The spoor
We were flown in
by a Puma helicopter
hot on the tracts
of a group of terrorists
who had attacked some farms.
A Bushman tracker was in the front
on the spoor, armed with a old R1,
two of the section
was armed with LMG’s
and I carried the a short barrel R5
and it was very hot
under a merciless sun.
The tracker told us
that one of the enemy
was wounded and at places
we saw drops of blood
and it looked
as if he was dragging his leg
in the way that he walked.
The going was fast
as we didn’t want to let them pass
the chop line back into Angola
and we were at a jog.
Suddenly in the distance
there was a firefight
and some shots rang out
sounding like AK-47’s
and locking our weapons
we hastened,
not knowing if another patrol
or who or what
had run into the enemy.
When got on the scene
the wounded terrorist was dead
trampled by a African Buffalo
who gored him
before setting on its enemy’s tracts.
He was left behind
by the group
who had come across an African Buffalo
and had fired at it,
only wounding that black beast
and had run away in the front of it.
The Bushman smiled and shook his head
laughing because of the actions
of the stupid terrorists
and we were hot on the tracks
of the Buffalo
following through a rocky dried out wadi
past some bushes
and into longer grass
when suddenly the eyes of the tracker
went huge as saucers
and he turned around
stumbled past me
and dropped his gun
on the ground right
next to me
running as if for his life.
This was quite awkward
seeing a man run
who had fought numerous
firefights with me
without a whimper of fear
now running as if
the devil himself
was on his heels
but the Buffalo
had turned around
on its tracks.
I saw that African beast
with eyes glaring almost red
and nostrils wide open
and horns lowered
and knew that my rifle
wouldn’t stop it
and if I didn’t I would be dead,
but the R1 would probably
since its larger full metal jacket bullets
could rip right through trees.
It must have been the quickest
that I have ever
picked up a gun
exchanging it for mine
bringing it to my shoulder
and started firing
and I could scarcely
believe my luck
when that buffalo bull
dropped there at my feet.
[References: R1= A rifle similar to the Belgian FN. R4= A rifle similar to the Israeli Gaelil. R5= a Shorter barrelled version of the R4 with folding stock, sometimes used by paratroopers and other special force soldiers. LMG= Light Machinegun. Chop line= Cleared aria on the border between South West Africa (now Namibia) and Angola.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On a spoor
We were hot on a fresh spoor
and the bushman tracker said
that the enemy were not far ahead
when we crossed through some dense bush
under some trees
and looking up I saw something on a branch
camouflaged, dappled into the shade
and yellow eyes peered down at me
filled with rage, with energy
and astounded more than anything
I brought the gun to bear,
but the pent up energy,
melted with languid grace
right into the tree
as if it wasn’t aware of me, aware of us
and we walked on past a clearing
into the open veldt where hip high grass
was interrupted by some green thorn bushes.
A huge male lion came bursting
out of one of the bushes
with swishing tale running at full speed
and we all froze in our strides with weapons ready
and it was almost
as if the light machinegun’s trigger was tempting me
to shoot the raging storming animal down
and at that moment I was relieved
that it was not the leopard that would jump,
from one of us after another at sheer speed
and at quick succession try to kill us all
being a expert at baboon hunting
and thus at killing primates
but the tracker had signalled for all of us
to wait when he saw it
and that party of special force soldiers
was ready to kill when that lion
came to a halt with swishing tail right in front of me
and I can still smell its foul breath
when it roared with wide-open jaws
and terror hit my stomach like a mighty fist
and I could have cut it down
blasting it right from the ground
but the ferocity, the beauty of that beast
halted me as if I was watching it in a dream
and I watched its yellow fangs and pink tongue
totally motionless trying to stare it down
and suddenly it turned around
walking back into the veldt
timid and kitten-eyed
disappearing into the grass, melting into it
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A War Story
There’s a story that have being told
(and I do not know if there is truth to it) ,
that after the slaughtering
of the 47th FAPLA / Cuban brigade at the intersection
of the Lomba and Cuzizi Rivers in Angola,
the mauling of several brigades on the way
to Cuito Cuanavale and the destruction
of that military airfield, the loss of many soldiers,
the destruction of nine Mig fighters
and the loss of huge amounts of Soviet equipment
Fidel Castro was very angry and in a terrible rage
brought his Cuban soldiers in Angola
up to fifty thousand, sent four hundred tanks
and his best pilots to Angola,
after the South African forces had withdrawn
which resulted in the Mig-23 attack
on the Calueque dam
in South West Africa (now Namibia) ,
where a Buffel troop carrier was lost
along with some South African soldiers.
