There Were Late Afternoons As A Child
There were late afternoons when as a child
I would see the tall popular trees
making the pale blue sky seem much higher
where they grew next to the old farm dam
with there branches whispering
in the early night breeze,
with doves and finches calling
from their nests in the shelter of these trees,
when an early moon would appear
and the evening star would suddenly start twinkling
blue-white in its sheer brightness against a darker blue sky,
like a mother goose leading all of the other stars.
There were early evenings when the sun
died with its deep red glow touching
the hillocks that were covered in sugar bushes,
and red flowering aloes,
when the scent of protea flowers was sweet on the air,
when blue changed to darker black,
when darkness came suddenly
and a myriad of stars sparkled all over the sky
while in the distance fires came to life
at the rural mud huts, while jackals
and dogs started to howl at the bright yellow moon,
while I knew that mother would be home soon.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
There Were Late Afternoons
There were late afternoons when as a child
I would see the tall popular trees
making the pale blue sky seem much higher
where they grew next to the old farm dam
with there branches whispering
in the early night breeze,
with doves and finches calling
from their nests in the shelter of these trees,
when an early moon would appear
and the evening star would suddenly start twinkling
blue-white in its sheer brightness against a darker blue sky,
like a mother goose leading all of the other stars.
There were early evenings when the sun
died with its deep red glow touching
the hillocks that were covered in sugar bushes,
and red flowering aloes,
when the scent of protea flowers was sweet on the air,
when blue changed to darker black,
when darkness came suddenly
and a myriad of stars sparkled all over the sky
while in the distance fires came to life
at the rural mud huts, while jackals
and dogs started to howl at the bright yellow moon,
while I knew that mother would be home soon.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Rainbow Sky
Tonight, I saw a radiant rainbow sky:
Stunning colours, which caught my eye.
Shades of blue, yellow, peach, and red:
Absolutely amazing, it has to be said!
It wasn't very long after the sun had set:
It was an evening sky, which I won't forget.
It was Nature's show, at the close of day,
And I had trouble tearing my eyes away.
I wonder how all those colours appear,
And how they look so bright and clear?
The horizon never looked quite so pretty:
That darkness fell, really was a great pity.
Once darkness fell, there no colours left.
Losing the rainbow sky, I felt quite bereft.
I saw the sky ablaze with colours of fire;
Of seeing such sights, I doubt I'll ever tire.
Away from the horizon, but not too far,
Were a crescent moon, and twinkling star.
This patch of sky had a much darker hue:
I guess some may call it ‘midnight blue.'
In the night sky, the moon and stars shone:
Brighter still, once the daylight had gone.
Tired out, I snuggled down in my cosy bed,
With moon and stars shining over my head.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I like blue
I like blue
and my motorbike is that colour
and some of the clothes that I wear.
If I am happy,
my eyes changes colour from grey
to bright blue.
The lavender bushes in our garden,
are rather blue
than purple to me.
When the sun sets behind the hillock
there’s a wonderful scent in the early evening air,
that comes from the blue bushes.
a Blue sky with a hot sun
can do miracles to me
and I cannot get enough of summer,
but Monday or any other day
must please stay away
from that colour.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When We Walk In The Back Garden
When we walk in the back garden
as the sun sets over the hillocks
while flowers are blooming everywhere
and others are now suddenly rising
in this early spring,
in the distance houses gleam white like tents
and the evening air is suddenly colder
when I feel the heat of your hand in mine.
When the dark night comes
we are amazed by millions of stars
and of some you know the names
but when I kiss you, you have forgotten them all
and we only see the moon gleaming reddish
while we are caught in each other
and it's as if the night comes to life in the distance
but we are free from the whole world.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A spring evening
Outside the irises flower yellow and purple
and I haven’t seen a red one yet
and there are some pink and white blossoms
on the fruit trees
and the streetlights burn continually
glowing orange-yellow
all day and all night
as if the municipality
does not know how to do things right
and in the fading evening light
the moon is full and white
and the evening star is already shining bright
and a hot breeze sweeps in
through the open windows
and I wonder when the first spring rain
is going to fall
and in the distance I see thunder
crashing down
in blue-white flashes, but the storm
is blown away and again the sky is clear
and the black speckled by stars.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
People Who Died
Oak trees are tall and
Reach for the sky,
Blossoming dogwood
Can be pink or white and irises, yellow
Evergreens gently sway in a summer breeze,
As I look towards the sky, cloud covered or
Sometimes a deep shade of blue-
I feel alive and lost inside a world of my imaginings-
I am alone in a world where many loved ones have passed-
My father, warm, and strong and had a zest for life,
My mother sometimes happy, more often sad,
My grandmother, eccentric and funny and my aunt-
In my eyes, special and like a mother to me-
Oak trees are tall and reach for the sky,
Blossoming dogwood and irises, yellow-
It is the springtime of the year and I wonder
Where to have my loved ones departed?
