The Perfect Girl
Maybe I will have to wait through aeons
to find her, to find the perfect girl
whose feelings reach out to me
softer than the fluttering of any butterfly
whose voice is crystal clear with an own loveliness
and at times she dwells in my dreams
walking at times covered in a white cloak
with slim feet and pearly white toes.
I have heard her sweet laughter
falling softly as snow
but covering me in a kind of warmth
that delights, that at times are amusing
at other times brings sheer tranquillity
and if she’s human or something of the divine
I do not really know
only that she is beyond beautiful
One night suddenly she appeared
in another kind of dream
looked straight at me through her veil
her countenance had pure perfection
a kind of untouched innocence
but it was a sheer mystery
as her gaze had a kind of lust, a kind of longing
and it was clear that she know men
probably had made love to many of them
and as she lifted her veil
her eyes were the colour of the sea
but were ever changing in their hue
they were sometimes green, sometimes grey
and at times blue
Her hair was almost onyx black
and streamed down lustrous
streamed down right to her waist
glittering in a blue-black hue
and I was almost thunder struck
as she stepped out of her cloak
and I saw her sublime body
in every perfect line
the contours of her magnificent breasts,
her sleek belly
with its triangular thatch of dark hair
and she looked somewhat ethereal,
sublimely serene
and lovely beyond words
and it felt if I had waited my whole life
just to see her face
with its dimples, her narrow straight nose,
her full soft lips
and now she was displaying
her whole body in sheer nakedness.
I have known many women
have loved some
maybe beyond what love should be
and in reality
she remains to me a mystery
an ethereal being
that visits me in dream after dream
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
When You Tell Me How Much You Do Love Me
How many days I saw your subtle grace
the lingering smile on your lovely face,
there is a kind of sweet innocence
but also charm and a confidence
and you bring an inner tranquillity
when you tell me how much you do love me.
Sometimes beautiful the day does begin
while loving you closely feels like a sin,
but our intense feelings we cannot ignore
while life changes from what it was before
and you bring an inner tranquillity
when you tell me how much you do love me.
The moment is eternal with each kiss
while we are caught in ecstasy, sheer bliss
and not the future or even times past
has significance while the feelings last
and you bring an inner tranquillity
when you tell me how much you do love me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Night Dream (Cavatina Sequence)
(after Archibald MacLeish)
It had been a dream but seemed much too real;
her eyes, her voice,
had a quiet kind of lovely quality,
even her poise
had maturity, some kind of gentleness,
with no noise
but the buzzing of bees at a flower
while we lay down in fields of white clover.
The sun fell hot on our skins, her smile was
very dazzling,
while her soft hand gently touched my face,
there was something
known in the way that she did speak with me,
how she did fling
her hair back, while my head did gently rest,
on her soft heaving perfect naked breast.
Love I do not know she said and smiled,
but she was mine,
while we kissed in moments of pure bliss,
drank some white wine,
talked about some things close to the heart,
the curving line
I traced of her bended lovely back
while the greatest pure joy we did not lack.
It had only been a rapturous dream,
that was fading
but her skin, her smile was kind of special;
away wading
into the vast ocean of memory
until reading
from the magazine you looked up at me,
I could not pass when your face I did see.
[Reference: 'The Night Dream' by Archibald MacLeish.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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A View On Things (Cavatina Sequence)
We are puzzled, sometimes we are stunned,
in the sheer face
of beauty; loveliness catches the eye,
with a pure grace,
enigmatic we view morning-glories,
things commonplace
like the blue sky on a clear open day
are serene in the view that they portray.
Sometimes the sea plays its optical tricks
in on the mind,
as if changing its feelings with its hue;
daily we find
azure, cobalt blue, green and grey colours
that does remind
of times of happiness, of joy and pain;
too absolute some colours do remain.
If we get too close perspective is lost,
yet we still know
the true shape and colouring of a thing,
or a inner glow,
a white shimmering brings a universe
the eyes do show
that does not exist in our true sight,
sometimes brings to darkness another light.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Death Ended Everything
At a time off my feet you did me sweep
while your lovely smile touched my heart
as if on your pretty face a strange kind of art
had touched me, had entered me very deep.