According to the story in vengeance
a team of elite South African
Reconnaissance Commandos
was HALO dropped equipped with
the Fim-92 Stinger anti-aircraft systems
that UNITA had supplied to them,
along with some other weapons and equipment
that these special force soldiers do normally carry
to shoot down MIG-23’s
and Hind attack helicopters
that was putting UNITA under attack
and it has been told that they were dropped
near to an enemy airbase under the nose
of the large Russian aircraft that was scanning
the air for any approaching enemy activities
where they shot down
several fighter jets and attack helicopters,
but that the section-leader
left one pilot to fly off after seeing him
making a cross, begging God for mercy.
The Reconnaissance Commandos managed to withdraw,
were extracted at the allocated extraction point
without any further incident with either FAPLA
or any Cuban enemy units
but the story gets much more interesting.
It is told that while that Recce section-leader
was holidaying in the United States
he took a taxicab from the airport to his hotel,
where the driver (a former Cuban pilot) recognized him
and that he had left Cuba as a refugee.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Buffalo Gal
Buffalo {repeat 16 times}
Buffalo gal,
Youve had your fun
Your buttons undone
And the times right for slaughter
Buffalo gal
Youre thirsty and theres no more water
Like the lamb on the altar
And its sad to see you looking down and feeling blue
Try your best to get on up and see it through
In a while you might smile and see the sun
Oww, the day has begun
{chorus}
And buffalo gal,
Theyre closing down the old dance hall
Ummm, buffalo gal,
What we gonna do now?
Buffalo gal,
Due to these circumstances
Theres no more dances
Buffalo gal,
[buffalo] all your chances of further romances
Will have to be nil
til I can get it sung
Is a shame your only claim to fame is jessie james
You know his middle name
Thats very strange
Stranger, you knew a friend called the friendly ranger
Oh, ya shared the danger
{repeat chorus}
Buffalo {repeat 16 times}
Buffalo gal,
You must try a big step
Youve got a big jump ahead
Buffalo gal,
The show left town
Spreading sunshine all around
And its bad to see ya, ooh, lookin blue
Dry your eyes and Ill apologise for all the lies
Try a smile and in a while, just in a while
Youll be smiling through
Ooh, buffalo gal,
Theyre closin down the old dance hall [buffalo {repeat 10 times} gal, gal]
And buffalo gal,
Oh, you look so good somehow [buffalo {repeat 9 times} gal]
Oh buffalo gal,
Oh, thats such a pretty dress [buffalo {repeat 8 times} gal]
Buffalo gal,
The show left town [buffalo {repeat 8 times} gal, gal]
Buffalo gal,
Take a picture
Of buffalo gal [buffalo {repeat 10 times}]
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Enemy Tracks (Quatern)
There are many tracks on the ground,
enemies could be anywhere,
the spoor does the tracker astound,
he looks carefully here and there.
To me the tracks look all the same,
there are many tracks on the ground,
I do not know from where they came,
how enemies are to be found.
To the tracker it is renowned,
the way that it is set, its line
there are many tracks on the ground,
to me looking almost as mine.
We drink water under a tree
find a booby trap tightly bound
that almost is disposing me,
there are many tracks on the ground.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Carrion
a Enemy soldier lies motionless
and his limbs are twisted,
reaching for the last
energy of live
and a hand still holds a gun.
