To The Enemy 47th FAPLA / Cuban Brigade (Fay Slimm form / decanelle)
In the veldt they put Cuban soldiers to rest
simply as found
with hillocks unfamiliar under a foreign sky
at each mound,
all kinds of strange animals, birds and pest
came looking around,
after the guns, the earth and grass did cry
in a weeping sound
with lions, hyenas, jackals on a kopje crest,
on stony ground.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Drummer Hodge
They throw in Drummer Hodge, to rest
Uncoffined -- just as found:
His landmark is a kopje-crest
That breaks the veldt around:
And foreign constellations west
Each night above his mound.
Young Hodge the drummer never knew --
Fresh from his Wessex home --
The meaning of the broad Karoo,
The Bush, the dusty loam,
And why uprose to nightly view
Strange stars amid the gloam.
Yet portion of that unknown plain
Will Hodge for ever be;
His homely Northern breast and brain
Grow to some Southern tree,
And strange-eyed constellations reign
His stars eternally.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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The Dead Drummer
I
They throw in Drummer Hodge, to rest
Uncoffined--just as found:
His landmark is a kopje-crest
That breaks the veldt around;
And foreign constellations west
Each night above his mound.
II
Young Hodge the Drummer never knew -
Fresh from his Wessex home -
The meaning of the broad Karoo,
The Bush, the dusty loam,
And why uprose to nightly view
Strange stars amid the gloam.
III
Yet portion of that unknown plain
Will Hodge for ever be;
His homely Northern breast and brain
Grow up a Southern tree.
And strange-eyed constellations reign
His stars eternally.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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Battle at the Lomba River
That night guns roared
all around us everywhere
and the field was acrid
with the smell
of the man made judgement day.
Howitzers flung their projectiles
miles high into the sky
flying by past the horizon
like glowing stars.
Tanks and armoured cars
crunched, raced on
over trees, anthills and almost anything
coughing death left and right
through flaming barrels
and some lions, leopards, hyenas,
jackals, suricates, scorpions
and snakes in the veldt
thought that this night
the world will come to an end
and later still the world
went on like before
while man had a armistice
and then again another war.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Where the baobab tree finger points
Where the baobab tree finger points,
the bush veldt sun fries you to tatters,
some camel thorn trees hook and pierce,
jackals and hyenas cry and laugh at night,
the moon rises yellow, with stars appearing
all over the sky shining like jewels,
it’s as God himself is walking around in the veldt.
poem by Gert Strydom
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When A Enemy Mig Fell Like A Burning Dot
It's a dot coming
with a falling bomb,
from high out of the blue
and I am astonished
but how plainly painful I see a iron bird fall,
hitting the earth with a thundering bang.
It's an enemy from across the ocean
that smashes into the earth,
like a falling star
in a burning kind of hell
about the last flight of a dark haired man
there is not a lot more to tell:
than an enemy pilot wounded deadly;
hyenas and jackals scratch around
where he lies in the veldt
in an unknown grave in the ground.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The invasion army
When houses dazzle on all the hillocks,
every swamp is drained
for sport fields,
bulldozers make roads
right through the veldt
and it becomes mines, factories
and office blocks
and sown farms cover the fields
and the bush veldt
disappears into timber mills,
the last trees become burning wood
and furniture
and concrete creeps up into the Karoo
and the clean air disappears
behind industrial fog,
car fumes and poisonous gas
so that the sun shine fades
there will be nowhere
to draw a trench
to ward off the technology
that covers the earth
since the invasion army
are marching in unstoppable
with lorries, bulldozers,
scrapers, graders
and cranes
and every yellow machine
and in only a few glamour books
you will read about warblers, plovers,
jackals, baboons, suricates,
rock rabbits and wild animals
and humans will be like in a zoo
curtailed beyond their own railings
and work and play caged in
while the state watches,
spies and controls them.
poem by Gert Strydom
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I Wonder Where My Lions Are?
I wonder where my lions are?
I wonder where my lions are?
I wonder where my lions are?
