Visit to the botanical gardens
Do you still remember my darling
how magically blue the sky was,
the bright green grass
where we disappeared in the exotic garden
between little paths that wind
up the hillock
and the shade at the stream
and how bright and hot
the sun shined on that day.
There were people and children
that climbed everywhere
and jumped exuberant
into the stream
and the sun made spots
through the thick tree branches,
but the biggest magic
were in your lips
that touched mine
the first time.
In the distance a string orchestra
gave a heavenly sound
to the light wind
and on our blanket
it was only the two of us
that drank cool drink
and looked at the setting sun
and suddenly
the idea of the two of us together
looked wonderful.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
You were past cute
Our feet were in
green moss filled water,
the wind was in our hair
and the white-hot sun
hang in the blue sky.
We sat in the shade of crying willow tree
and had a picnic next to the river
and ate delicacies and drank some cool drink.
You were past cute with your straw hat
under which your lips looked alluring soft red
and I saw heaven in your golden eyes
and we were in love.
For moments we were caught
in the wonder of nature,
time flew and minutes hastened
becoming hours.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Alone
I’ve listened: and all the sounds I heard
Were music,—wind, and stream, and bird.
With youth who sang from hill to hill
I’ve listened: my heart is hungry still.
I’ve looked: the morning world was green;
Bright roofs and towers of town I’ve seen;
And stars, wheeling through wingless night.
I’ve looked: and my soul yet longs for light.
I’ve thought: but in my sense survives
Only the impulse of those lives
That were my making. Hear me say
‘I’ve thought!’—and darkness hides my day.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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At the fountain in the ranges
Something stirred below the water
of a pool,
where a fountain splashes in.
There was no wind
and the long grass was motionless
and the branches of a sugar bush,
hanged somewhat protecting
over the pool
It was early morning
and the pool was still dark
and in its depths,
there were black spots
that stirred ominously.
When the day got brighter
a sunbird came to drink water
and looked time after time,
at its image on the water.
.
There were water beetles
that played in circles
and tadpoles, .
swimming up and down
and a dragonfly hanged suspended
above the water
Life was trapped for a moment
and out of the depths
a predatory fish appeared
and when the dragonfly touched the water,
it disappeared into the bill of the fish
and into the depths.
poem by Gert Strydom
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It Must Have Been At The End Of January
It must have been at the end of January
when the sun hanged high at seven in the afternoon,
when we walked together on the beach
and just before we kissed my eye caught a ship in the distance
Suddenly the ship disappeared
in beyond the blue ocean
but it was white and red
and the sun shone cobalt-blue in a bright sky.
That day has disappeared into oblivion
with the remembrance that constantly dwindles
and even that blonde girl I have forgotten,
even the expression on her face,
how lovely she had been,
how her lips felt and tasted,
even the hue of her eyes
I cannot bring back to my thoughts
and that woman has long been married,
with maybe a string of children
but I keep remembering that ship
as it rocks up and down on the waves.
[Reference: 'Erinnering an die Marie A' by Bertolt Brecht.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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My Drug Dealer
Today-
I asked myself.
Why are the oak tree’s purple?
And the grass blue?
Why is the sky green?
And the leaves hot pink?
Why is that gravel red?
And the rocks of that garden yellow?
Then I thought
and thought over again
a million times
and realized...
I’m high.
I’m up higher than the orange clouds in the green sky
My heart is as bright as the rocks of that garden
My thoughts are as eccentric as the hot pink color of the leaves
that fell from the purple tree
My eyelashes flutter flirtatiously like the way the wind
blows the blue blades of grass around.
Love is a drug,
and I’m high-
You happen to be my dealer.
poem by Breanna Schwartz
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Through the window the new moon peeps
(For Daleen)
I
Through the window the new moon peeps,
many stars glitter blue-white
where they sit glowing in the darkness,
like diamonds at which I look,
when the ginger cat stands in the windowsill,
next to me the moon falls on your face
and it looks as if you are dreaming,
as the lights of a car passes
and I am blessed to have you here,
with your intimate heat next to me,
but it's only a dream in which I dare this
as if a thousand nights will be such
and I am free of my worries,
it's as if everything fades in your presence.