Blood and guts
are splattered about,
where a mortar bomb
hit home
and some flies gather.
The strong sulphur smell
mixed with fried human
burns my nose,
where smoke rises
from a shot out
enemy battle tank.
Another tank stand moveless
with its barrel
still aiming somewhere
and the remains
of its occupants hatched inside.
About a hundred Cuban tanks
and twice that much
enemy armoured cars,
stand lifeless in the African bush.
The battle scene is a graveyard
and my Ratel tank destroyer drives past,
to cross the Lomba river.
Before nightfall I fight
the darkness of my soul
and struggle with God
and to this day,
still no one can answer why.
[References: => Ratel tank destroyer=>Ratel ZT-3 (the anti-tank guided missile version) . Reference are given here to the “battle for Africa, ” fought by 61 South African mechanized battalion group and 32 South African battalion group against four brigades of the Soviet-led FAPLA forces (the 47th,59th,16th and 21st brigades) in Angola in August 1987.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On patrol in the African bush
The LMG was getting heavy and hot
in my hands
and somehow the H-frame
became a part of my shoulders and back
and the stinging and unremitting African sun
was taking the last moisture out of us.
From nowhere some gnats appeared
and hang circling,
above our heads
Thirst was burning my throat
like scraping sandpaper,
but we could smell the river
and its cold water
looked inviting to us.
We were spread in an attack formation
and the squad was armed with
two LMG’s, a mortar
and R1-assault rifles.
The enemy tracks disappeared
near to the river
and we swerved to comb the banks,
to find the crossing point.
and we were at our nerves edge
and ready for fighting action.
Some tiny ripples appeared in the river
before the water at the riverside erupted
and three menacing happy snapper’s,
came fighting mad from the tranquil river.
Out of the nearest bush
an angry young lion rushed,
dragging a young gemsbok
away from the river.
With snapping jaws three crocodiles,
went for the astonished lion.
The lion roared in anger
and stood its ground,
but there were three jaws
opening and closing
with snapping teeth.
We froze and stared astounded
and saw the lion
tearing away into the bush
and the crocodiles dragging the buck
into the water.
[References=> LMG=> Light machinegun, R1 rifle=> Similar to Belgian FN-rifle]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Where they had passed
While on patrol
I found a buffalo’s empty cranium
left by hyenas, jackals,
vultures and other carrion eaters
and the section camped
and made a small fire right next to it.
We heated some food from our ration packs
in a fire bucket, killed the fire,
spreading sand over the burning tablets
and slept under a starry sky
with weapons close at hand
and the next morning enemy terrorist tracks
were treaded right next to my head
where they had passed without noticing us.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ballade of the guard commander
II
At dusk the sun sets fiery red
behind the bushes
where in beauty it brings tranquillity to the bush-veldt.
There are guards that I inspect as commander
where they stand neatly in a platoon
and I look at them one after the other and then right through them
walk to the guardroom on top of the shooting tower
and in the camp in the operational aria
every thing is in order, the guards are capable.
Early in the evening another officer
comes and plays a game of chess
and we drink icy glasses of beer
but when it gets later their is silence and peace
as if it’s just another evening in a thousand
and for some time I am still attentive to my duties
until the shadows draw out long against the walls,
my non commissioned officer starts to yawn
and I lie down on my camping bed
telling him to take charge, while I get tired
and sleep closes my eyes,
when an explosion wakes me.
II
Somewhere in the camp another bomb explodes,
I grab my firearm instruct the shooting tower to start firing
and fear is in me – that the general is going to come.
Tracers cut tracks through the night
torches are fired into the sky
and outside it’s bright as day
and we fire into the bushes
while I cannot determine where the enemy is
and do not really know where the firefight had started.
In the camp another bomb explodes,
I see a trooper throwing a hand grenade
and I am totally astounded
and fear is in me – that the general is going to come,
what am I going to say about what is happening here,
what am I going to report about the men below him?