There were times that we did laugh and weep,
were longing for a endless summer, never to part
where anything quite simple could our joy start,
we walked in the forest, climbed a mount steep
while there were stars glittering in your eyes
as if our lives were an unreal kind of fantasy,
as if our kind of bliss exceeded sheer ecstasy
where every day came as a kind of surprise.
There is more to life and living than chance,
death ended everything, ended our romance.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Never Ending Kind Of Intimate Thing
Your white body lies like a continent
with breasts as hillocks, slender thighs
and the valleys somewhere in between
while tiny shadows fall in the afternoon.
I bury myself with great pleasure in you,
feel the warmth of your blazing volcano,
reach up to the centre core of my existence
and each and every glance in your bright eyes
draws me deeper, draws us still closer together
and the lost of self, where nature flees from me
there is a tender kind of peace at twilight
while we love each other past all feelings.
There is peace in the separation that comes later,
the separation of skin, of thighs of genitalia
but still your gaze were burning into my very soul
and I love you; love every part of your body,
with the smell of love like fresh rain around us
rising from the rose of your tender hot pubis,
with nipples still somewhat hardened aroused
on your soft firm breast that are fragile to touch.
Boundless desire flames again and again,
while your beauty bringing sheer joy,
bringing a kind of very deep tranquillity,
as if the thirst, the yearning for each other
is a never ending kind of intimate thing,
that always exists, with a kind of grace,
that has an infinite kind of ache for fulfilment
a kind of indescribable joy that comes with bliss.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Always There
I'm running away
I've got to get home
I'm lost in a crowd
But I'm still on my own
I'm looking ahead
So I'm staying behind
I'm not being cruel
I'm just being kind
I close my eyes
It's no surprise
I'm always there
Can't count the times
I've tried to hide
And found nowhere
I'm trying to lay low
But I keep getting high
My feet on the ground
Got my head in the sky
My eye on the future
That's stuck in the past
I find I can't lose
When I aim to come last
I realise
It's no surprise
That nothing's clear
That black is white
That day is night
And there is here
I'm right on the ball
But I'm missing the mark
I burn in the sun
I'm scared of the dark
Got an ivory tower
With a bird's eye view
Got plenty of time
But nothing to do
The best disguise
It's no surprise
Is disappear
Can't count the times
I've tried to hide
And found nowhere
I'm running away
I've got to get home
I'm lost in a crowd
But I'm still on my own
I'm looking ahead
So I'm staying behind
I'm not being cruel
I'm just being kind
I realise
It's no surprise
That nothing's clear
That black is white
That day is night
And there is here
The best disguise
It's no surprise
Is disappear
Can't count the times
I've tried to hide
And found nowhere
I close my eyes
It's no surprise
I'm always there
Can't count the times
I've tried to hide
And found nowhere
I realise
It's no surprise
That nothing's clear
That black is white
That day is night
And there is here
The best disguise
It's no surprise
Is disappear
Can't count the times
I've tried to hide
And found nowhere
song performed by by UB40 from Guns In The Ghetto
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Once Looked At A Face
I once looked at a face
which in a single glance spoke volumes to me,
the traffic lights, the cars
the other people on the sidewalk
went by unnoticed
The glittering of her eyes
their colour and expression
her slender nose, her dimpled cheek
her lustrous dark hair
made a lasting impression
as if I was looking at an ideal form
but there was more to it than just that
and her sparkling laughter
the way that she threw her hair back
had an own significance
Yet more stunning was her actions
of which years later I am still trying
to decipher the meaning
as she walked up to me
flinging her arms around my neck
She drew my head down to hers
her perfume was enchanting
her lips sweet, soft and hot against mine
and there was a kind of electricity
while she kissed me
I was totally dumbfounded
while her laughter
was both sweet and serene
and she was a stranger to me
but extremely pretty
She looked at me
for another moment in excitement
with a smile on her lips
before she walked away
with swinging hips
poem by Gert Strydom
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A song of sadness
When stars appear at night
the garden still have a kind of beauty
when the evening flower opens pure,
when there is love between us.
