The yuppie in the grey land
I
The office door closes
behind the man that leaves embarrassed
and the yuppie smiles
and sees himself as a banker
and knows that he takes much more
than he gives.
The usury act is gone
and fifty percent interest on loans
is a nice thing
and if people want to be stupid
it fits him well
and something bothers him
and he ignores it
as silliness.
With a burning cigarette in his mouth
he gets into his shiny machine
and cut three cars of,
when his car leaves rubber tracts behind.
He blows the smoke out with pleasure
and his car stops at a red light,
where a blonde doll bends forward on the sidewalk
and he looks at two firm D-breasts
with hard nipples.
The lust froths in him
and he looks her out,
but she’s to near to forty
or maybe past it
and he grabs his cell phone
to get a number on it.
The whole time is playtime,
a lovely voice greets him
and he smiles
and ask if he can meet her
and makes an immediate appointment.
On the other side of the street
there’s a man with long hair,
a beard, t-shirt and jeans
and he snubs at him
and the man replies
Jesus saves
and when he drives away
he hears
peace to you mate.
II
a Beautiful blonde
waits for him at the door
and pushes a glass of KWV wine
into his right hand
and when the door closes behind them
he greets her with a hungry kiss.
She works alone from her house
and they go and sit
at her bar counter,
where he counts of some notes
and she pours a glass of Johnny Walker.
They chat and drink
and smoke for a while
as if he’s her boyfriend,
before they start spooning
and their clothes lie
in a line along the carpet to the bed
where he makes love to her.
His hands plays with her firm breasts
and big nipples
and they get intimate
past all pleasure
and when he showers later
she joins him and they play again.
In the lounge against the wall
there’s a painting
of a Madonna figure
and he looks at the golden cross
that hangs around her neck
and the words of the man at the traffic light
keep repeating in his mind.
They drink a few bottles of Johnny Walker,
before he walks on unsteady legs
to his car,
where she greets him with a kiss.
III
He drives through the suburb
near his house
and the car
is all over the road.
Near a school
he accelerates for the last bit
and hits a girl
that crosses at some zebra stripes.
It’s a terrible smash
and he’s really drunk
and the child lies lifeless
and he feels nauseous
and hear that the car’s engine
still running.
He knows that if the police
finds him at the accident,
he will be arrested and jailed
and the words of the man at the traffic light
hangs bitter over him.
IV
Suddenly there are people
about him
and when he drives away,
it’s too quick for somebody
to get the number
and in the distance
he hears the siren
of an ambulance getting near.
There are tears in his eyes
when he stops in his garage
and he is almost sober from fright
and looks at himself,
for the first time.
He stays in the dented car
and prays
and he doesn’t know
how to fix things,
but decides to try anyway.
[Reference: grey land=> a Place between right and wrong. Grey is somewhere between black and white.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
He’s past it
Werner is not unconscious
from drugs and liquor,
he’s past it
and a white ambulance
arrives with a flashing
red light.
He lies on the ground
in his own vomit
and urine
that lays yellow, orange and white
around him
and empty dark brown beer bottles
and a bottle of Johnny Walker
is broken
and the glass
stabs into his arm
and the man
on the label
walks past him
and blowflies
are everywhere on him
and a pot pipe
clings with vomit
to his mouth.
There’s an injection
with the needle
still in his vain
and his eyes are big and grey
and empty without life
while his right hand
clutches a guitar
as if he’s thinking
about the next chord
and there’s tiredness
and emptiness on his face.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Dreams [2]
As dreams go
I am again sitting in the windowsill
of our flat on the fourteenth floor
and below people rush by, small
like crawling ants
going to pleasure spots, restaurants
some to the movies
in the early evening hours.
Music plays from that sound system
build into the wall in the lounge,
turned up so loud, that even
the people below in the street
can hear every sound and word
and it’s alright as in dreams
you cannot disturb the neighbours
living above, beneath you and next door.
