tranquility
Blazing sun, the brilliance of life and all things
Cool breeze, my face lights up as the gentle force
caresses my skin
Birds singing, hundreds of voices in a gigantic choir
Water rippling, sunlight shimmering
over the aquatic canvas
Night comes, the sun giving way to the darkness
An owl hoots, mysterious abstract voices
command the night creatures
A cricket chorus, thousands of invisible things
making a mighty sound
Fireside, the heat welcome compared to the late chill
Sleep comes, and dreams preclude the start
of a new day
Winter comes, the alpine is covered completely white
Black sky, the dark winter clouds come rolling in,
shrouding the forest and blocking the light
Birds flee, huge fleets fly away
to a less hostile season
Pond freezes, fishing will have to wait
Life is hard, the winter meat has to be protected
from the white winter wolves
Comfort is rare, the finger bleed red
and the blood runs cold
Animals suffer, over yonder lies an old stag
brought down by the elements
Campfire gone, another sleepless night...............
poem by Kevin Howell
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Love Has Its Seasons
A cool chill sweeps through the air
winter is approaching
soon the grass will have a blanket of white
nights will get longer
then soon it will be over for another year.
Spring will be with us
new growth will spring up from the ground
the days will get warmer
when summer once again appears
spreading its colours everywhere.
Then it is back into autumn once more
and the chilly air that it brings.
Love has its seasons also to share
sometimes it can be frosty
and winter chills fill the air
it can be cold
like the white blanket of snow.
Love can be like spring
imparting new life as it begins to grow.
The glow that if offers
is like the warming summer sun
that blossoms into beauty
before the ravages of autumn come
and the years trickle away.
poem by David Harris
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The Rain Platter Against The Closed Window
The rain platter against the closed window,
lightning bolts flame down in sheer blue-white light
and outside everything flees before the storm
as if it’s a kind of gigantic beast growling.
I have not know a person like you,
who likes to dance in the pouring rain,
as if you want to touch the sheer thunder
that comes powerful like the voice of God.
You cling to me with your wet rain washed clothes
with the smell of your twisted damp hair,
with the heat of your body glowing through
the covering, with a deep need for togetherness
with a intimate thing in every single kiss,
tasting like honey and ripe fruit
and in the depths of your eyes there is happiness
while my poems, my words fall like rain on you
and in the morning I will pick fresh flowers,
arms full of grass carnations,
sweet smelling jasmine, some roses
and many, many more bunches of kisses.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Winter Pond
Sting-chill of winter matt –
Her frozen hand caressed us all;
And calming bleach of silence
Pressed upon the rustic scape
To leave an ashen underbelly –
Once raging summer chroma.
Even Winter’s gelid lungs laboured
Under heavy drag of flakes –
Their pilgrimage: to stay a deadened floor
In crunch-white peace.
And round about, the weight of time
– Collapsing under Winter’s drag –
Transmutes to grey: it’s three o’clock –
No lights pricking black out here! –
Even the night globe,
The Great Reflector – stonewalled;
Camouflaged by lead-laden cloud
Lolling in the claustrophobic noon.
At ground, a farm pond –
Seized in a dark hiatus –
Offered up repentance –
Why, it dared to harbour life!
I forgave it in my desperate gaze
Upon the crazy-paving surface,
That sealed in the black-chill temperature,
Where at bottom, something nithered
Still survived.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
win ter winter
winter winter winter
winter winter winter winter winter
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Sniper
Moves in the rocks with inching fingers.
We among the feathery banana trees
Imagine for him his aim: the steel helmet
And English face filling the backsight's V.
Again as it was last time, that spurting noise,
Thud, and the writhing figure in long grass.
until we match precision with precision:
We move ten men to one and have him then.
I saw the sniper in the afternoon. The rifle
Lay there beside him neatly like his shooting,
The grass twined all about his cap.
He had killed neatly but we had set
Ten men about him to write death in jags
Cutting and spoiling on his face and broken body.
poem by Bernard Gutteridge
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Early Works - The Edge Of Winter
The edge of winter
colours blanket the ground
bare trees with skeleton arms
out stretch to catch the wind
sky grey and clouded
wind with biting chill
scarves tightly tied
around necks of passing strangers
roofs white from first frost
cars aside the road will not start
batteries flat not antifreeze
fires chimneys plumes
rosy cheeks, icy breath.
The edge of winter here.
Date unknown
poem by David Harris
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First Blossoms
So unexpectedly the beauty caught me,
the first blossoms suddenly bursting out snow white,
covering the whole almond tree
and a week ago the branches were still stripped,
with the winter wind cutting through it.
Today I feel devoured by the winter wind,
I am tied by my powerlessness, blinded by destiny
and I am wondering when and where
I will find You secretly working in my life?
I find signs that a new summer is on its way,
I am astounded by nature
while the beauty comes suddenly
and for Your Godly working as a human I am stupid,
see in nature spring suddenly coming all around me,
Your flowers blooming in their cups,
everything around me is suddenly clean and fresh
and everything You regard as Your property.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Yes, it's true, I've been called the Laurence Olivier of spoofs. I guess that would make Laurence Olivier the Leslie Nielsen of Shakespeare.
quote by Leslie Nielsen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gods Little Forest Creatures
(10/01/11)
All that she knew was that it was a snowy day
And she was in a horse pulled sleigh
The blanket was covering her
From her knees to her feet.
