The Voortrekker (in answer to Tony Harrison)
A track from a kraal
goes direct into the veldt
decked in blood
from the remains of cattle.
The sick Boer walks alone,
now abandoned of dog,
children, farm labourers
with a.303 rifle wavering in his hands.
Somewhere in dense green bushes
in front of him to the right
lions roar and at speed
one, two and three more
appear with tails flashing like whips.
The rifle is still wavering in his hands
but an expert eye finds the sight
with the trigger at his finger tip,
the exploding sound of bullet after bullet
are followed by a whack and some great roars
and the lions are no more
and like his fathers protected in God’s hand,
although outnumbered many times
by natives and wild beasts
stand a lonely believing man.
[Reference: Voortrekker by Tony Harrison.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
In a far off summer
These are the fields, bushes and trees
where a boy cried heartbroken
in a far off summer,
when the bull
swiped his darling filly
with its horns
while she was drinking
at the trough
and that horse fell twitching
on her back
with her guts ripped out
and she had to be shot
and his older brother
brought the.303 rifle
with only one bullet
and was determined
to take the shot,
but the filly moved her head
and the bullet when up her nose
and there was blood everywhere
while she neighed in pain
and he ran as fast as he could
while weeping
to get some more bullets
and without a word
took the rifle from his older brother
put a bullet in the slot and cocked it
brought the firearm to his shoulder
and took a deep breath
before squeezing the trigger.
His favourite horse was slain
and the pain was great
and almost unbearable for him
and his brother tried to comfort
but there wasn’t anything
that he could do or say
to take that pain away.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A hunting expedition
Far off in the bush veldt near to Marken,
where the red sand lies like sea sand,
a young hunter on a day
takes a old.303 rifle with open sights
and walks following a tracker,
that they call a guide,
past green thorn trees
with long white camel-thorns
to where a impala
is standing against a hillock
and he aims for a headshot
and I say to him: “shoot for the shoulder-blade”
but he doesn’t listen
and when the shot resounds
the antelope lowers its head
and the bullet whistles away from a rock plate
with the antelope
running away in a red brown stripe
disappearing into the bushes
and the bush veldt sun
burns without mercy down on us.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Sonnet: Clouds of Changes!
Great clouds of changes loom upon the earth;
Like hungry lions, pow’rful nations prowl,
In search of newer prey of recent birth,
To devour by tactics always foul!
But, lions are not always courageous!
They threaten new-born ewes and kids and foals;
They dare not hunt adult beasts treacherous;
At times, they stoop to eat wild-dogs in holes!
Should not such lions question their valor?
Should they not choose equals to challenge then?
Should they keep roaring at beasts in dolor?
A lion should not live out of its den!
Yet, Wild dogs too can chase lions away!
Though powerful, a fool must lose some day.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-15-2007
poem by John Celes
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Grandpa Danie Brand [2]
After taking part
as a youngster of sixteen
in the second Anglo-Boer war
where he had to spend nights in the open veldt
fired so much on the British
that his hands were full of blisters
from the rifle
of which the barrel got white hot
he married Lenie Swanepoel in 1918,
was really in love with her
and from 1926 he farmed on the farm Welgemeen
near to Steekdoorns in the Vryburg district
where he himself build his own homestead
from Josef’s stone and put up fences
and turned the wild veldt
into a viable farm.
Grandpa Danie did not have time
to sit on the porch,
as it goes with farming,
work took his attention constantly
and before early morning light
he was already in the fields
or at the diary busy with the cows
but was held in high esteem by the labourers
although he was strict.
On a day grandpa Danie
visited another farmer
to buy Afrikaner cattle from him
and while they walked into the lounge
of the other farmer’s house
he lit his pipe
whereupon the other farmer said to him:
“Mister Brand, I do not allow anybody
to smoke in my house”
and it was a big embarrassment to him,
so much so that while he was riding home on his horse,
busy driving the cattle with his workers
he stopped at a big rock
that rose into the air
and knocked his pipe against it
causing it to break in two pieces
and it was also the last time
that grandpa Danie did smoke.
When he got appendicitis
and his appendix erupted
grandma Lenie took great care of him
nursing him back to health
but he continually got pain
when he ate maize
and his brother Frans
who lived in Johannesburg
convinced him
to have a appendectomy
whereupon dressed in his black coat
grandpa Danie left for the hospital in Vryburg
and at the hospital
grandpa Danie got inflammation
and died from the operation wound
that got septic,
in a time before antibiotics
was discovered.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Flyleaf-Cassie(lyrics)
Flyleaf_Cassie(lyrics)
The question asked in order
To save her life or take it
The answer no to avoid death
The answer yes would make it
Make it
Do you believe in God?