The sun dies somewhere over the sea
and twilight has its own romantic innocence
and just now, you will be rushing in
part of the pleasure of living
with a smile like a bright sun
enveloping your face
and there’s a chilled bottle of JC Le Roux champagne
with two glasses next to me
and when I hear the front door open
I pop the cork and pour some in
and the breeze frizzles my short hair
and suddenly I am aware
that you are right there next to me
from the alluring smell of your perfume
and our lips meet in a tender kiss
that is full of bliss
and with shiny eyes you take a glass from me
and its really okay and I know
that we are divorced,
but I am dreaming
and sometimes in reality
love doesn’t fade
and above us the stars are full of magic
as if anything can happen
and we see one moving past
and I give you a passionate kiss
but suddenly sunshine falls on my face
and the new day makes my dream
crumble to naught
and I am back at home
in a city, a thousand miles away from you.
[Reference: Dreams by Lisa Zaran.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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At times he is shattered, dumb from the impact of life
He zips his leather jacket
looks life right into the eyes
and when his motorcycle breaks
he feels like putting it alight
but struggles on until it gets life again
but it’s empty in him
and sometimes he is shattered, dumb from the impact of life
as if everything around him looses meaning
and existence is only for the here and now.
When he stops at a traffic light
a street preacher shouts over a bullhorn
about the love of God which is endless,
but he doesn’t see God, just girls looking at him
even one with a baby in her arms
who asks almost inaudible
it he feels like screwing her
when he parks his motorcycle
at a shopping centre
and she gets out of the car next to him
placing the baby on the car’s seat
and bends over
as if she has lost her contact lenses
and he sees her hard big nipples
that appears braless, uncovered pink brown
making his male member awake, aflame.
He wonders if there are answers
in bodily pleasures,
if a person has to screw every beautiful thing
that comes your way
have to find pleasure, just where you can
and looks at the wind whirling leaves aimlessly,
people walking to and thro to cars
and the sexuality of the woman next to him
is like a living flame
and he wonders about the endless love of God
and bodily pleasure takes his shaking hands into hers
and her nearness goes like a thunder stroke through him
but it’s empty in him
and sometimes he is shattered, dumb from the impact of life
as if everything around him looses meaning
and existence is only for the here and now.
and his appetite for her is almost unstoppable.
poem by Gert Strydom
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To me you are
To me you are the woman
that walks up and down
at the traffic light
and smiles almost shy,
when I look up
and still give a view
of her breasts
To me you are
the hunger and pain,
that I hear in the voices
of children in back streets
where they loose all courage.
To me you are
the crippled gum sniffing children,
that swing walk
with eyes without hope.
To me you are the vagrant,
that struggles along shuffling
and worries about the next
sleeping place and food
and smile without teeth
when he gets a few coins.
To me you are the beggar
who stands unobserved
at a busy traffic light,
while cars are streaming past
where nobody knows or comprehends
his despair.
To me you are the drug dealers
who hangs out in clubs
and look whom they can still catch,
with their contaminating
deadly poison.
To me you are the street thug,
that brakes car windows with bricks
and steal the valuables of people
and sell it at only a Rand or two.
To me you are the criminal
that steals cars in the streets
and are happy
with the despair,
that he is dealing out unscrupulous.
In reality you are the big city
that gives and takes,
where people live like termites
past each other
and rowed in,
as if others do not exist
To rather stay far away from it all
and to get rest and peace there
at times wants to take predominance,
but I love you
like a husband does his wife.
In you is where
some people still build dreams
and wish and live
and have an own place.
In you I see children
giving bread to birds
and people,
giving money to car guards.
In you are places
where people are making a living
and really help each other
and still I believe,
that in places in you
there are more good than evil.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The women with the coin
There’s a French coin
hanging around your neck
that every now and then
catches the light
between your big breasts
and there’s something fragile
and soft in your dark brown eyes
while you pour
another glass of Adelprag.
At the candlelight dinner
you tell me about your failed life,
your previous lovers,
why you are divorced again
and begs for sympathy,
that lies deeper
than just the glass.
