The farmer
The farmer isn’t dead
the earth that he adores, still remembers him
where his wife is raped,
his toddler daughter also
where his house is burnt to ruin
still stand smoking after the mad plunder
he lies half burnt, with his face distorted
and who will ever bring justice here?
The farmer lifts his fists against the wind
stand blinded against the horizon
searches perplexed for answers that are still missing
tries to find judgement from the Almighty One
And the wind turns dust from the red ground,
the earth is also badly wounded.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Young Farmer
The young farmer is not dead
the earth that loves him, still remembers him,
where his young wife was raped by barbarians
and his small toddler daughter as well
where his farm house has been burned down to rubble
and is still smoking after the mad plundering
he lies half scorched, his face distorted
and who will be able to bring some justice here?
The farmer lifts his fists against the wind,
stand against the horizon somewhat blinded,
searches perplexed for missing answers
tries to find a judgement form God
and the wind turns dust up from the red ground,
even the earth is wounded.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Farmer's Daughter
I do come from miles away,
Ain't got no place to stay.
Glad to help you plow your fields,
Farmer's daughter.
Might be just a couple of days,
Clean up, rest, and be on my way.
Thank you, madam, much obliged,
Farmer's daughter.
So long, got to leave your land.
Many thanks, it was might grand.
I do hope to see you again,
Farmer's Daughter.
Farmer's Daughter.
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Home invasion in Springs
Masked like the black criminals
that robs you of your car
and just there and there promises you death,
they arrived
with a mini bus taxi on the farm,
drove right through the farm gate
and at the front door
jumped out of the kombi
with five steps intruded into the house
to bring death to the farmer,
to rape the wife
and daughter.
The farmer heard the crash
at the gate,
he realized that it was big trouble
heard them in their own language command
to kill, while shot upon shot
was ringing from the front porch
and he though about the obliteration
of his whole family.
His wife was too far away
in the lounge busy with sewing
and he heard his daughter rushing screaming
to her mother
turned about hurried to the gun safe
and got hold of a pump action shotgun
with LG cartridges
and rushed down the hallway.
In the lounge four black criminals
aimed pistols at his daughter and wife
told them to strip themselves bare
and when they did not want to
one said to the others in his language
to kill them
while the farmer was sneaking
closer at the back of the lounge suite.
Just one glance from the farmer
made his wife and daughter fall to the ground
two shots came from the shotgun
lifting two of the gangsters right from their feet
and the other two started shooting
into the ceiling
and the wall of the lounge
and when the farmer fired again
they fled in fear to the outside
turning around to fire at the farmer
and another one dropped in his tracks,
the other ran wounded into the cornfield.
At the start the police, wanted to arrest
the farmer for the murder of the robbers,
but there was more than enough evidence
that it was self-defence,
even the farm workers
were witnesses
about the shooting, threat
of the robbers
and by his actions
the farmer saved himself, his wife and daughter
and the labourers praised him
as a kind and a just man
but at the church
some members regarded the farmer
as a mass killer
who had determined the fate of others with a shotgun.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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After Ventersdorp,4 April 2010
In storm language the wind talks
blind full of thunder
that draws blue lines
over the tar road
and the Jacarandas wriggle,
washing on balconies are jerked
and now angry
the wind howls and cries
and I see lightning bolts
slamming down near the Union Buildings.
Rows of maize fields greet me
where the knobs stand green
and there’s no peace
coming from the greeting
and in vain is waited on the murdered farmer
and somewhere there are cattle bellowing
but not for long anymore
as the slaughterers
are sharpening their Panga-blades
and have already violated the farmer
his wife and daughter,
have stolen what they can
and nobody can stop the plunder and pillage
of the country
as a swarm of locust are descending.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Family
If you have a child in your lap,
young moms would visit with kids to make them play around,
if you have a toddler,
many toddler will come and make your house upside down
if you have a teenage boy or girl,
young crowd willl throng your house with lots of noise,
if you have a married daughter in law in your familty,
young married ladies will get together to gossip and have fun,
if you have a oldies in your house,
old retired people will come to have a cup of coffee,
and when you donot have anyone,
no one will come to your house to say hello.