They are safe running in heaven in that beautiful park that God own in Heaven together with the other animals
Also in heaven they are protected by God
Because God doesn't allow any hunters in heaven
Like here on the earth
But there is no animal cruelty in heaven
But the place that have animal cruelty is on the earth
The people that lives in heaven are more educated than on the earth
The people in heaven respect the animals in heaven
The people on earth don't respect the animals on the earth
The people in heaven have a lot of love for the animals
The people on the earth don't seem to have any love for the animals
Even when I sleep I dream of heaven and I see the lions and other Animals
Living free in the park
And I must say that the park in heaven that God made is beautiful
But at the same time I thank God for giving the animals a beautiful Home
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Two Kopjes
(Made Yeomanry towards End of Boer War)
Only two African kopjes,
Only the cart-tracks that wind
Empty and open between 'em,
Only the Transvaal behind;
Only an Aldershot column
Marching to conquer the land . . .
Only a sudden and solemn
Visit, unarmed, to the Rand.
Then scorn not the African kopje,
The kopje that smiles in the heat,
The wholly unoccupied kopje,
The home of Cornelius and Piet.
You can never be sure of your kopje,
But of this be you blooming well sure,
A kopje is always a kopje,
And a Boojer is always a Boer!
Only two African kopjes,
Only the vultures above,
Only baboons--at the bottom,
Only some buck on the move;
Only a Kensington draper
Only pretending to scout . . .
.Only bad news for the paper,
Only another knock-out.
Then mock not the African kopje,
And rub not your flank on its side,
The silent and simmering kopje,
The kopje beloved by the guide.
You can never be, etc.
Only two African kopjes,
Only the dust of their wheels,
Only a bolted commando,
Only our guns at their heels . . .
Only a little barb-wire,
Only a natural fort,
Only "by sections retire,"
Only "regret to report! "
Then mock not the .African kopje,
Especially when it is twins,
One sharp and one table-topped kopje
For that's where the trouble begins.
You never can be, etc.
Only two African kopjes
Baited the same as before--
Only we've had it so often,
Only we're taking no more . . .
Only a wave to our troopers,
Only our flanks swinging past,
Only a dozen voorloopers,.
Only we've learned it at last!
Then mock not the African kopje,
But take off your hat to the same,
The patient, impartial old kopje,
The kopje that taught us the game!
For all that we knew in the Columns,
And all they've forgot on the Staff,
We learned at the Fight o' Two Kopjes,
Which lasted two years an' a half.
0 mock not the African kopje,
Not even when peace has been signed--
The kopje that isn't a kopje--
The kopje that copies its kind.
You can never be sure of your kopje,
But of this be you blooming well sure,
That a kopje is always a kopje,
And a Boojer is always a Boer!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Worm
Dawn: – I sperm
on grass, ground.
Stem to stern
bound I’m found.
Vile erme worm
underground,
silent squirm
‘neath firm mound.
Slimy derm
rings me round,
while I turn
earth, - no sound.
But I churn
while men fiddle, -
‘tis the kern
of my riddle...
poem by Jonathan Robin
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All Kinds Of Time
The clocks running down
the teams losing ground
to the opposing defense
the young quarterback
waits for the snap
when suddenly it all starts to make sense
he's got all kinds of time
he's got all kinds of time
all kinds of time
he's got all kinds of time
all kinds of time
he takes a step back
he's under attack
but he knows that no one can touch him now
he seems so at ease
a strange inner peace
its all that he's feeling somehow
he's got all kinds of time
he's got all kinds of time
all kinds of time
he's got all kinds of time
all kinds of time
he thinks of his mother
he thinks of his bride to be
he thinks of his father
his two younger brothers
gathered around the wide screen t.v.
he looks to the left
he looks to the right
and there in a golden ray of light
and there his open man
just like he planned
the world is his tonight
he's got all kinds of time
he's got all kinds of time
all kinds of time
he's got all kinds of time
all kinds of time
song performed by by Fountains Of Wayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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She Takes
She takes one step back
And falls to the ground
Can not seem to stop laughing
Joking they say to all she has done
Not nearly what she sees tonight
All kinds of time she says
All kinds of time
She has all kinds of time
Drinking with despair they take her down
Throwing it all around
She has no money to spare
As she ask for help from her friends
All kinds of time he says
All kinds of time
He has all kinds of time
Writing it all for him to see
The way he use to be
No father around as she passes out
From not sleeping she's been wishing
All kinds of time they say
All kinds of time
All kinds of time to break her down
Nothing around as she picks herself up
In a place that has no name
Came on a bus with a bottle
She's been drinking
She settles down with no help
Can't remember the last night she felt sound
All kinds of time she says
All kinds of time
She has all kinds of time
poem by Sara Pounds
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You're Thinking of Me
How can I stay in your mind,
And drench myself with longing?