You say that you cannot
comprehend life
and why relationships fail
while your eyes
watches every other man
that passes by
and you try to tempt me.
You do not want to
care for your children anymore
and one is in a boarding school,
since his father is dead
and the man
that brought him up
is now out of your life
and it was a mistake
to have children.
The coin around your neck
shines every now and then
while it draws eyes
to the place
where it hangs luring
between your big breasts
that is naked with hard nipples
under your blouse.
poem by Gert Strydom
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She Drives Like Crazy
Whered you learn how to steer
You do eighty in second gear
When you drive, I cant relax
Got your license from cracker jacks
You just hit another tree
These fender benders are killin me
She drives like crazy
Like noone else
She drives like crazy
And Im afraid for myself
Theyll put you behind bars
Were not playin bumper cars
Did a great figure eight
In the middle of the interstate
Tires squeel wherever we go
Even hitchhikers just say no
She drives like crazy
Her cars a mess
She drives like crazy
Shes got a death wish I guess
Shes a demon
Behind the wheel
Thinks shes drivin
The batmobile
Burnin rubber in school zones
Runnin over the traffic cones
Passin semi-s on the right
Now my knuckles are turnin white
She drives like crazy
Shell break your necks (? )
She drives like crazy
She always gets into wrecks
She drives like crazy
Like noone else
She drives like crazy
Now Im afraid for myself
She drives like crazy
Like noone else
She drives like crazy
And Im afraid for myself
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My barmaid
I
Let’s drink to life
and love and liberty
and in all things be free.
II
She’s got a variety of drinks
at the bar in her lounge
and likes JC Le Roux sparkling wine
and Dimple Haig whiskey
and when I visit
she pours KWV red wine
or some Hunters Gold cider
or Johnny Walker whiskey for me
and we chat like old friends do
and we play pool
and she beats me each time
and we slow dance
on Bob Marley and the whalers
and no woman no cry
becomes real to me
and although some other guys
may know her intimately well,
she stays totally magic to me
and far better than all of this
is when I kiss her
and take her in my arms
and she melts into me
and really intense sparks fly
and she becomes mine.
III
La belle dame sans merci,
this girl will forever,
be precious to me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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She Drives Me Crazy (feat. Zucchero)
I can't help the way I feel
Things you do don't seem so real
Tell me what you got in mind
'Cause we're runnin' out of time
Won't you ever set me free
This waitin' 'round is killin' me
She drives me crazy
Like no one else
She drives me crazy
And I can't help myself
I can't get any rest
People say I'm obsessed
Everything you say is lies
But to me there's no surprise
What I have, I knew was true
Things go wrong, they always do
She drives me crazy
Like no one else
She drives me crazy
And I can't help myself, no
She drives me crazy
Like no one else
I won't make it on my own
No one likes to be alone
She drives me crazy
Like no one else
She drives me crazy
And I can't help myself
I can't help myself
She drives me crazy
Drives me crazy
Like no one else
You know she drives me crazy
And I can't help myself
Oh myself
She drives me crazy, oh yes
Like no one else, no one else
She drives me crazy
And I can't help myself
song performed by by Tom Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fixing A Hole
I'm fixing a hole where the rain gets in
And stops my mind from wandering
Where will it go
I'm filling the cracks that ran through the door
And kept my mind from wandering
Where will it go
And it really doesn't matter if i'm wrong
I'm right
Where i belong i'm right
Where i belong.
See the people standing there who disagree and never win
And wonder why they don't get in my door.
I'm painting my room in the colourful way
And when my mind is wandering
There i will go.
And it really doesn't matter if
I'm wrong i'm right
Where i belong i'm right
Where i belong.
Silly people run around they worry me
And never ask me why they don't get past my door.
I'm taking the time for a number of things
That weren't important yesterday
And i still go.
I'm fixing a hole where the rain gets in
And stops my mind from wandering
Where it will go.