Written on a bullet
Say yes to pull the trigger
Do you believe in God?
Written on a bullet
And Cassie pulled the trigger
All heads are bowed in silence
To remember her last sentence
She answered him knowing what would happen
Her last words still hanging in the air
In the air
Do you believe in God?
Written on a bullet
Say yes to pull the trigger
Do you believe in God?
Written on a bullet
And Rachael pulled the trigger
How many will die
I will die
I, I will say yes
And Cassie pulled the trigger
Do you believe in God?
Written on the bullet
And Rachael pulled the trigger
Do you believe in God?
Written on the bullet
And Cassie pulled the trigger
Do you believe in God?
Do you believe in God?
Do you believe in God?
And I will pull the trigger
poem by Alexandria Rios
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Lions
Lions like to eat
and to them meat is meat,
and the difference
between wild beast and man
does not matter at all.
When the Romans fed
Christians to the hungry beasts,
they ate them without
any remorse
and the difference
between Christian and sinner
did not matter at all.
When tourists leave their vehicle
in a animal park,
lions will kill and eat them
without any consideration
to chairman, president or millionaire;
like any natural prey.
Once a angel made lions
play like kittens with Daniel,
but before his enemies
touched the bottom
of the den,
they were broken into pieces.
[Reference=>“22 My God hath sent his angel, and hath shut the lions' mouths, that they have not hurt me: forasmuch as before him innocence was found in me; and also before thee, O king, have I done no hurt.
24 And the king commanded, and they brought those men which had accused Daniel, and they cast them into the den of lions, them, their children, and their wives; and the lions had the mastery of them, and brake all their bones in pieces or ever they came at the bottom of the den.” Daniel 6.22+24
poem by Gert Strydom
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The mountain pass
There are bullets that draw sparking lines
on the rocks next to him
and in the mountain pass,
Jan Pieterse and ten men
stand to keep
the English back.
The smoke of shots being fired
hangs like fog around him
and gunlock after gunlock,
are cocked time after time
and Jan Pieterse and his men
shoot carefully while the morning’s dusk appears.
At the bottom a Boer commando
goes through the river’s ford
and there are horse hoofs resounding
and a liddite bomb,
explodes like a flaming star
in the grey air
before the sun rises.
The dust clears
and the commando rides away
and it’s just Jan Pieterse and one comrade,
that is still alive
and they give their horses full reigns.
It’s only Jan Pieterse that gets away
and he turns his horse around,
chase back into the bullets
and liddite bombs
to get his mate.
With his wounded comrade
hanging over the front of his saddle
Jan Pieterse and each Englishmen
experience the first red rays of the sun
and his horse walks slowly on,
as if no bullet can touch him there
and nothing can kill a Boer hero.
The English stop shooting
and cheer about the bravery
of a enemy Boer,
that disappears with rifle in his hand
over the horizon.
[References: The historic heroic story of Jan Pieterse during the second Anglo-Boer war. The poem “Rit-rympie” by Toon van den Heever.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Bullet Train
Sunrise showing every flaw
Paying for the night before
Dark eyes, scanning every vein
Exploding - cannot stand the strain
With each new mile they death defy me
Standing on trial scrutinize me
And questionize my
Strong denial
Bullet bullet bullet train
Piercing through my brain
Windows illuminating stains
Breakdown closing in again
Freefall as I close my eyes
Voices talking many lies
Changing my course blurred and scorched
Breathing exhaust as we distort
By gravity
Of such g-force
Bullet bullet bullet train
Piercing through my brain
Breakdown close my eyes
Voices talking many lies
Stained glass bursting in
Shattering my world again
Freefall but never can
Ever reach the ground again
Dark eyes scanning in
Feel my mind explode within
Wanting much more i implore you
Near to deaths door to ignore
The screams of all
Who fall before
Bullet bullet bullet train
Piercing through my brain
Bullet bullet bullet train
Piercing through my brain
Bullet
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Salmon Van As
On a night just as the moon is rising
a British officer comes by horse with a white flag
and the rifle barrels of the Boers follow him,
as they are on guard at the front post.
Evening after evening he comes
and sometimes rides past in a cloud of dust
where he is spying on their positions
and tries to lead them astray with his chattering.
With words that by now they know:
“No nation will win against us.
Surrender tonight,
as you have already lost the war.”
On a hillock Salmon van As is at the front post
and something creaks below him in the trees and bushes
where he is standing with his Mauser rifle at the ready
and he knows of the atrocities of this Englishman
where with a thunder clap he shoots at him.