There I forget any kind of pain
are surrounded by yellow-white jasmine
even when heartache brings tears to my eyes,
when there is love between us
There is the smell of lavender
that softly is carried by the evening breeze,
when I lift my eyes to God,
when there is love between us
In times of pain and longing
the birds are still singing to each other,
under the big old yellow moon,
when there is love between us.
There I see stars sparkling blue,
I never become bitter,
even when death suddenly comes,
when there is love between us.
Still memories are gliding,
as if it can bring you back again,
although my days continue alone,
when there is love between us.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Witchcraft: I See Myself Reflected
I see myself reflected in your green eyes,
in times of tears, also in times of joy
and wonder at the powers you employ
to bring light to me, to the darkest skies
and although your words hit deep without lies,
your smile at times may be but a decoy,
but your feelings comes without any ploy
as something quite strange where the self dies
where love becomes a kind of witchery,
that offers everything totally selfless
and gives without any hesitation
in everything that you do for me
bringing energy, a sweet kind of rest
when you are act without anticipation.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Helderberg Hill (Sestina)
You are the high hill with numerous peaks,
that in summer looks magnificent and cheery,
where I have climbed up to waterfalls, to heights,
where I got a view of sun, beach and sea,
felt as if in presence of God, with tranquillity
with your moods you remind me of a lady.
Once I wandered with a young lady
on a twisting trail among your high peaks
to find some inner peace, some tranquillity
and she was quite happy and rather cheery
gazing up at the blue sky, down at the sea
from both of those dazing heights.
Climbing up to the sheer heights
was like exploring the body of a lady
as if finding a secret kind of sea
with beautiful rising pointed peaks
and the experience was quite cheery,
suddenly leaving an own tranquillity.
My privacy is invaded by her tranquillity
as from far I still do watch her heights
and although feeling rather cheery
there is danger in this lovely lady
that beacons me with her high peaks
to look upon an endless open sea.
I long to gaze out upon the sea,
to be with her in tranquillity,
to wander among her peaks,
to again explore her heights
as if to visit a dear kind old lady
but I wonder if I will find her cheery?
But I must now continually stay cheery,
keep far away from the troubled sea,
avoid all of the dangerous heights
of live to be able to find tranquillity
but still the beautiful ageless lady
is luring me continually with her peaks.
How glimmering and cheery with ice her peaks
high above the sea, do glow from their heights,
she is without tranquillity, a chilly frozen lady.
poem by Gert Strydom
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You That I Love As My Very Own
You that I love as my very own,
happiness have made your face its sanctuary
while the golden sun has your hair as its throne
and in your gaze blue heaven is caught in tranquillity
while you are more lovely than any other girl that I have known
and your loving comes selfless and free
while your body is sublime with stars glittering on your gown
and I can hardly believe that you are in love with me.
Like a fragile butterfly whose colouring comes in millions of hues
you still remain after our time is spent
and although death and destiny has brought some issues
with a kind of painful intent
and other people about you have different views
I still wish for you to remain just another moment
and even some godly statues
of Diana, Aphrodite and Athena are dead and silent
while you still are speaking to my heart
with a kind of unknown power,
of me you are still a lingering part
while I feel your presence in every rain shower
while you sneak into my words, into my art
and I am near to you with every opening flower
where I catch your sent as if we will never really be apart
and still you are away from this world and your life is over.
