There’s A Kind Of Loveliness (In Answer To Percy Bysshe Shelley)
There’s a kind of loveliness
a kind of unreal beauty,
while in nature it is displayed free
from any unkindness,
and it has the divine instruction to bless,
are present in everything that we see,
are in the best hopes of what we wish to be,
in every tender touch, are caught in every caress.
Its presence is everywhere
and although it is unseen
traces of it can be seen
all about us, right here and there,
in faces that sometimes look and stare,
in places where people had been
and something of it’s is keen
to reach out with a kind of loving care.
Its presence is in every flower,
even the grass,
in stormy clouds that together mass
and in lightning bolts and every rain shower
there is a kind of hidden power
and it’s in every thing that is and was,
even sometimes reflected on the window glass
in every hill with sheer cliffs that tower
and I define what I have written here
as the very presence of the Lord God
and some may not regard it thus, may on other ways trod
while by their choice with their lives He does not interfere
but He is always somewhere near
and to some people this may sound odd
but His will he does not on people prod
and I worship him with love and without any fear
but He is omnipresent is touching everything,
has created all that exists, the way that things are,
and man’s choices left this planet with a scar
while He is still maintaining it and mere men he keeps on visiting.
[Reference: “Hymn to Intellectual Beauty by Percy Bysshe Shelley.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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To the beauty
In the change of day and night,
the change of seasons
we see the beauty of Your great light
falling on man for Your just and hallowed reasons.
We witness Your presence in all living things
around us in the majesty of every thing material,
but more so in the sense and sensibility that rings
from love, hope, joy and feelings that are immaterial
and as a writer of poetry I gave my word
to let my words focus on You and in that to be true,
although at times my rhymes cut like a sword
lashing out to where it is due
as Your majesty is displayed in everything
and even these specs called man You find interesting.
[Reference: Hymn to Intellectual Beauty by Percy Bysshe Shelley; Aan die skoonheid (To the beauty) by N. P. van Wyk Louw.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Nature’s philosophy (Novelinee)
(after Percy Bysshe Shelley)
No things in nature acts only single
as all things are set to love each other;
why can we not also such like mingle
to be more than like sister and brother?
In a loving, caring kind of emotion,
embracing the wind touches the flowers
and to each other there is devotion,
the sun shines with its secret powers
while the earth is kissed by rain showers.
[Reference: “Love’s philosophy” by Percy Bysshe Shelley.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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To her who once loved me
(after Percy Bysshe Shelley)
Princess, why did you call me
with longing in your voice,
but when you wanted to be free,
did not leave me another choice?
In some of your writings that to me you address
you speak of passed bliss
there are tears and sheer unhappiness
and it’s as if you are yearning for another kiss?
It is now running to years
that I have to live with emptiness
and I am brave beyond any fears
but I am viewing any friendship with a kind of aloofness.
Keep from sending love and promises that have to be made,
if your love like the stars at break of day is soon to fade.
[Reference: “To Emilia Viviani” by Percy Bysshe Shelley.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Vastly The Veldt, The Bush Stretches Out About Me (Idyll) (In Answer To Sir Philip Sidney)
I
Vastly the veldt, the bush stretches out about me
where nature is left to its own existence,
where all kinds of game roam free
and here is nothing to bother with an insistence
and the weary traveller on this earth
can find a new kind of longing, a new kind of hope,
like a kind of refreshing new birth
while thoughts go past the normal human scope
where a person wonders about the creator of things
while serenity is displayed where ever you look,
bees and birds continually sing about happy tidings
and nowhere one can get this experience in a book
that comes as some kind of divine blessing,
you have got to realise that there is more to life and living.
II
You have got to realise that there is more to life and living
that every word and deed leaves a mark, a own impact,
comes as benevolence or a kind of attack,
that there’s more to life that taking and giving
that nature’s innocence and violence draws and sting
and our actions on to it we can never take back,
even our wanderings on a natural track
leaves its mark on mere existing
that somehow nature needs to be left unspoilt
while we live in a kind of ruling arrogance,
this deadly paradise has its own kind of dazzling
while we effect change, like gods live rich and spoilt
while we hide beyond a cloak of ignorance,
seldom do we realise the beauty of the coming spring.