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mexicans
Why is it that when a police officer sees a group of white friends he smiles, waves, and even stops bye to say hello, But When he sees a groups of brown people playing soccer he stops gives a fake smile and leaves, but after a while he comes back and checks on them ask what their doing or why there there he suspects of them more than anyone else he hides and stares he looks at every play he wait till everyones gone while the group of white people laugh, making the browns feel like criminals, so when everyone leaves the officer gets down from his poloce car and checks for any drugs so....why is it that when police sees a white group he smiles and stops to say hello when at the browns he stops and says whats going on? ..suspecting
poem by Yazmin Flora
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Johnny Dont Do It
Johnny dont do it
Johnny dont do it
Johnny dont do it
Johnny dont do it
Johnny was an angel
An angel dressed in black
He used to hang around the guys
Down at the local track
He tried so hard to join them
But they always turned him back
Johnny dont do it
He was an angel
Johnny dont do it
Such an angel
He was only 17
Just got out of school
He stole a bike from joes garage
To prove that he was cool
He didnt know that the brakes were worn
And fate can be so cruel
Johnny dont do it
He was an angel
Johnny dont do it
Such an angel
Johnny dont do it
Johnny dont do it
Johnny dont do it
Johnny dont do it
Well johnny went a riding
With his girlfriend on the back seat
Looking for some action
And they found it down a back street
Suddenly a truck pulled out
He tried to step on the brake
Johnny dont do it (here is a news flash)
Johnny dont do it (today, johnny kowalski, also known as johnny
Angel)
Johnny dont do it (and his young fiance francine, were tragically
Killed)
Johnny dont do it (in a cycle accident)
Dont do it, dont do it (any witnesses please contact)
Dont do it, dont do it (the police at precinct 29)
Now johnnys with the angels
The angels in the sky
I wonder if he thinks of us
As he goes riding by
If only had listened
Oh the number of times we tried
To tell him
Johnny dont do it
He was an angel
Johnny dont do it
Such an angel
Johnny dont do it
He was an angel
Johnny dont do it
Such an angel
Johnny dont do it
Johnny dont do it
Johnny dont do it
Johnny dont do it
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Enigmatic People (Cavatina Sequence) (In Answer To Archibald Macleish)
Reflected in glass with golden bubbles
distorted faces
stare at him, some looking quite grim and some old;
different places
they call home while to this place they do come,
girls with their graces
that are totally gone, smile, look, at him
before they do triple on, while his eyes swim.
He sits in a bar in Fourth Avenue
while twilight falls,
a soft hot hand covers his for a moment,
his thoughts do stall;
she is very beautiful, her eyes gleam,
and he feels tall
when they leave chatting and are full of lust
and they do know together sleep they must.
Taxis with sharp headlights pass them roaring
as they walk on,
they are comfortable with each other,
but love is gone
from both their lives and the intimate touch
just like set stone
helps them to fit in the puzzle of life
as they with other people leave and arrive.
In the morning their names are unknown, it's strange,
the air is stale
with the smell of cigarette buts, sex and wine
and totally male
he smiles at her as they make love again;
the taste of ale
is bitter in his mouth, her kisses sweet;
but they might never again like this meet.
No words hurt as they go their different ways,
past the white beach
he walks where the wind roars, gulls screech, flutter;
now out of reach
like a sweet kind of dream she is now gone
and each to each
they go to home, to work and they do play;
in their lives it's just another new day.
[Reference: 'inema of a Man' by Archibald MacLeish.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Oklahoma-Texas Line
Got an old dog, it don't like me much
That thing starts to bark his head off every time we touch
Sittin' on the porch listenin' to the radio
We sing every single song we know
Even the ones we don't
When she moves a little closer
She puts her hand in mine
Oh what I wouldn't give to stop the hands of time
She's got long blonde hair and deep blue eyes
I got all I ever need when at girl is by my side
Everything I love is there inside
A little brick house on the Oklahoma-Texas Line
She's got a part time job at the Tastee-freeze
She took the weekend off to spend a little bit of time with me
I got an old car we drove to the edge of town
We stopped by Old Man Millers' farm
Just to watch the world spin around
And she moves a little closer
She puts her lips to mine
Ain't funny how the good Lord out does himself sometimes
She's got long blonde hair and deep blue eyes
I got all I ever need when at girl is by my side
Everything I love is there inside
A little brick house on the Oklahoma-Texas Line
Everything I love is there inside
A little brick house with a black top drive
Big oak tree with our names carved on the side
She's got long blonde hair and deep blue eyes
I got all I ever need when at girl is by my side
Everything I love is there inside
A little brick house, little brick house on the Oklahoma-Texas Line
Oh here they come
Long blonde hair and deep blue eyes
Everything I love...