poem by Gert Strydom
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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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I've Seen A Love
Edwin McCain
I've Seen A Love
That kind of love it makes me wonder
Why my love causes me so much pain
I see my ring as it spins on the table
A perfect circle on the dusty wood
Tells of a life, the love and the laughter
Cries my tears for the times that were good
Ive seen a love that rolls like thunder
Ive seen a love that falls like rain
That kind of love it makes me wonder
Why my love causes me so much pain
One gets lost, one gets lonely
In another world love remains
That kind of love takes away all your empty
That kind of love takes away all your shame
I've seen a love that rolls like thunder
I've seen a love that falls like rain
That kind of love it makes me wonder
Why my love causes me so much pain
And our kind of love it burns like summer
Like I'm rolling down some old heartache road
And all my running and my demons
Can't seem to lift it
Can't seem to lift that love
I've seen a love that rolls like thunder
I've seen a love that falls like rain
That kind of love it makes me wonder
Why my love causes me pain
song performed by by Edwin McCain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That Kind of Man
you will fall in love to that kind of man
and wouldn't much care about me
you always fall in love to that kind of man
and it can't be changed
though you desperately cry and search another man
you never hear what I said
because you must love that kind of man
it will never change
though so many times you fall in love
and so many times your heart broken
you always attracted to that kind of man
and you don't have to care about me
so don't complaint and stop deny
if you are falling in love again to that kind of man
because your heart only made
to love that kind of man
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Eyes Of Mr D (Part 1)
They took the cotton gauze away
from his closed eyes.
“You can open them now Mr D.”
He opened his eyes to see hazy figures there,
black and grey images, and nothing more.
A gentle and kind voice, asked him what he saw.
“Hazy images>“He replied.
“It will be like that for a little while,
and then they will begin to clear.”
Each day his sight got better, the
haze began to clear.
Then the colour came,
and a rainbow spectrum appeared before his eyes,
of things he could never see.
A light shone through his life,
of things he had never known.
A new awakening
with images to fit the sounds.
His mind began to wonder
where his new eyes had come from.
They were not allowed to tell him,
who the donor was or anything about them.
Finally, he was released from hospital.
He went back to his flat
where he had to learn again,
where everything was now that he could see.
He smiled at the white walking stick.
He would keep it as a reminder
of how lucky he was.
Sitting in his chair in the sunshine,
as it came through the window.
Then it happened.
It was as if he were in a dream.
The images lost their colour.
He was in a place he had never seen before.
Hands reached out around the neck,
of a face he could not see.
It seemed as if
they were strangling the life out of someone there.
The body struggled and then went limp.
On the body, falling, the face was now revealed.
A young pretty face
distorted in the throes of death.
poem by David Harris
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At Times You Are Full Of Love (Rondeau)
At times you are full of love and you treat me kind
and I easily follow your state of mind,
fall under your charming spell
and although I know you well,
broken things do me of your anger remind.
There are so many things that to you I want to tell,
the depths of your soul at times I want to find
and I hate it when you scream and yell;
at times you are full of love.
I love you too much to leave you behind
but at times on your teeth you do grind
and at times you treat my like hell,
yet at other times you are like a fragile shell
and my whole life to you I want to bind;
at times you are full of love.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Letter To A Dream Named Anna
My dear sweet Anna,
You are like a dream come true, but I fear that you are just a dream. A dream I had one night so long ago. How I wish that you were real to me for I could devote the rest of my life with a woman like you. If I had the world I would lay it at your feet. A woman as beautiful as your self can only be a dream. All my waking hours I dream of a lovely lady like you.
I would fly you away to my arms if I could. I have not the means to do such a thing so you remain a dream. A dream I wished I could have, but I have to face reality each day knowing you are so far away. I am hunted by your spell over me. You are a dream that I wish never to wake from. For if I were to pass away in my dream, I would die a happy man knowing an angel loved me once.
To hold and kiss you would be heaven divine. Your lips are perfect and sensuous. Your eyes are warm and welcoming. Your face men would die for. Your hair is so perfect and neat. You are so sultry and sexy only to be found in a dream. What else could any man ask for? I am but a mere mortal touched by an angel for you are like a wisp of the wind. You can be felt but never touched.