Some black men run back to the British camp
to tell the story of the shot,
where a red headed major stamps his feet in anger
and swears to God to take revenge.
Convinced of his own innocence Salmon van As
stays openly on his own farm,
where he goes on with his life in Heidelberg
and just after the peace of Vereniging,
when it fits the British,
they insist on his arrest.
He is brought before a military court
where he is not given any chance to defend himself,
as probably he would have succeeded in his own defence
and the British officer says his final say.
At daylight the Lee Metford rifles of the British soldiers fire
and like Gideon Scheepers there’s a Boer that falls,
a Boer citizen is murdered by the British
and in the cliff a thorn tree on his grave still tells that story.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Ballot Or The Bullet
Give me liberty or give me death
No truer words have ever been said
Well are you prepared for your very last breath?
Dont you dare start what you cannot finish
So when we face, face the adversary
No longer are we the minority
And when history repeats her hour
The pendulum will swing, swing into power
Though not in vain like our forefathers
Freedom, never had no room for cowards
For in the end, there will be equality
By any means necessary
The ballot or the bullet
The choice is up to you
The ballot or the bullet
Tell me what you gonna do
The sword or the pen
Can be held by the same hand
Whats it gonna take to liberate?
An emancipation, a false proclamation?
All these token words that you legislate
Sound a little bit absurd. hey! and a little too late
When a house is divided, it just will not stand
Once its decided, a line drawn in the sand
Ah! the ballot or the bullet
The choice is up to you
The ballot or the bullet
Tell me what you gonna do
The sword or the pen
Can be held by the same hand
The ballot or the bullet
The choice is up to you
The ballot or the bullet
Tell me what you gonna do
The ballot or the bullet
The choice is up to you
The ballot or the bullet
Tell me what you gonna do
The sword or the pen can be
The sword or the pen can be
The sword or the pen can be
The sword or the pen can be
The sword or the pen can be
Held, held by the same hand!
song performed by by Van Halen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Soldier Man
The rifle and the bullet
He handles with bravura;
A quintessence of a warrior,
A mighty man of valor;
Possessing the intelligence of a hundred men.
Come hell or high waters,
He's no superman,
But still remains a soldier~
A soldier man indeed!
poem by Kingsley Ayi
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The Heritage
I think of those incredible men
who lived out legendary lives
and with a whip, horse and oxen
a rifle or two and the black book in the haversack
crossed the wild plains, mountains and rivers
and conquered lions, buffalo and all savage beasts
and made their houses in the wilderness,
developing farms, towns and cities
and even faced deadly enemies in war
and wanted a life and nothing more,
but now they pass into the remembering,
becoming a piece of ancient history
and yet again we are facing savage men,
a self obsessed government
that inflicts unfair laws
and the power of that black book
stays eternally with us
and our families
and we are driven to our knees
having to trust and believe
that the almighty Lord is with us still
like our fathers did.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Ballad Of A Self-Loading Pistol
Father, i have come.
To tell you about somethin' i done.
Well as the night reared its light head
Into a baby's sun,
We rolled down into the town
From where the black throats come.
And you know there was a robb'ry.
There was a holdup.
Ooh, there was a shootout.
And there was a killin'.
And there's blood on my hands.
Today i killed a man.
Well now, sister, you know me well.
And you ask me well, how it was i felt.
Well, she had an appetite for lovin'
Only a fadin' beauty could posses.
She knew just what she wanted
And she wouldn't take less.
I figured it was a small town.
It was at sundown.
It was just a small crowd of people around.
Oh! but he wouldn't put his guns down.
No, he wouldn't put his guns down.
Oh, he wouldn't put his guns down.
Now his blood's on my hands.
Today i killed a man.
And, papa, you showed me the beauty of buckshot.
Well, that song a bullet sings as she whistles.
And showed me the story of the self-loading pistol.
Well now, father. i have come.
To tell you about somethin' i done.
He had a widow, runnin' through town screamin'.
He had a brother, and his tears were streamin'.
Now i'm movin' on the border
With a rifle on my shoulder.
'cuz, daddy, you showed me the beauty of buckshot.
The love song a bullet sings as she whistles.
And showed me the glory of the self-loading pistol.
And i just come to tell ya,
That it don't hurt no more.
No, it don't hurt no more,
'cuz your son, he's an outlaw.
Oh, your son, he's an outlaw.
Yes, your son, he's an outlaw.
Oh, your son, he's an outlaw.
Now, your son, he's an outlaw.