III
Seldom do we realise the beauty of the coming spring
and yet on a farm I have met a rural girl
who brings another feeling to existing, something touching,
while in the veldt sometimes dust clouds whirl
the strange solitariness feels as if it’s alive
and she has taken me to her hidden places,
the places dear to a sweetheart or wife
where violets grow wild, wildflowers have different faces
and the sun shines friendly in a blue hued sky,
where you can feel the great tranquillity,
see birds in their coloured swarms fly
and realise that here is some strange kind of unity
a kind of unspoilt idyllic life
that exists happily without any kind of strive.
poem by Gert Strydom
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You That I Love As My Very Own
You that I love as my very own,
happiness have made your face its sanctuary
while the golden sun has your hair as its throne
and in your gaze blue heaven is caught in tranquillity
while you are more lovely than any other girl that I have known
and your loving comes selfless and free
while your body is sublime with stars glittering on your gown
and I can hardly believe that you are in love with me.
Like a fragile butterfly whose colouring comes in millions of hues
you still remain after our time is spent
and although death and destiny has brought some issues
with a kind of painful intent
and other people about you have different views
I still wish for you to remain just another moment
and even some godly statues
of Diana, Aphrodite and Athena are dead and silent
while you still are speaking to my heart
with a kind of unknown power,
of me you are still a lingering part
while I feel your presence in every rain shower
while you sneak into my words, into my art
and I am near to you with every opening flower
where I catch your sent as if we will never really be apart
and still you are away from this world and your life is over.
poem by Gert Strydom
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There Was A Time
There was a time when the wide world
seemed immense, when every tree
was gigantic, streams were like rivers
with something celestial
that touching my eyesight
when I was but a child
but now as a man
it’s with different eyes that I look
and although things have taken
their normal size
there are still things that are sublime
that I at times comprehend.
The rainbow with its bright colours
that arc above the earth,
has a kind of magic
which science explains,
but still there’s a kind of mystery
that nothing can really measure.
The rising sun that paints the sky
and clouds in its loveliness,
even the moon and stars
have an own influence
on feelings, on well being
as if in their presence they can bless.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Eve (original beauty)
She stood naked in the garden
With more beauty
Than the first full bloom rose,
The kind and depth of
Beauty
God in Heaven only knows.
The kind of
Beauty that is deep and wild,
The kind of
Beauty lost like the days of a child,
The kind of
Beauty mankind
Has been trying desperately
(without realization)
Forever to find.
The kind of
Beauty
God has put upon
Every souls mind.
The kind of
Beauty
That forever causes God
To call us:
'Mine! '
The kind of original beauty
God understands,
The kind of beauty awaiting
The return of each woman, and man.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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A Never Ending Kind Of Intimate Thing
Your white body lies like a continent
with breasts as hillocks, slender thighs
and the valleys somewhere in between
while tiny shadows fall in the afternoon.
I bury myself with great pleasure in you,
feel the warmth of your blazing volcano,
reach up to the centre core of my existence
and each and every glance in your bright eyes
draws me deeper, draws us still closer together
and the lost of self, where nature flees from me
there is a tender kind of peace at twilight
while we love each other past all feelings.
There is peace in the separation that comes later,
the separation of skin, of thighs of genitalia
but still your gaze were burning into my very soul
and I love you; love every part of your body,
with the smell of love like fresh rain around us
rising from the rose of your tender hot pubis,
with nipples still somewhat hardened aroused
on your soft firm breast that are fragile to touch.
Boundless desire flames again and again,
while your beauty bringing sheer joy,
bringing a kind of very deep tranquillity,
as if the thirst, the yearning for each other
is a never ending kind of intimate thing,
that always exists, with a kind of grace,
that has an infinite kind of ache for fulfilment
a kind of indescribable joy that comes with bliss.