poem by renu Vig sharma sharma
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Smokin The Herb Again
Yo yo yo, yo, yo yo what
Smoking
Were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Damn, I really wish I could find my sack man
Must have got eaten by pac-man
If I had it I could smoke again
Smoke with my friends to the very end
But now Im trying to comprehend
Whens the next time that Ill smoke again
I need to know, please tell when will we smoke again
I got a buddy, his name is ted
Hes got a problem going through his head
He doesnt know how to puff puff give
But I like so Ill teach him and Ill let him live
Everyday we teach him right
When he divides, we have to fight
But at the end of the trying day
We says its ok and we puff away
Just the other night, I saw you, you were smokin not sharing and being tight
But thats ok, you are my friend, well smoking until the very end
The lessons that we put out, we order you to try it out
Its nice to smoke, yea thats what were all about
Smoking
Were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Hey, ho, hey ho, hey, ho, hey, ho, hey, ho, hey, ho
I smoke, you smoke, we smoke, they smoke, smoking everywhere
I smoke, you smoke, we smoke, they smoke, smoking all together
Smoking
Were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
song performed by by Incubus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter CXXVI: Ruin
Do not ruin a good story
Do not ruin a perfect plan
Do not ruin a flawless lie
Do not ruin a great sacrifice
Do not ruin a hard work
Do not ruin a long trust
Do not ruin a magical moment
Do not ruin a golden opportunity
Do not ruin the current mood
Do not ruin an innocent dream
Do not ruin a sweet memory
Do not ruin a fair game
Do not ruin a mutual agreement
Do not ruin a smiling face
Do not ruin the flowing river
Do not ruin the sequence order
Do not ruin the standard procedure
Do not ruin the prepared show
Do not ruin a complete circle
Do not ruin a final ending
Do not ruin the leisure time
Do not ruin the aiming shot
Do not ruin the hidden purpose
Do not ruin a genius idea
Do not ruin the dead price
Do not ruin a determined mind
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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I Am Not Sorry No She Said
I am not sorry no she said
That my ex son in law is dead
He gave to my daughter a hard life
And she to him was a good wife.
It may seem a callous thing of me to say
That I'm not sorry he's out of the way
For without him my daughter will survive
And in fact I'd like to think she'll thrive.
And though I feel her years with him were wasted years
My daughter sheds her grief in tears
To him she was a good wife and a good friend
And she stayed with him right to the end.
Whatever in him did she see
I find it way far beyond me
For to understand the workings of humanity
For they were different as can be.
She said as for myself I've been lucky in life
Lucky to be a good man's wife
But our daughter good of heart and kind
In love and marriage happiness failed to find.
Her feelings she is not afraid to own
When she said the rudest man that I've ever known
And I am not sorry no she said
That my ex son in law is dead.
poem by Francis Duggan
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zy A Mousetrap (a Fable ~ Author Unknown)
A country mouse heard a rustling noise and looked through a crack in the wall to see what might be going on. He saw the farmer and his wife opening a box. To the mouse’s great dismay the box contained a mousetrap. Alarmed the mouse rushed out to the farmyard to spread a warning. “There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house! ”
The chicken, who had been clucking and scratching the earth, raised her head and said: “Mr. Mouse I can tell this is a grave concern to you, but it is of no consequence to me. So I shall not allow myself to be bothered by it.”
The mouse turned to the pig and told him: “There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house! The pig sympathized, but said; “I am so very sorry Mr. Mouse, but there is nothing I can do about it. Be assured however, that you will be in my prayers”.
Next the mouse went to the cow and repeated his alarm: “There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house! ”. The cow looked at him and said: “Gee Mr. Mouse that’s is to bad for you, but it’s no skin off my nose”.
Mr. Mouse returned to the farmhouse head down and dejected. Left to face the mousetrap alone. That very night the loud snap of a mousetrap snapping shut was heard throughout the farmhouse.
The farmers wife got up from bed and rushed out to see what had been caught in the trap. In the darkness she did not see that it was a venomous snake which had gotten its tail caught in the trap. As she stepped near the trap the snake struck out and bit her on her foot. The farmer rushed her to the hospital where the doctors gave the only treatment available but could not guarantee a full recovery. The farmer’s wife asked to be allowed to return to the farmhouse to recuperate.