Beneath the ground, near the roots of blossoming flowers, or
Up in the sky, towards where tall oak trees are reaching?
I see a rainbow on the horizon, and
The sun, golden, rising above the mountains-
Clouds giving way to a sky, cobalt blue in its hue-
Where and if people have souls or spirits,
Some do not know for certain, but I know, I am never alone,
Although my loved ones are amongst the departed-
Oak trees, tall, dogwoods blossoming in the early spring this year and
Evergreens shall be present for always-
Inside of my mind, my loved ones have never died,
I can still hear their voices in deep conversation-
I can almost feel their warm embraces- I am never alone-
I am never alone because I believe in spirits and carry them inside
My heart and my mind everywhere I go-
I see their faces in every blossoming flower,
Their voices echoing in every breeze-and one day
We shall dance together on the horizon, because I believe that
People really do not die as fond memories shall carry their spirits home-
And home is wherever I walk, what I see and in the beauty of nature, while
The rainbow on the horizon reflects that everlasting love in our souls…
poem by Claudia Krizay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Moon, We Look to You.
Moon, you have a shade of blue tonight –
Is it something that you saw or heard?
Only yesterday, your tone was proud and bright,
Yellow silver, full, and so assured.
Moon, despite the clarity of sky,
Metaphors of cloud that fluff with grey
Drift across your rounded face to spy;
Feeding back, there's awfully much to say.
Moon, you have a role to play up there –
We below must bear the earthly pain.
Duty bound, we shoulder sorrows fair –
You are free from our grotesque disdain.
Moon, we depend on you to shine
When the sun retires down below.
Add to that your grandest role divine:
Tidal Lord, to keep the seas in tow!
Moon, I hope you take to heart our plea –
Needless is the reason for your blue.
Beaming, you should give the night its glee:
We're despairing – so we look to you.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When I was a child
When I was a child
I saw fireflies,
fly passing secretly at night.
The world was full of wonderful things
and there were trees
with bird nests and eggs
of white and pink and blue
and with spots on them.
I could shoot a true shot with my kettie
and the blue fishing rod
took carp, blue kurper, yellowfish
and catfish from streams.
Doves or fish fillets
from glowing wood embers,
tasted delicious
and the world was a great place.
At the marsh plovers jumped up and down
and like wounded birds, as if with a broken wing
tried to entice you away from their nests
Aloe and protea bushes were all over the kopjes
and prickly pear, wild peach, mispil and stamvrugte
were everywhere on the ridges.
The world of a child faded away with time.
But when I went back as a adult;
a highway runs right through the hillocks
and there are houses where there was marsh
and the streams are full of rubbish and litter
and I see how progress has destroyed nature.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In the Highveld
(after Toon van den Heever)
I
In the Highveld with the sky cobalt blue and open
where rock rabbits, steenbok and baboons revel,
you see the wind skipping through the long grass
and you can still believe in God and His angels,
the rain gathers with thunder
where through the open spaces you can see far into the veldt,
you are astounded by the beauty of flowering proteas
and you still can realize your dependence
but when the city’s rumbling becomes too much,
the jacarandas start flowering in the streets,
buildings of steel and concrete start to curtail you,
you dream about wild flowers appearing everywhere
and it’s the places of a child that you miss,
in the Highveld where the veldt stretches out into the distance.
II
In the Highveld where the veldt stretches out into the distance
and the wind rollicks through the grass
the sky is pure blue and you can look for hours at it,
there you can find freedom from the city’s imprisonment.