How can I do this,
When it seems of late...
You have no time for me.
I remember when I could barely finish,
A completed sentence.
And there you were,
Sighing.
Anticipating my next breath.
And now your absence leads me to believe,
You have found someone else to pest.
'Pest?
PEST?
I 'know' you did not say that? '
Ahhh...
The fresh air!
Isn't it sweet?
'Pest?
Did you say I was a pest? '
Have you notice the quietness,
Just before dawn?
And when the Sun makes its appearance,
There is such welcomed activity.
Don't you agree?
'You called me a pest?
Is that what you think of me? '
You're thinking of 'me'.
And that's all that matters.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Ignoring Creation’s Witness
Look about you, what do you see, creation about us abundantly,
From the sky above, to the ground, God’s Creation is all around;
From the grass plush and green, to blue sky above every scene,
God’s Creation all about the earth, is evidence of Creation’s birth.
When God spoke, it had begun; creating this world, with His Son,
As God continued for six days, with all Creation, to God’s Praise;
Saying, as God capped His Plan, in Our Image, let us create man,
Finishing Creation with His best, on day seven He then would rest.
Now with Creation set in place, it continues this day by His Grace,
While producing all kinds of life, to be sustained by Jesus Christ;
Nature from God pleasing to the eye, from the ground to the sky,
Birds, animals and vegetation, all produced within God’s Creation.
Nothing at all, has evolved, except minds, which haven’t resolved,
What to do with all God’s Truth, to validate a theory with no proof,
With an evolving, darkened mind, they leave logical Truths behind,
Deceiving, while being deceived, God’s Truth, they never believed.
But, even if God, these men refuse, all men will be without excuse,
Whatever theory these men claim, they’ll hang their head in shame,
For our Creator won’t be mocked, and they’ll be eternally shocked,
As they depart from His Majesty, to enter a darker, eternal destiny.
(Copyright ©04/2010)
Cassinga
Just like spring when the blue sky is full of falling leaves,
there are three hundred and seventy parachutes that decent,
on a ominous day
with enemy AA-guns reporting
and the enemy are more
than a thousand and a half in number.
The barrels of the enemy AA-guns are lowered,
to break us
and the enemy tries to sow havoc
and to decimate us.
Enemy snipers are shooting from trees
and from everywhere
there are shots being fired,
that munches pieces from us
From behind ruins
we fire almost endlessly
at trenches where some enemy soldiers hide
and launch mortar bombs
all over the place,
while bullets are coming down like rain.
We return heavy fire
to the enemy at the AA-guns,
while other soldiers replace them
which keeps the battle hanging in balance
Shot after shot are being fired
and the smell of death
is strong in the air
and there’s nowhere
for the enemy to escape to.
The last resistance disappears
and there’s apparent peace
and dead enemies everywhere
and some of the bats,
get into pumas
and the rest of us wait
with nowhere to go.
The border is too far to walk
and there’s nothing to drive away with,
when Cuban tanks and armoured cars
find us there.
.
With RPG-7 iron fists
four tanks are destroyed
and a landmine stops another tank in its tracks,
but only paratroops against oncoming armour
are canon feed
and nothing diminishes the danger
of a Cuban mechanized battalion.
Till two Mirages destroys ten armoured cars
and everywhere there’s smoke and dust
and a Buccaneer comes from the sun,
to let moments turn into eternity.
Time after time
it flashes by and fires its rockets
at the oncoming tanks
and with no ammo left,
dives fearlessly over shooting AA-guns
to make the tanks take cover.
It’s very ruff going
but the last pumas land
in a clouds of dust,
to evacuate us
while enemy tanks keep firing.