poem by Gert Strydom
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When Mere Moments Are Holy
When mere moments are holy,
when in prayer I go to You
I am surrounded by Your presence
then I see in every flower, in each small thing
even in the stars, sun and moon
that there is of You a kind of witness,
thunderbolts falling blue-white,
the wild untamed stormy wind,
trees that flower in spring,
tells me that You care about my destiny
and that You choose me out as a child
of the almighty Lord of the universe.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Sun Is Hidden (Terzanelle)
(after Lewis Turco)
The sun is hidden, huge shadows gather
while the wind rocks branches blow the leaves
and milling dark clouds draw together
this is the moment when thunderbolts cleaves
when rain drizzles, then pours down steadily
while the wind rocks branches blow the leaves
when full of superstition old people speak guardedly
of branches of thunder, sheets of blue-white lightning
when rain drizzles, then pours down steadily
and the bolts of thunder comes down somewhat frightening
when people draw curtains, sit in the semi-darkness, are afraid
of branches of thunder, sheets of blue-white lightning
and without power at candlelight the table is laid
while the acts of nature, its sheer power we cannot ignore,
when people draw curtains, sit in the semi-darkness, are afraid
and we have experienced this kind of weather sometime before.
The sun is hidden, huge shadows gather
while the acts of nature, its sheer power we cannot ignore
and milling dark clouds draw together.
[Reference: 'Terzanelle in Thunderweather' by Lewis Turco.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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An Open Secret!
Can you unfold rose bud as naturally as it is?
Sun flower blooms by the sight of Sun all days;
Lily flower blooms by the sight of Moon all days.
Is it possible to do so by me or your presence?
Nature does wonder we cannot even imagine!
Seeing Nature many things are created often;
But all delicate things can man do as Nature?
Natural expression has a value of its own sure;
Learning and doing things are different matter;
Same thing happens in the creativity of poetry.
All things happening in Nature are great wonders;
But who does care to note things of beauty in Nature?
Divine spirit present in all things of Nature is clear; but
Ignorance of man fails him to realize this open secret!
poem by Ramesh T A
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The hidden violence lurked (English sonnet)
The hidden violence lurked, was right there,
waiting always waiting to come to the surface
and in Africa most people were totally unaware
until the blood flowed, until they had to face
the destruction, until a hungry lion rushed in;
on the tranquil river eyes were peeping
and this struggle no unarmed person could win
when razor sharp jaws were snapping
and yet a kind of beauty, a kind of innocence,
was always present and just waiting to appear,
even if cruelty did daily feelings incense
there was something without any kind of fear
that dwelt in the early morning beauty,
something that stayed great and forever free.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Orphan's Friend
Come all kind, good people,
With sympathizing hearts,
Come listen to a few kind words
A friend to you imparts.
Be kind to an orphan child,
And always be its friend,
You will be happy in this world,
And will be to the end.
Be kind to the motherless,
Little motherless ones,
For God will forever bless
You in this world to come.
No kind and loving mother
To soothe their little brow,
Be kind to them always, friends,
They have no mother now.
Be kind to the fatherless,
Wherever you may find
One little one that is friendless,
I pray you all be kind.
For it has no loving father,
To speak with mild reproof,
Or guide its youthful footsteps
In honesty and truth.
Be kind to the little orphans,
They have no parents dear;
Be kind to the little orphans,
Speak to them words of cheer,
Then they will always love you
For kind and gentle words,
Then God will ever bless you,
For He says so in His word.
poem by Julia A Moore
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While Nature In The Spring Is Flowering (Cavatina)
While nature in the spring is flowering
something is there,
is visiting the broken earthly sphere
and everywhere
there are signs of a divine presence
coming with care
and in the sheer purest loveliness,
we see something that God's love does possess.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The waning moon
(after Percy Bysshe Shelley)
Shapelessly white it spread its light
ailing like a old withered man
in the darkness of that night
its half a thumb’s span
rising very slow
taking half steps before pausing for breath
it had a whimpering kind of glow
as if it was very near to death
wandering in the elemental space half-insane
trying to find its way through a myriad of bright stars
as if feebleness, atrophy had rotten its fading brain
as if it wore a crisscross of scars
while its colour was a kind of pale
thinly covered by a cloud’s veil.
[Reference: “The waning moon” by Percy Bysshe Shelley.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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When intimacy is past
When intimacy, the body’s bliss
is past, as is the last kiss
while you against me fulfilled sleep
some feelings linger and others remain very deep.