When the wind rustles through the march you loose all sadness,
you see the African red-knobbed coot gathering her chickens,
you can hear the finches’ caper, branches full together,
you see every great small happening,
how wild flowers of every imaginable colour
grow as if planted in secret
(and I will go back if I only could)
where I can find some serenity, can have peace
where I will know about God’s heritage;
there the sun shines.
III
There the sun shines
where proteas and aloes flower wildly,
bright up to the horizon
coming out of the earth by themselves
with violets growing purple-blue right through the marsh,
with daisies stretching white over the veldt,
with long tailed widow birds flapping their wings
and the earth is covered with long green grass.
To this piece of ground I am trapped
even when my days are drawing to their end,
it goes even to my heart’s deepest yearning,
with every plant, bush and flower
as it’s bought with sweat and blood,
nobody can strip it from me.
IV
Nobody can strip it from me,
I have to go back to where the sun hangs golden
in the sapphire heaven, I have got to strip the city from me
(but if I only could)
the big desire stays and out of the town I must go
away from the ambulance and police sirens that cuts through everything,
trains whistling almost endlessly,
I have got to go to where only the frog choir and crickets sing.
Again I have got to get the smell of sugar bushes,
smell the rain, spring, summer and even autumn
I must get away from a world where tinned pleasure seduces,
where people use other people for their own pleasure.
I want to stand in the green fields of grass,
when the day dies.
V
When the day dies
letting its last rays fall,
with the birds flying to their nests
darkness comes to this part of the universe,
the doves at dusk still call to each other
as if their voices bind them in the darkness,
you can see the moon sailing golden-yellow through the sky,
you are sometimes blinded by the bright rays,
the city lights glitter far away
in all the colours of the rainbow,
here you want to bond your life to a loved one,
catching her moments long in your eye
when people come together here,
the madness of the human existence is exorcised.
VI
The madness of the human existence is exorcised
even in later years past your own youth,
when you are in the world that your heart desires,
you want to invite the new spring to stay with you
shaking out that which bothers and torments to the early summer wind,
feeling the effervescence of new life,
blinded by the sun you want to find healing
while the whole of spring washes through your life
with the light, air, the flowers, birds and sun splashing down
as if your autumn is only in your imagination,
you want to wash yourself clean from old age,
you are searching for exorcism from the darkness
there are still flowers sprouting out everywhere,
when the colours of autumn smoulder in the trees.
VII
When the colours of autumn smoulder in the trees
with branches being full of coloured leaves,
the sun is still heating as in summer
before the first biting winds begin to whine.
I see opened pod upon opened pod
that lays brown scorched without any signs of seeds,
the dull blue sky has clouds in milky white,
trees become a wild watermill
that is halfway skeleton, halfway still carrying leaves,
afternoons are still drawn out
and even when days earlier end in winter
it’s a time without equal,
as if the summer can last forever,
in the Highveld with the sky cobalt blue and open.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When the day did die [2]
When the day did die
the evening star appeared blue-white,
when the day did die
it suddenly became the dark night,
while the moon rose like a golden yellow pip
with stars hanging like grains of sand,
when the day did die.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When the day did die
When the day did die
the evening star appeared blue-white,
when the day did die
it suddenly became the dark night,
while the moon rose like a golden yellow pip
with stars hanging like grains of sand,
when the day did die.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Seasons
I
As if summer will never end
irises are everywhere in the garden
with opening flower after flower
in light yellow, deep purple and rust-brown.
The bright hot sun hangs day after day
in a cobalt blue sky and even carnations, geraniums
and flame lilies are showing their beauty,
are still holding onto summer.
Doves are still cooing in the oak tree,
their are finches and sparrows cavorting up and down
and it’s as if nature is thwarting autumn
while dew is still shining on the leaves in the mornings
until later the sky becomes dull blue
while the sun is getting much more faint.
II
Slowly the leaves are falling
descending in different colours,
in one’s and two’s and later in a bigger number
tree-trunks become dark brown, red and some pallid
until every tree but for those that are evergreen stand skeleton,
the birds that remain sit next to each other shivering,
wishing for the winter to past
having difficulty to find seeds and other food
and the cold winter wind blows through everything,
filling the air with whirling dust clouds
with stripped branches flinging up and down
and everywhere leaves and branches lie in a jumble
until the wind dies down and the morning fog hangs like vapour,
at times only at noon is dispersed by the sun.