It’s clear that it’s no enemy attack
and on the watchtower I lift my rifle
and when it resounds it’s an own man, an acquaintance
that I shoot down before he throws some more hand grenades
and everybody thinks that an enemy bullet pierces him,
while they shoot into the bushes and fire at will.
III
The morning is grey
and rainy when the day breaks
while there’s fear in me
where I have got to give account
about wounded men in three tents
and the death of one I carry with me,
while soldiers are on patrol in the bushes
and with a knob in my throat,
I know that no enemy is there and feel tired.
When I notice a helicopter it is clear that the general is coming
and the Lord knows that I had to shoot an own man,
but what will I show him of the preparedness of the camp?
With narrowed eyes
we wait on the parade ground
and eight of my men are wounded.
The dust rises from the turning blades
while the helicopter lands
and the blades turn slower.
Out of the cloud of dust three figures walk
with the general looking inexorable,
while my ears sing from the noise of the aircraft.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A shot rang out like lightning out of a gun
Goodbye to the land where the sun always shine,
to the blue sky that always is bright,
goodbye to the light that comes every day
and hello to that midnight which is cold and dark.
A shot rang out like lightning out of a gun
fading the sun while white vapour rose
out of a shot out armoured car,
I couldn’t close my eyes or look away.
Goodbye to that enemy tank stopped in its tracks
against a bank of earth
while my armoured car’s gun rang out
sending a phosphorus shell with fire from hell.
A rocket flew past with a flaming tail
like a star falling from the sky
before exploding against a tree with a blast
and goodbye to the enemy soldiers who fired it
while we moved past at speed
with a machinegun howling a great cry.
I heard that enemy commander weeping over the radio
while his frequencies were blocked
being in shock
and sounding like the voices of many men
crying in the anguish of death
as if a deadly net had been cast
and I wish that I could understand Spanish
but the noise was ear-splitting
and it was goodbye to tank after tank
and goodbye with blast after blast and going in quick
stopping, firing and running away fast
and every enemy armoured car we found
only got one shot
till the last shell had being fired
and tired we went to fetch some more,
ate in a hurry before being wished good luck
and going back to war.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Buffalo Grass
Saw you once and you looked so sweet
Saw you twice and I felt complete
Three times thought Id get some peace
Dozen times and theres no release
And I was already gone
And life goes on in white and black
Cloaking the stealth of your attack
The tendrils creep through every crack
And every time I cut you off
You grow right back
Like buffalo grass
You crawled across my heart
Oh like buffalo grass
Wrapped yourself around my heart
Day goes by and I think I feel clean
Week goes by and I feel serene
Month goes by like youre just a dream
Year goes by Im back on my knees
When I was already gone
But since you first infected me
Weve been connected karmically
Should I escape your gravity
In every other solar system
There youll be
Like buffalo grass
You crawled across my heart
Oh like buffalo grass
Wrapped yourself around my heart
Like buffalo grass
You crawled across my heart
Oh like hele hele
Cat claw across my heart
Empires fall and the roach will rule
Lifetimes pass and Im still your fool
Universe collapses in a silvery pool
Watering the root that connects me to you
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Under a African sky
The sun burns furious
and the harsh reality,
of a live in the semi desert
of the Kalahari
is set in my mind.
There are some bushes
growing in this arid land,
with red sand
stretching as far
as the eye can see,
but they are riddled
with large white thorns.
A Group of bushmen trackers
are gathered round a fire
and are drinking tea,
near to the huts
where they live.
It’s time to go and we set out
into the bush,
with two trackers
running in the lead.
One is carrying my R5 rifle
and we follow
in a fighting formation,
with armoured fighting vehicles
and armoured cars.
The LMG becomes heavy
in my hands
and sweat are running
down my cheeks.
Every hour or so
the trackers are changed
and we keep following the tracks,
for hours without end
and then reality is frozen.