Once home the farmer’s wife continued to feel ill. She developed a fever so the farmer, hoping to make her feel well, went out to the farmyard and killed the chicken to make his wife some soup. But her sickness continued and many friends and neighbors stopped by to wish her well and offer assistance. Grateful for their concern the farmer went out to the farmyard and slaughtered the pig so that he could feed the well-wishers.
Alas the farmer’s wife continued to decline in health and after some days she passed away. Knowing that many friends and relatives would arrive for the funeral the farmer had the cow butchered so that he would have meat to feed these mourners.
The mouse could only watch from his little crack in the wall. Saddened at the loss of his farmyard friends, but knowing that he had done all he could to warn them of the danger posed by the mousetrap.
The next time you hear someone is facing a problem and shares their concern with you, Remember the story of the Mr. Mouse and the mousetrap. We are all connected in life in what may seem mysterious ways, so when one of us is threatened we are all at risk.
Author Unknown
poem by Mary Havran
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To All Future Husbands
No matter
How much
I educate
My daughter,
If she's not
A good cook
Nor a good
Whore to you
In bed, you
Wouldn't fancy her.
It's the age of
Equality.
If you want your
Wife to work
And bring in
Money…
Why not ask
Your mothers
To teach you
Some cooking
And cleaning
So you can
Share the
Housework.
Instead of being
Brought up
To think
That no matter,
How much
Your wife
Works…
She'll always be
Up and ready,
To do all the
Serving…
And you, the
Lord of the house,
The most deserving,
Unflurried by the fact
That - to be the lady
Of the house, being
A mother, a wife,
A daughter-in-law,
Is Oh! So! Nerve-wracking,
So very tiring, for a woman
Working…
(Theme: Message)
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Home On a Hill
I travel towards a house that's not a home
My home is on a hill burnt down
Burnt by the love of money and fame
Burning before we crashed
Half dead before we died
He dragged us along to leave us behind
He followed his idols of money and fame
He took us from Olympus to none
We had beaten the horizon
But he turned us away from the sun
My home on a hill was a happy home
My home till he burnt it down
I waved through the window
Said goodbye with a frown
And was told that the new house was better
These bricks and others can be what they want
Maybe the worst would be better
All he saw was a green shade of black
Enough is never the end of the track
We move on and further away
But the house on a hill was a home
Past a house
We yesterday
drove past a house
near a shopping centre
and at the front wall
the plaster was broken,
the garden that was something
at a time
was treaded to pieces
and left uncared.
The front door hanged decaying
and when my eyes
walked down the corridor
some of the ceiling was missing,
and the wooden floor
was being used for firewood
It seemed as if the house
was now really becoming a ruin
and a naked black toddler
were crawling outside
and a very thin dog
looked as if it never got food
and my darling said:
“We stayed here at a time
and once this house
belonged to us
and it was a beautiful place
and just see how it looks now.”
poem by Gert Strydom
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His People
the old man sat out here on the porch,
shaking, smoking a cigarette... waiting
on his ride.
i sat down to talk to him, mostly to listen...
'you know, my daughter and her husband
lost their jobs, and their house. so we
moved them and their kids in with us...
they're strung out on them pills, we cant
get them off... hell, she's took everything
in the house she could sell....'
and i just listened.... him, and his wife,
both on disability... barely able to get
from point a to point b...
every day i hear these stories... all different,
but all the same in the end.... no jobs,
nowhere to stay, no health insurance...
and dependence... usually pills...
these are the forgotten people, the people
without a voice... if Jesus were alive today,
these would be His people!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Death of Gaia
Gaia, the mother of earth
Gaia, the mother earth
Gaia, the greek goddess
Gaia, the primordial deity
Daughter of Chaos,
Mother of Uranus
Wife of Uranus
Beloved of the goddess
Mother of mankind
Light of the world
Harbinger of energy
Silent smiling mother
What have we done to you?