III
Days are cold and grey while the sun hides,
with a owl hunting during the day
searching for hungry mice sneaking around in the yellow grass
and all other signs of animal life is missing
but for doves sitting here and there
on telephone wires,
in disconsolation staring into the distance
and early mornings the grass is covered with white ripe
and it is as if every flower succumbs,
is shrinking crumpled and are folding close
until the first spring rain comes suddenly,
with sprouts and buds appearing and new flowers folding open
when fruit trees are covered with white, pink and yellow blossoms
and the sudden beauty takes your breath away.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Late Singer
Here it is spring again
and I still a young man!
I am late at my singing.
The sparrow with the black rain on his breast
has been at his cadenzas for two weeks past:
What is it that is dragging at my heart?
The grass by the back door
is stiff with sap.
The old maples are opening
their branches of brown and yellow moth-flowers.
A moon hangs in the blue
in the early afternoons over the marshes.
I am late at my singing.
poem by William Carlos Williams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Blue is the Color
Blue is the sky
late at night
blue is the sky
early in the morning
blue is the sky
in the midst of day
blue is the sky
blue is the sky
and the rain
and the clouds
that comes falling down
blue is the color
of peace and mellow
blue is the color
of sadness and sorrow
blue is the color
of all
of life
poem by Dezire Diaz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Late autumn
The yellow veldt, the skeleton chestnut trees
specs of orange-red aloes in the kopje
are near to the old white house
and in the late afternoon shades draw long lines
while I walk up to the house on the red-brown dirt road
and most of the flowers in the garden are stripped bare
but a few irises are flowering yellow,
purple and cream brown
and the sky is dull blue and the early evening cold
is already on the wind that is rustling everything
and after years I open the garden gate
are coming back to my childhood home
stripped from illusions,
and I am bare from the childhood innocence
but full of hope
and looking through a mature man’s eyes.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Blue Moon
Blue moon is ‘a' rising
Shining so blue surprising
Is it me or is it you?
That makes your shade so blue?
Blue moon it's ‘a' crying
Why so sad, am I prying?
Blue moon weep not for me
Shine your glory for all to see
Blue moon full in ‘a' glory
So many shades you have tell your story
Silver and blood and now you are blue
What prey tell decides your hue?
Blue moon is ‘a' glow
Your blue face on show
Smile down on me now
For a smile from you will show me how
Blue moon is such ‘a' rarity
Your secrets kept within your entity
Locked away in your heart of hearts
Your magic never ends once it starts
Blue moon is ‘a' gone
How I admired you as you shone
You're off to sleep for another day
But in my dreams you will always stay…
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Blue Moon Of Kentucky
(words & music by bill monroe)
Blue moon, blue moon, blue moon,
Keep shining bright.
Blue moon, keep on shining bright,
Youre gonna bring me back my baby tonight,
Blue moon, keep shining bright.
I said blue moon of kentucky
Keep on shining,
Shine on the one thats gone and left me blue.
I said blue moon of kentucky
Keep on shining,
Shine on the one thats gone and left me blue.
Well, it was on one moonlight night,
Stars shining bright,
Wish blown high
Love said good-bye.
Blue moon of kentucky
Keep on shining.
Shine on the one thats gone and left me blue.
Well, I said blue moon of kentucky
Just keep on shining.
Shine on the one thats gone and left me blue.
I said blue moon of kentucky
Keep on shining.
Shine on the one thats gone and left me blue.
Well, it was on one moonlight night,
Stars shining bright,
Wish blown high
Love said good-bye.
Blue moon of kentucky
Keep on shining.
Shine on the one thats gone and left me blue.
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
2 Twinkling Stars
Across a sky of indigo blue
On a cold and lonely night
Two twinkling stars hung silently
Just out of each others sight
Each star looking wistfully
At a moon that turned to blue
Wishing on another star
To find a love so true
Then a comet streaked across the sky
They stared in star struck wonder
As if drawn by some greater force
They moved toward one another
Suspended in the heavens
The stars began to dance
Spinning ever gracefully
In a heavenly romance
Two twinkling stars in the heavens
Now shine as one sparkling light
Across a sky of indigo blue
Suspended in the night.
poem by Mestup Poems
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When Days Get Long
I
When summer days get extremely long
the sky becomes a much deeper hue,
a myriad of birds fill the cobalt blue,
constantly singing their gorgeous song
it is as if everything do belong
to the coming spring, are singing true
like some beautiful birds and insects do,
while colourful swarming in their great throng
over the gentle meadow and the valley
filling the tranquil grey evening sky
softly singing a sweet kind of medley
while in jubilance they still do fly
over fields of hay and fields of barley,
sunny day after sunny day pass by.