Rpg-7 rockets whistle past
and the sound of enemy
AK-47 rifles and mortars,
are almost everywhere.
We return fire at dark dots
and every moving thing
becomes prostrate
and the dead enemy are gathered
and I feel like puking;
and some troops are smoking
and it’s just another day
under a African sky.
[LMG=> Light Machine Gun]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My buddies (a reply to Boris Slutsky)
All young white men at a time
was forced into the military, into war
or had to serve a three year jail term
and most of my buddies came home,
but some did not:
Parachuting into a enemy camp
there was one close friend that died,
the other three I hardly knew
and to the government it was
an incidental small thing against
seven hundred and fifty
enemy SWAPO and Cuban casualties
and on one patrol one close buddy
stepped on a landmine
were blown up and no one else was hurt,
and to the government it was
an incidental small thing against
the enemy that had lost
little lest than a full platoon.
In Angola when we met enemy armour,
turned FAPLA / Cuban divisions
under Soviet leadership into junk
I saw a Ratel armoured car
that was trapped in a landmine field
that had been shot out
with the holes
were enemy tank projectiles went in
and every one inside was burnt, incinerated
if not blown to bits, turned into ash
and it had been only one of eleven
armoured cars
and troop carriers that was lost
some of only thirty-one soldiers dead
but there was pain that flashed through me
when I saw it
and to the government it was
an incidental small thing against
four thousand seven hundred and eighty five killed
on the Cuban/FAPLAN side,94 tanks
and hundreds of enemy combat vehicles destroyed
and now no one thinks
of the sacrifice that all of these soldiers made,
of the hundreds of thousands
of returning citizen force soldiers
who were nuts, bomb happy
with post traumatic stress syndrome
or whatever you want to call it
as to the government it is
an incidental small thing,
that happened in a distant past
as if the ex-soldiers are non-existing,
even seen as apartheid criminals by some.
[References: Buddies here used as name used in the South African Defence Force for comrades. Ex-soldiers here used instead of war veterans, as in African circles the word war veterans has got a new derogatory meaning connected to it. My Comrades by Boris Slutsky.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It’s quiet, very quiet in the veldt
It’s quiet, very quiet in the veldt
even the crickets and grasshoppers
are without sound
and the chopper drones away
leaving me and Johnny
and a few other men
with a Bushmen tracker
to follow a enemy spoor
and suddenly we walk straight in
to a ambush, right into a trap
and Johnny is dead, shot through the head
and three others as well and it feels as if I am in hell
and I am talking to myself
trying to get my bearings while firing at the enemy,
killing some and throwing two grenades
to advice them of my serious intentions
and the enemy shooting stops, as does that
of me and my men and I smell death
and are nauseous to the point of retching
and it’s quiet, very quiet in the veldt
even the crickets and grasshoppers
are without sound.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My shoes
My shoes were brought to me on order
from Zimbabwe by a missionary,
a man who sell bibles
and sometimes give them away,
just before Robert Mugabe
did root out the manufacturers and sellers
and the rest of my order went to waste
with another pair of buffalo leather shoes
and a buffalo leather jacket as well.
The black handmade elephant leather shoes
do tread far roads with me,
they try to walk on the tracks
of my deceased father,
try to stand up with integrity
like my late grandmother wanted.
The other day I had them re-soled,
to lay down some more tracks
and the elephant leather
might last a life time
and I wonder how the future
folds open before them?
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Steel Citizen
Steel Citizen disappeared on the other side
of the border
and some people thought,
that he was shot to pieces
on the other side of the chop line,
but Steel Citizen was an unconquerable man
and strong like his name
and one day
he just took the road home.
He walked hundreds of kilometres
through the field
and lived from the bush
and didn’t set any landmines off
and one day a hardened man
with a LMG in his hands
and a knife in one of his boots
and a savage beard
walked past me
and his eyes were dead
without any life
and he didn’t want to talk
or wanted anything from me
and just walked on
with bigger steps into the distance.