You are too lovely to be a lone. Any man that would pass you up is a fool. How I have prayed and wish you were real. How I wish you were that dream that came true. How I wish that when I wake from my dream I saw your lovely face looking back at me for then I would know that I have truly died and went to heaven. I would know that all my prayers are now answered. O’ what a lovely day that would be, but you are just a dream and I am awake now.
dreams
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Missing Her… (Sextilla / Sestet)
The softness of her fleeting kiss
has got a kind of sheer pure bliss
her sea green eyes, her lovely face
are still in my thoughts all day long,
while we together do belong
and to her there’s a kind of grace.
She is in my dreams every night,
in a kind of tranquil delight,
she puts my life in disarray,
with her passionate moans and sighs
the lingering look in her eyes
that comes to me every day.
She desires to carry my name,
burns in my heart like a pure flame,
there’s sadness in every goodbye
when for work we have got to leave
but she is back on every eve,
in beauty with the fading sky.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Dreaming's Art
He could see
that she loved him;
no, more like Idol Worship.
'You' she said
'are the Man of my Dreams
my Prince Charming.
Everything you touch
turns to gold
including me.
I laid down my heart for you
hand pressed my soul for you,
danced round your Maypole
like a young girl in spring.
You populated my every dream;
you in my eyes-
could do no wrong or harm-
you were my dreams' dream.
He: said:
I see now my dear
this was Dangerous Praise
and Deadly Love
at least for me.
I felt in love too
but more with your
image of me,
not as I really was.
And so as not to disappoint
I pretended to believe
the image of me
dancing in your eyes
but in doing so
I participated in
the subterfuge;
creating someone
who was only a facsimile
of the real me
who
then
went into hiding
dreading to be discovered.
To you I was your hero-
the one to up-end every wrong
and we
busily,
both of us,
constructed
white picket fences
in the blue, blue sky.
She:
'I believed you were my superman,
you said so too.'
He:
'I said so because you seemed
to need me to be that fantasy,
and I had no heart to disappoint
that precious dream
you had of me.
She:
'But you did disappoint because I began
to see
that you were not superman
or perfect even.
He:
'And that disappointment in your eyes
was too much for me.
Too much for me to bear.
In time
resentment came
because why should I
live to be another's dream
even the dream of the one I love?
And you too
were not perfection's dream
you too in time
were revealed to me
as merely a woman
a person, not perfect,
not a dream.'
She:
And there we stood the both of us
pouring hurt and harm
on each other as human beings
preferring to cling to our perfect
dream scheme;
even as we came to understand
Misplaced Dreams are not dreams at all
but potential nightmares.
She looked at him,
with her deep, sad eyes
saying:
'Do you think you could love me
if my beauty fades
if my breasts succumb to gravity;
if other women to you
siren call?
He said 'Could you still love me
if in morning light
my paunchy eyes
and thick waist
become pronounced
and lumpy high?
So these two in fading light
allowed themselves
to contemplate
Irony's Twists
and the struggle between
what our dreams want
and who we really are;
so much at stake here
so little it takes
to merely
accept
that dreams are not real;
people are.
This is not to say
dreams must die.
Rather only dream
that dream
which constitutes Love’s Art
which comes with the words:
'I shall love you
til death do us part.'
That too
is a dream:
True,
True Love
imparts.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Some Kind Of Friend
Music by Barry Manilow
Lyrics by Adrienne Anderson
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I saw you at the Beechwood Cafe
You looked at me and then you looked away
That was some kind
Some kind of friend you turned out to be
You said you had places that you had to be
Now who is gonna be there for me
That was some kind
Some kind of friend you turned out to be
Lady that was some kind
Some kind of friend you turned out to be
Baby that was some kind
Some kind of friend you turned out to be
They say that women like you can't get enough
Got your Maserati built for two
They say that women like you like to play
with love
Is that true?
When I ran into you the other day
You smiled at me but you had nothing to say
That was some kind
Some kind of friend you turned out to be
Tell me why'd you do what you did to me
Covered up your life so I couldn't see
Now that was some kind
Some kind of friend you turned out to be
Lady that was some kind
Some kind of friend you turned to be
Baby that was some kind
Some kind of friend you turned out to be
I never should have let you get to me
Nevershould have let you bring me down
Didn't know that I was just some fantasy
That you found.
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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