I try and hold the rearguard with a LMG
before the shot out ruins fades away from me
and we leave forty living enemies behind
and all of us are safely gone,
but for four brave men
whose lives are spent.
[References: AA-guns=> Anti aircraft guns. Bats=>Parabats=>Airbourne soldiers. RPG-7 iron fists=> Rocket propelled grenade launchers=> Bazookas. Mirages=> Mirage fighter jets. Buccaneer=> Buccaneer ground support bomber. Pumas=> Puma helicopters. LMG=> Light machinegun.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Water Ways
The Water Ways
By Lori Triggs
Copyrighted June 14,2007
Earth was here first…
The rivers, lakes, creeks and oceans was born…
So the water was plangent in the crevices on the earth…
Than the plants with trees was rebirth…
Now came the dinosaurs that lasted millions of years…
Than came the volcanoes that wipe them out…
The reptiles came and still here on a slow decline…
So the mammals with the fish been around for centuries,
But for how long can we say…
Animals with birds been around since dooms day….
You notice they slowly diminishing…
Humans was put on earth last…
They consume in excess in
Water, plants, trees,
Reptiles, mammals, fish,
Animals & birds for money, food even to make a profit call greed…
Human have did toxics
The water with the lands around the earth…
So have they did with reptiles, mammals, fish, animals and birds…
You notice they slowly diminishing…
Humans they are in abounded…
They never die out only cause more harm than good…
They where put on earth by mistake…
So they should be the first to go…
Only one dropp of water…
The ground dried up so no water
Is their a plant or tree to spear to see…
Not a reptile to be seen…
The mammals with fish vanished…
So now the animals and birds are gone…
All is now is dying humans…
Died for excess wasting the earth away.
poem by Lori Triggs
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A lonely young boy herds some cattle
In the open veldt
a lonely young six year old boy
herds some cattle
and follows them as they are grazing
following shoots of green grass
that appeared after the early summer rains
and he knows the names of every one
and with a knobbed walking-stick in his hands
he guides them while looking out
for leopards that are sneaking around
in the nearby hillocks
and time and again
his eyes is on the ground
finding tracks.
Out of an open blue sky
suddenly a big shade covers him
and before he realizes
that danger is upon him
a huge bird falls as quickly
as a bolt of lightning from the sky
with claws stretching out.
poem by Gert Strydom
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I Dreamt I Was In Africa
I dreamt I was in Africa neath Serengeti sky
I heard the wild dogs barking, the spotted hyenas cry,
I heard the male lion roaring his anger pierced the night,
I dreamt I was in Africa neath African moonlight.
The elephants were trumpeting on Serengeti plain,
The sun dried grass all eaten the parched earth cried for rain,
The wildebeest and zebra had wandered far away
And Serengeti silent in the searing heat of day.
I dreamt I was in Africa the drought was at an end
The thunder and the lightning And rain came with the wind,
The ponds and rivers flooded, the once parched plains now green
And widebeest and zebra in thousands to be seen.
The moon shines in the heavens and the hunting jackals bark
In Tanzania in East Africa in Serengeti National Park
The grazing hippos grunting and the wild hyenas scream
And I was in East Africa if only in a dream.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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
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Reflections In A Country Churchyard (Cavatina Sequence)
At the very foot of some green hillocks
covered in
orange flowering aloes and proteas
some rows begin
in a place of tranquillity and rest;
avoid of sin
my father and some saints await the call
of God's clarion gathering large and small.
Some cypress trees are waving in the breeze,
wild doves wander
cooing in the trees, in some rocks a small
salamander
hides from the heat while grass covers the veldt,
no noise slander
through the aeons the rest of forefathers
while that graveyard them together gathers.
Those people had a true great compassion
for fellow men,
were religious zealots but different,
they did know when
to stand back and be selfless in their love,
to find Eden,
daily in sincerity they walked,
of much greater Godly things they talked.
Strange it may seem today but all their time
and wealth was spent
to follow their Godly master's calling;
sacred, decent
were their lives in their love of Him and man,
each small talent
went only to the Lord's eternal cause
for themselves they did not even pause.
poem by Gert Strydom
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