song performed by by Rascal Flatts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Open
I really don't know what i'm doing here
I really think i should've gone to bed tonight but...
Just one drink
And there're some people to meet you
I think that you'll like them
I have to say we do
And i promise in less than an hour we will honestly go
Now why don't i just get you another
While you just say hello...
Yeah just say hello...
So i'm clutching it tight
Another glass in my hand
And my mouth and the smiles
Moving up as i stand up
Too close and too wide
And the smiles are too bright
And i breathe in too deep
And my head's getting light
But the air is getting heavier and it's closer
And i'm starting to sway
And the hands on all my shoulders don't have names
And they won't go away
So here i go
Here i go again...
Falling into strangers
And it's only just eleven
And i'm staring like a child
Until someone slips me heaven
And i take it on my knees
Just like a thousand times before
And i get transfixed
That fixed
And i'm just looking at the floor
Just looking at the floor
Yeah i look at the floor
And i'm starting to laugh
Like an animal in pain
And i've got blood on my hands
And i've got hands in my brain
And the first short retch
Leaves me gasping for more
And i stagger over screaming
On my way to the floor
And i'm back on my back
With the lights and the lies in my eyes
And the colour and the music's too loud
And my head's all the wrong size
So here i go
Here i go again...
Yeah i laugh and i jump
And i sing and i laugh
And i dance and i laugh
And i laugh and i laugh
And i can't seem to think
Where this is
Who i am
Why i'm keeping this going
Keep pouring it out
Keep pouring it down
And the way the rain comes down hard
That's the way i feel inside...
I can't take it anymore
This it i've become
This is it like i get
When my life's going numb
I just keep moving my mouth
I just keep moving my feet
I say i'm loving you to death
Like i'm losing my breath
And all the smiles that i wear
And all the games that i play
And all the drinks that i mix
And i drink until i'm sick
And all the faces that i make
And all the shapes that i throw
And all the people i meet
And all the words that i know
Makes me sick to the heart
Oh i feel so tired...
And the way the rain comes down hard
That's how i feel inside...
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grey Train
This Sunday she'll come
To see me again.
And we will kiss
Then talk about
That and this.
And laugh into each others eyes.
Embrace in lovers sighs.
I'll make her lunch.
I have a hunch
She will be the one.
As I hold her hand in the sun.
And on Monday
She takes the grey train.
And cries as she leaves me again.
Next Sunday she'll come to see me once more.
I'll carry her bags to my door.
And dance her across my floor.
But
My heart now trembles
In cold light of day.
The past now resembles
A romantic play.
It's been a while
Since a smile
When she came to stay.
I'm talking to an empty chair.
She'll grace my rhyme.
And toss her sunshine hair.
But
On Monday
I will watch the grey train.
And cry as she leaves me again.
I kiss her eyes
As I stand in the rain.
So searing
The endless pain.
Disappearing
My love
On grey train.
poem by Kevin East
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The flags at the Pretoria news hangs limp
The flags at the Pretoria news hangs limp
hangs limp
while I walk to the bus stop
and a man with a straw hat
with a badge on it
carries a backpack
and is armoured with a leather jacket.
His white smoke clouds
curls into the morning air
and a schoolgirl,
gets a cigarette from him
and a small group
smokes with him.
a Air force officer
with a blue penguin cap
on his head
walks past like on every work day
and I wonder why he
has to be so early on his post.