The thermo of hot chocolate was such a treat.
The frozen lake, the snow covered trees
Was truly a sight to be seen.
the birds high up in the trees
Whistling so cheerfully
Singing songs of summers past
And how the winter came so fast.
The ground hog not wanting to come out
He knew well what winter was about.
The ground was covered in a blanket of white
All roads and paths were out of sight.
That did not stop this horse pulled sleigh
He had gone thru this many a day.
He had a covered barn that awaited him
That was the reason he had a grin.
The animals were frantically searching for food
The possums, the raccoons, the rabbits
And The squirrels too.
With one purpose in mind
And that was to stay alive.
As she got to where they were gathered
She pulled out from under her blanket
A five pound bag of peanuts and seed
for her to feed - these poor
Little creatures who always came around
When there was no food to be found.
She was the snow white of this land
Always there to give a hand.
So when you see a squirrel stop and stand
on its hind legs, it’s to see if it is their snow white
Who helped them on this cold winter night.
poem by Louis Rams
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Strong Chill Of Winter
A strong chill of winter
has grasped this country,
the toll of its bitter cold
has the ground covered
in a blanket of thick snow
the fog is lingering over
the thick blanket of snow
dragging down the hope
that the snow is going
to go
in a desprete gaze
i looked out into
the haze of white
but i all i got to see
was the endless amount
of white
poem by Shane Nolan
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The Memory of Water (for Scarlet)
Water remembers you
falling now on your sleeping face
waking you from dreams
with its surprise
after you fell asleep
at your first pinic.
Water remembers your childish
laughter.
Water remembers you
holding your body
in its body
as you learn not to fear it
as you learn the words float...sink...swim.
Water remembers you
becoming its friend.
Water remembers you
diving into its honeymoon waters
becoming fishes....kisses
lasting from here to eternity.
Water remembers two
delerious skinnydippers.
Water remembers you
crying in its rain
sobbing 'I'll never fall in love again! '
as if you were an old 1950's tune.
Water remembers such tears
hiding them in its rain.
Water remembers you
laughing in the rain
having fallen in love again
so quick to change
your tune.
Water remembers you
laughing here we go again.
Water remembers you
soaking wet in a sudden thunder storm
flowers held in your hand
having lost their heads
presenting her
with nothing but stalks.
Water remembers you
having to wear her old dress
as she dried your clothes.
Water remembers
kisses lost amonst the roar of a fire.
Water remembers you
& is saddened to find you
with no answers
with no questions
here on this bridge
reflecting itself
here in its depths
where only silence lives
holding you
as before
only water
remembers your death.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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As if everything is burning to black (in answer to Mongane Serote)
It’s a relentless hot summer
with sweltering days without rain
where the sun comes up day after day again
and the grass, the leaves are frizzled
trees stand erect like telephone poles
with stripped branches
like silhouettes against the sky
It’s a relentless hot summer
and not only nature knows the pain,
but there’s havoc in humanity,
with oppression surging hotter than the sun
and it feels as if this season
will never pass
as if everything is burning to black
and opportunities for a life will never be back.
[Reference: For Don M. – Banned by Mongane Serote.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Everything is going to be wet
Every day rain falls down
from the overcast grey sky
and lightning bolts
flash blue white
like the fingers
of the gods
caressing the earth
while the leaves of autumn
cover every tree
in auburn, yellow and brown.
Green leaves on the stems
of big pink hollyhocks
here and there
dip up and down
when hit by drops of rain
as if suddenly coming alive
and it’s going to be
a wet winter
and probably
not all that chilly
with rain falling
out of season.
The grass is green
and everything but trees
are growing
as if it’s still spring.
and flowers bloom
on geraniums, roses, hollyhocks,
lilies, irises and petunias
in colours ranging
from white, orange, yellow,
violet to red and blue
and without covering
everything is going
to be wet.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Thunder Showers In Winter
Sometimes I wonder about the kind of chance
that in the winter here tonight
just before the daybreak
thunder bolt upon thunder bolt might dance
in their blind white glare
when rain suddenly begins to pour down
from a cloudless sky
while blue-white bolts of thunder do report.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The thunder storm came suddenly
The thunder storm came suddenly; the air was drawing close,
with grey and black clouds covering the heaven
and suddenly there was no more blue
with the whole day being only grey
while leaves were falling in yellow and brown everywhere,
with the wind cutting icily, trying to grab onto jackets,
untimely the rain came without respect
for the rules of nature,
the thunder storm came suddenly.
Suddenly the weather was in each conversation
of the doctor, lawyer and architect,
as if it contained something incomprehensible and evil
nobody trusted the sudden bad weather;
early in the afternoon people left for home,
the thunder storm came suddenly.
poem by Gert Strydom
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I trust...
I trust the thunder, I trust the rain
I trust the cars, I trust the train
I trust the secrets, I trust the truth
I trust the old, I trust the youth
...I trust My right, I trust my left
I trust the Ground, I trust the skies
I trust the Truth But not the lies
I trust the fairies, I trust the elf
I trust you all… just not myself