We have bound you
We have broken you
We have stripped you
We have ripped you
We have raped you
We have scraped you
You came not to destroy,
But to fulfill
But we fulfilled
Your Destruction
poem by Anand Dixit
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The City Dead-House
BY the City Dead-House, by the gate,
As idly sauntering, wending my way from the clangor,
I curious pause--for lo! an outcast form, a poor dead prostitute
brought;
Her corpse they deposit unclaim'd--it lies on the damp brick
pavement;
The divine woman, her body--I see the Body--I look on it alone,
That house once full of passion and beauty--all else I notice not;
Nor stillness so cold, nor running water from faucet, nor odors
morbific impress me;
But the house alone--that wondrous house--that delicate fair house--
that ruin!
That immortal house, more than all the rows of dwellings ever built!
Or white-domed Capitol itself, with majestic figure surmounted--or
all the old high-spired cathedrals; 10
That little house alone, more than them all--poor, desperate house!
Fair, fearful wreck! tenement of a Soul! itself a Soul!
Unclaim'd, avoided house! take one breath from my tremulous lips;
Take one tear, dropt aside as I go, for thought of you,
Dead house of love! house of madness and sin, crumbled! crush'd!
House of life--erewhile talking and laughing--but ah, poor house!
dead, even then;
Months, years, an echoing, garnish'd house--but dead, dead, dead.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Anti Tobacco
Walking down, I see half- burnt killer pipes,
Lying on the streets, after hurting many lives..
The silly lips who touch the burning devil,
Are to be dead soon, can't sign even their 'will'!
I see the teeth chewing the tobacco products,
In the surroundings of the stores of betel nuts..
There's one each in the corner of every street,
But dozens of people gathered around for the treat!
When it is printed on the box itself,
That smoking is injurious to health..
Why dare to smoke with a sip of tea?
And compete with the smoke clouds; How pleasing to see!
The Government fell through to make them aware,
They carry on smoking; None does care..
The roll of paper is burnt even by boys of sixteen,
To face the fatal consequences of nicotene..
One day, like the cigarette, your face would burn,
Diseases, cancers and then it is Death's turn..
And when you're being wished farewell on your deathbed,
Nothing but tears will reveal you regret..
One would ask 'How can you make the Death Prediction? '
I say, ' I'm clever enough to know the results of this worst addiction! '
For the sake of mankind, I would like to advise,
'Leave smoking, Behave wise! '
poem by Abhinit Chute
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On Any Other Day
You want something corny?
You got it
Theres a house on my street
And it looks real neat
Im the chap who lives in it
Theres a tree on the sidewalk
Theres a car by the door
Ill go for a drive in it
And when the wombat comes
He will find me gone
Hell look for a place to sit
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
Cut off my fingers in the
Door of my car
How could I do it?
My wife is proud to tell me
Of her love affairs
How could she do this to me?
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
And it would be ok on any other day
And it would be ok on any other day
Throw down the morning papers
And spill my tea
I dont know whats wrong with me
The cups and plates are in a
Conspiracy
Im covered in misery
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
And it would be ok on any other day
And it would be ok on any other day
And it would be ok on any other day
song performed by by Police
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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They Raped Her
They raped her till she died!
But a stone falling from heaven will judge them one day;
For his earth is full of negative people.
Let them fall back to learn from their mistakes! !
For their toes were like their woes;
And they attacked this lady like their foes,
But does that save the dead body? ! !
For these people raped her till she died.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Home invasion
A bullet for a Boer
and kill farmer,
kill a white
still rages on from
the ruling party
where members are singing it
from the age of eight
and in a rural district
a home invasion takes place
in the middle of the night
a male family member
is shot through the shoulder
tied up with wire
bashed with a baseball bat,
chopped with a panga-blade
and before getting to hospital
he is dead.
The woman in the house
is led to a room
where they are tied up
and are raped
and everything valuable
is carried away
And the incapable police
can find nobody
and the killers go free
and are still missing
like my two stolen cars.
poem by Gert Strydom
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We Despise Till We Do
To have second wife or a concubine
Or to covet someone’s wife or daughter,
Was a vice and I despised who indulged.
I diluted my stand when I grew old.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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