I buy sweets from a street vendor
who also sells newspapers and cigarettes
and I see his fingers
counting sixteen in the cold,
before he replaces his hand
into the pockets of his coat.
The people are already
forming a hell of a long queue,
to catch a bus to Hatfield
and the air is this morning
rather grey than blue
and I wonder why
a young lady
keeps looking at me.
a Bus that looks like the right one,
stops a away at a short distance
where the driver
changes the sign
and it parks at the right place.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Nightclub
You are so beautiful and I am a fool
to be in love with you
is a theme that keeps coming up
in songs and poems.
There seems to be no room for variation.
I have never heard anyone sing
I am so beautiful
and you are a fool to be in love with me,
even though this notion has surely
crossed the minds of women and men alike.
You are so beautiful, too bad you are a fool
is another one you don't hear.
Or, you are a fool to consider me beautiful.
That one you will never hear, guaranteed.
For no particular reason this afternoon
I am listening to Johnny Hartman
whose dark voice can curl around
the concepts on love, beauty, and foolishness
like no one else's can.
It feels like smoke curling up from a cigarette
someone left burning on a baby grand piano
around three o'clock in the morning;
smoke that billows up into the bright lights
while out there in the darkness
some of the beautiful fools have gathered
around little tables to listen,
some with their eyes closed,
others leaning forward into the music
as if it were holding them up,
or twirling the loose ice in a glass,
slipping by degrees into a rhythmic dream.
Yes, there is all this foolish beauty,
borne beyond midnight,
that has no desire to go home,
especially now when everyone in the room
is watching the large man with the tenor sax
that hangs from his neck like a golden fish.
He moves forward to the edge of the stage
and hands the instrument down to me
and nods that I should play.
So I put the mouthpiece to my lips
and blow into it with all my living breath.
We are all so foolish,
my long bebop solo begins by saying,
so damn foolish
we have become beautiful without even knowing it.
poem by Billy Collins
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One Cigarette
No smoke without you, my fire.
After you left,
your cigarette glowed on in my ashtray
and sent up a long thread of such quiet grey
I smiled to wonder who would believe its signal
of so much love. One cigarette
in the non-smoker's tray.
As the last spire
trembles up, a sudden draught
blows it winding into my face.
Is it smell, is it taste?
You are here again, and I am drunk on your tobacco lips.
Out with the light.
Let the smoke lie back in the dark.
Till I hear the very ash
sigh down among the flowers of brass
I'll breathe, and long past midnight, your last kiss.
poem by Edwin Morgan
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They meet at a nightclub
They meet at a nightclub
and dance on the pace
of a drawing rhythm.
She’s pretty and blonde and slim
and he’s tall and well built
and they smile at each other
and there’s sparks
That flies between them
and it’s just a boy and a girl.
Two people are for long moments
caught up with each other
and the dancing with each other
makes intimacy grow between them.
JC Le Roux sparkling wine
and Cape Velvet Cream liqueur
rounds a off a wonderful evening
and her hand lies soft in his
while he walks with her
to her car.
She invites him for coffee,
but at her living place
no coffee is poured
and it’s forgotten
while they kiss each other
and passion grabs them.
The condom breaks
and the make love without it
and she doesn’t become pregnant
but he gets AIDS
that she got unknown
from another lover.
It becomes a wonderful night
for both of them
and with time
they really start to love each other,
but their sentence has been given
and at a time
when others count the days down
to a holiday and other great things
there lives disappear slowly.
[Reference: “Sometimes there is a way that seems to be right, but in the end it is the way to death.” Proverbs 16: 25.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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for Linda
the photograph of
a woman could be you
and afraid of sanctions from
this rigid
moralistic society you hide
in the
shadow of a silhouette
you become a dark
black figure leaning on the
frame of a door
against the light of the day
your breasts are firm
your nipples are not afraid
anymore
caressed by the fingers of
the wind from
the window from the sea
your feet tiptoe on the
floor
but your arms and hands
are hiding
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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