II
Sunny day after sunny day pass by
with almost a kind of smothering heat
the fields, the open veldt and dirt road lie
far to hot to tread with just bare feet.
Everything shimmers, the poplars that rears
like huge fingers pointing to the sun,
massive broad oak trees of many years
and grass and flowers where life has just begun
glitters in a new emerald green sheen,
the wind rustles things touching one by one
as if finding things where there had not been,
between huge black boulders rocks and stone
the sun blazes on every day the same,
I see the sun making wings of hot flame.
III
I see the sun making wings of hot flame
on the few white clouds in dazzling colours
and in the west there are some small wild game
drinking water while the evening hours
brings the white and blue stars out dazzling clear
with night predators in the pitch black sky
and some more wild game are drawing near,
I hear the hyenas laughing, wild dogs cry,
the growls of lions, the howling of jackals,
I get the smells of the earth and the bush,
I hear some leopards growling, their calls
that are where they are lying in ambush,
at night the predators are hunting prey,
making a living in the dying day.
IV
Making a living in the dying day
swarms of birds fly calling with flapping wings
poplars, cedars and many trees do sway
while the twilight is grey, full of life, brings
as if by some magic, all at play
flying leaves, bats insects and flying things
with a few that lonesome away stray,
most are flying to nests in trees that swings
and eventually places of rest receives
the many small things that are fluttering,
the wind settles among the moving leaves,
the numerous evening birds start to sing
until the full moon shines its silver rays,
when night fades slowly as on other days.
V
When night fades slowly as on other days,
man is still bound by nature and destiny
to the world in which he works and plays
as it probably will be to eternity.
The yellow sun, the cobalt blue heaven
is like it has been from its very birth
with its joyous bright splendour even
like any other day upon this earth
but a time will come when man will be free
from all death and all kinds of destruction
from heartache, the sorrows that he see
with a new amazing introduction
to a place that’s holy, pure and bright;
now suddenly it is silver twilight.
VI
Now suddenly it is silver twilight
and the sheer darkness of night flees away
before the coming new breaking day
with the blazing sheer redness of sunlight
constantly reflecting against the bright
unclouded sky open in its solid grey
with the red blossoming as if its to stay
and in the veldt guinea fowl flees in fright
while a small jackal laughs out its delight
and the few milling dark clouds do stray
before a strong wind as if in spite
and through bushes and grass rocking it plays
churning up eddies before going out of sight
while the hot sun rises with its golden rays.
VII
While the hot sun rises with its golden rays,
you come from a country where rivers meander
where the rain sieves down for many days
where some beautiful wild birds do wander
in lush overgrown tranquil water-meadows,
far away from the busy big city,
filled with thick green living hedgerows
where many bright wild flowers are pretty
but I still do wonder what you will see
in a land where vicious savage beasts
have no civility and do roam free
where the natives have very weird feasts,
where the flaming sun does spare no one,
when summer days get extremely long.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Am From Heidelberg With Its Sugar Bush Hillocks
I am from Heidelberg with its sugar bush hillocks
and cannot remove the memories
from childhood days from my thoughts;
still I see open protea flowers waiting on bees,
with their smell that lingers in the air,
and I am caught by aloes
that fills the hillocks with their orange-red colour,
and in the late afternoons I find the shadows that the hillocks throw
and when the jacarandas in the city bloom,
when the garden in my yard is full of flowers,
when I find comfort at the fireplace in winter
then my thoughts keep going back
and even when my darling looks great-eyed at me
(whom I adore with my heart and soul)
and my friends that visit constantly
I cannot remove the city which is always crowding into life
and although our house of stone and brick
exists as if it will remain eternally,
where it's bordered by palisades like a fortress,
protected by electric wires
when the city's end suddenly comes,
when by man destruction
or a nuclear accident suddenly occurs
I will return to Heidelberg with its sugar bush hillocks.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!