There is something more than to touch, to see,
something more than mere intimacy
something that comes unseen
that changes us from what we have been.
A kind of determination, call it principle,
a thing surer than the mere human will,
a kind of devotion that stays true
in everything that we do.
It has a kind of nobleness that in our lives does fit,
if it is not love, then I do not really know it.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Love Above Loves
When I think of you
I think of a certain kind of love
When I hear your name
I hear a certain kind of love
When I look at you
I see a certain kind of love
When I hold you
I hold a certain kind of love
When I kiss you
I kiss a certain kind of love
When I touch you
I touch a certain kind of love
When I fell in love with you
I fell in love with a certain kind of love
When I'm with you
I'm with a certain kind of love
When I'm wrapped up in you
I'm wrapped up in a certain kind of love
This certain kind of love
Is stronger than love
It is a transcended state
A love that can only be gifted from above
A love that is greater than any other love
This certain kind of love
Is strong and true
This certain kind of love
Makes two people stay true
This certain kind of love
Can never be extinguished
I believe that we have this kind of love
A love so true
Maybe not love at first sight
But I do believe that I was meant for you
Do you believe it too?
This certain kind of love
Is a love above loves
This certain kind of love
Is a true love
So true
poem by Alex Fischer
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Intimations Of Immortality (In Answer To William Wordsworth)
I
Love is something that we see
in a eternal light
with a own illumination in the darkest night
and its goodness is more than mere charity
as if immortality comes to it
when it is true and sincere,
when we really hold someone dear
and it fills our souls bit by tiny bit
and where our lives are only fleeting
we long for some perfection,
something more to our affection,
something that goes beyond each meeting
of the human kind
something of the divine,
something rare past fine,
that we try to define in the human mind.
II
We notice the sun that hides during the night
but returns daily with a kind of celestial light
and view it as necessary to maintain life,
we notice the ocean stretching beyond mere sight
and even at times the hills seems eternal,
the seasons that comes and go
the falling rain, the winter snow,
volcanoes that seem infernal
holds to us a special place
are all things that we view as being constant
and for life on some of them we are dependant
but we only live by amazing grace.
Yet everything is fleeting and transitory,
stars explode; their energy at a time is spent
and it is this earth’s story
that all things are evanescent.
III
Only God is eternal and immortal,
and His power with which He sustains things
while to us who are merely mortal
by His grace there are daily awakenings
and with every new birth
His unconditional love is expressed
as involvement from the divine on this earth
and continually we are blessed
while rainbows hold a own secret message,
while there is life in every meadow, grove, and stream
and His power and presence isn’t just a dream
but is expressed from eternity and still acts in this age.
[Reference: “Intimations of Immortality” by William Wordsworth.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Sunday: New Guinea
The bugle sounds the measured call to prayers,
The band starts bravely with a clarion hymn,
From every side, singly, in groups, in pairs,
Each to his kind of service comes to worship Him.
Our faces washed, our hearts in the right place,
We kneel or stand or listen from our tents;
Half-naked natives with their kind of grace
Move down the road with balanced staffs like mendicants.
And over the hill the guns bang like a door
And planes repeat their mission in the heights.
The jungle outmaneuvers creeping war
And crawls within the circle of our sacred rites.
I long for our disheveled Sundays home,
Breakfast, the comics, news of latest crimes,
Talk without reference, and palindromes,
Sleep and the Philharmonic and the ponderous Times.
I long for lounging in the afternoons
Of clean intelligent warmth, my brother’s mind,
Books and thin plates and flowers and shining spoons,
And your love’s presence, snowy, beautiful, and kind.
poem by Karl Shapiro
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To-- Yet look on me
Yet look on me -- take not thine eyes away,
Which feed upon the love within mine own,
Which is indeed but the reflected ray
Of thine own beauty from my spirit thrown.
Yet speak to me -- thy voice is as the tone
Of my heart’s echo, and I think I hear
That thou yet lovest me; yet thou alone
Like one before a mirror, without care
Of aught but thine own features, imaged there;
And yet I wear out life in watching thee;
A toil so sweet at times, and thou indeed
Art kind when I am sick, and pity me.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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