It was clear that it was Steel Citizen
and that he was fed up with war and death
and more bomb happy than most
and I hope,
that he found his rest somewhere
and are not still
walking along.
[Reference: Chop line= Cleared border line. LMG=> Light machine gun. Bomb happy=> Post traumatic stress disorder.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Stop Dead
Stop!
Stop!
Stop dead,
Stop stop stop stop stop stop
I pulled up at a west end junction (seeker of attention)
A full body kit and bass bins pumping (size up competition)
Come on red light, get into green,
I hit the brake, I must be dreaming..
Im stop! (stop), dead! (dead), in my tracks (in my tracks)
Got to fix on you.
Dont wanna loose you, from my sight
Where ya going to?
Gotta know now..
Stop! (stop), dead! (dead), in my tracks (in my tracks)
Got to fix on you.
Dont wanna loose, you from my sight
Where ya going to?
Oh-oh-oh
Ive got my eyes on the action (killer reputation)
Heat crazed in full satisfaction (become a phaser? )
Do what you do and do it to me,
Body in motion, now you see me
(chorus)
Gotta know know.. stop!
Come on now, come on now
Come on now, come on now
Wise up to remain young victim (come on, ways of attraction)
A full scale attack on the system (come on, no one visor? )
Do what you do and do it to me,
Im into red line territory
And im..
(chorus)
Stop!, dead in my tracks again,
Im stop dead in my tracks
Stop!, in my tracks (yeah)
Im stop dead in my tracks
(oh-oh) gotta know know..
Stop! (stop), dead! (dead), in my tracks (in my tracks)
Stop! (stop), dead! (dead), in my tracks (in my tracks)
Stop! (stop), dead! (dead), in my tracks (in my tracks)
Stop! (stop), dead! (dead), in my tracks (in my tracks)
Stop! (stop), dead! (dead), in my tracks (in my tracks)
Stop! (stop), dead! (dead), in my tracks (in my tracks)
Stop! (stop), dead! (dead), in my tracks (in my tracks)
song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The visit
You were residing in Anne Fisher house
and I in Salisbury
at the private university
lying at the foot
of Helderberg mountain.
I bought a box of chocolates
early one night
at a Café in Somerset West
and they even wrapped it
and while the sun
was still high in the sky
I went to visit you.
The student on duty
called you
over the microphone
and suddenly you looked shy
but was quite happy
to see me.
We walked out on the ramp
leading to the foyer
and you had a white jacket on
and stood chatting
in the open,
and we were just
a guy and a girl
that was falling in love.
I could see the beach
over your shoulder
and the blue sea
but my attention
was on your smiling face
and your mesmerizing eyes.
You gave me a quick kiss,
just a peck on the lips
to say thank you
and my heart sang
but suddenly
a camera flashed
catching us.
A day later
I was called in
by the men’s dean
and he spread
some photos
on his desk
out in front of me.
There was anger in his eyes
and he said
that my ridiculous relationship
with you must end immediately.
If I went out of my way
to do something seriously wrong
I would have been able
to understand his reaction,
but for trying to date you
and for a moment
I was dumfounded.
“I have proof that you were
closer than three meters to her
and you even kissed her
and it’s totally against the policy.”
Before coming to University
I was called up by the military,
completed two years of service
and I wasn’t a boy
after seeing action in the war
in South West Africa
and in Angola.
I told him
that he just as well
can stop the ridiculous relationship
with his wife.
He was well built
and probably a fitness freak
and got up so suddenly
that his chair
went to the ground.
His hands was on my chest
and he rammed me
into the wall
pushing his face
into mine
screaming: “Say that again.”
My anger went away
but the calm was the same
with which I had faced
the enemy
and in my eyes
he saw death
coming on.
“Take your hands of me, ”
I said to him
and didn’t have
to say anything more
and he stepped away,
closed his eyes
and prayed for me
and then dismissed me.
[Note: The sun at times in summer sets at eight (20h00) in the Cape Town aria.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!