Oh, your son, he's an outlaw.
And this blood feels good on my hands.
Today i killed a man.
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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But if cattle and horses or lions had hands, or were able to draw with their hands and do the work that men can do, horses would draw the forms of the gods like horses, and cattle like cattle, and they would make their bodies such as they each had themselves.
quote by Xenophanes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Jungle
Dense shrubbery so profound
McCaws and Monkeys playing around
While a lions roar, shakes the ground
and hyenna's are laughing like circus clowns
The hissing sound of a giant snake
competing for food by a dirty lake
confronted by crocs, lousy fate
Too late...can't escape
All the Zebras with their camoflouge
strolling the plains with their antorouge
unknown to the Tigers, whom they quietly pass
going down to the lake, where the snake just was
A mountain Gorilla with his family
teaching survival seems an eternity
avoiding poachers, killing their kind
following the silverback's conyving mind
Now the Elephants roam the land
keeping their young close at hand
strolling in herds, towards the water
using their trunks as a long grass cutter
The birds prance because they are free
they can seek safety up on a tree
they can perch on a branch and outwardly see
if an enemy is near, so they can flee
The lions march in a healthy pride
after grabbing a deer, whom by their jaws, just died
they will take their nap by the lakes other side
waiting on victims whom no longer can hide
Dense shrubbery so profound
McCaws and Monkeys playing around
a lions roar trembles the ground
and from within the jungle, echoes the sound.
Charlie Vergara
Whitetiger productions
01.12.2009
33217
poem by White Tiger
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Time is on my Side
On times lap I soar
To a sight
Far beyond my height,
I have many years ahead
Time is on my side my dear
The lightning flashes
And the thunder roars.
Also the lions on he world
They roar
And leaped at me in rage
But still I live my dear.
I will never die until I reach my age
Time will be by me.
.
Time is on my side my dear
On times back I ride
To a sight far beyond my height.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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Ballad Of The Self-loading Pistol
Father, I have come.
To tell you about somethin I done.
Well as the night reared its light head
Into a babys sun,
We rolled down into the town
From where the black throats come.
And you know there was a robbry.
There was a holdup.
Ooh, there was a shootout.
And there was a killin.
And theres blood on my hands.
Today I killed a man.
Well now, sister, you know me well.
And you ask me well, how it was I felt.
Well, she had an appetite for lovin
Only a fadin beauty could posses.
She knew just what she wanted
And she wouldnt take less.
I figured it was a small town.
It was at sundown.
It was just a small crowd of people around.
Oh! but he wouldnt put his guns down.
No, he wouldnt put his guns down.
Oh, he wouldnt put his guns down.
Now his bloods on my hands.
Today I killed a man.
And, papa, you showed me the beauty of buckshot.
Well, that song a bullet sings as she whistles.
And showed me the story of the self-loading pistol.
Well now, father. I have come.
To tell you about somethin I done.
He had a widow, runnin through town screamin.
He had a brother, and his tears were streamin.
Now Im movin on the border
With a rifle on my shoulder.
cuz, daddy, you showed me the beauty of buckshot.
The love song a bullet sings as she whistles.
And showed me the glory of the self-loading pistol.
And I just come to tell ya,
That it dont hurt no more.
No, it dont hurt no more,
cuz your son, hes an outlaw.
Oh, your son, hes an outlaw.
Yes, your son, hes an outlaw.
Oh, your son, hes an outlaw.
Now, your son, hes an outlaw.
Oh, your son, hes an outlaw.
And this blood feels good on my hands.
Today I killed a man.
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bulletproof
Limb by limb and tooth by tooth
It's tearing up inside of me
Everyday, every hour wish that I
Was bullet proof
Wax me
Mould me
Heat the pins and stab them in
You have turned me into this
Just wish that it
Was bullet proof
Was bullet proof
So pay me money and take a shot
Lead-fill the hole in me
I could burst a million bubbles
All surrogate
And bullet proof
And bullet proof
And bullet proof
And bullet proof
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grandpa Danie Brand
When at sixteen
he had to survive in the field
many times he was hungry
he was delivered to the sun,
the wind and rain
and at times were half frozen,
but he took shots at Englishmen
(who burned their farm to the ground)
past when his gun barrel
were glowing white-hot
and burnt blisters on his hands
and those blisters
became open wounds
as he kept firing
and as a child
I saw those scars
and he was a man
who served God
and gave his tithe
and took good care of his workers,
but he could not tolerate an Englishman.
Still there’s something of him in me
to stand against
the oppression of my people
until it ends.
[Reference: Second Anglo-Boer war.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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