II
It's as if everything fades in your presence
as if the past, times and things do not touch me,
when we are together and small things make you happy
as if nobody else does anymore matter
and with the magic that spring brings
there are new green sprouts rising,
in the garden it's as if the grass suddenly jumps,
I see irises already blooming purple in pots,
I see all the beauty that this spring brings
and all of the flowers that I can get
are far too insignificant
as you are very dear to me
but I do continually long for you,
even when the sun hangs magically in the sky.
III
Even when the sun hangs magically in the sky,
my life feels empty without you,
even if the sky is cobalt blue,
even if the rays of the sun catch me caressingly,
I am still like a child scared of darkness,
while I long to hold your hand, to embrace you,
while I want to know you better and want to trust you
in all the days of spring
and I wonder about your thoughts,
where you are now sitting in an office,
or does life also pass you,
while you drink a cup of tea
in a place with many white papers;
do you have any time to think of me?
IV
Do you have any time to think of me,
I wonder, while I am working in the garden
and I do not immediately notice you
while I am mowing the lawn
and I see a dove gliding over the earth
with no clouds in the deep blue sky,
where it stretches out with brightness above me
and irises and roses are flowering where you sit down.
I kiss you and do it another time
where we are alone in the back garden,
I am caught and you sweep me along
right here in the bright daylight,
and the bright sun falls over us
when I give my self to you.
V
When I give my self to you
and share my deepest secrets,
when you walk deep into my heart
and know me thoroughly
then I tell you about my life
and you learn that love comes from God,
and love has a new much deeper meaning
and I am astounded by your beauty time after time.
You are the summer child, the morning sun,
you are mine before the people and God
of light my only real source
and more precious than any human law
but then I suddenly wake up and want to cling to you;
in this late summer I miss you.
VI
In this late summer I miss you,
the separation of moments comes
in every small thing that I notice
and it reflects your image and your name.
I can hear birds whistling in the trees,
even feel the soft wind caressing my skin,
but you are the source of my heat,
the loveliest song that plays right through my heart
and I wonder if a person looses some humanity
when you trust somebody totally,
when you make deeper bonds,
when you cling to someone else in rapture?
Outside lights beacon lonely;
your voice over the phone makes my heart frolic.
VII
Your voice over the phone makes my heart frolic
when it sounds like that of a young girl,
when your image shines like that of an angel
and I am searching for flowers not just a poppy
but something precious that I want to pick for you,
when you bring me joy
and I want to embrace you for moments
while I wonder how that sensation will last
as the miles is some distance
but the yellow sun shines bright through your words
and suddenly my life feels right
as if radiated from a heavenly source,
our conversation stretches long, goes on and on;
through the window the new moon peeps.
poem by Gert Strydom
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In The Grass.
'Tis as if I saw it all — sat now in the grass, and heard
The soft warm wind in my ears like the lilt of a lonely bird;
Sat now in the grasses so — saw, but said never a word.
The two of them in the wood, below me there by the rill;
He with the light on his brow, she in the shadow still;
And a cloud so white goes over the blue on the gleaming hill.
My nest in the grass was good: they deemed that none might see —
Ah God in heaven! my eyes looked out of the hell in me,
As his arm went round her waist, and his lips where mine might be —
Touched hers, as her face drew up like a flower in the light to his —
Touched hers, as I felt her soul shine out in a dream of bliss;
While mine with the pangs of hell was alive in a world like this!
I dared not move, nor could I shut my eyes to it all;
And still they clung and kissed: I heard the waterfall,
I heard the warm wind sing till the day began to pall.
And then they rose, the twain who had taken my life from me;
I did not rise, but lay where none might hear or see,
In the grass in the dark and sobbed, 'Would God that the end might be!'
The years have come since then, and the years have gone but I,
Though the fever of death was strong upon me, did not die;
And though I am old and weak as upon my couch I lie,
'Tis as if I saw it all — sat still in the grass, and heard
The soft warm wind in my ears like the lilt of a lonely bird;
Sat still in the grasses so — saw, but said never a word.
poem by Robert Crawford
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The Enchanted Wood (Part 3)
As the door opened, he could see
the room was filled with people.
They looked at him as he entered
everyone smiled saying good evening.
He was ushered to the top of the table
and seated beside a beautiful young woman.
Her smile radiated the room
with light and warmth.
“Hello, you must be Lord Charles
my husband to be.
I am Princess Juliet.”
Her voice flowed through him
like a river of tranquillity.
At first, he was not sure
just what to say to her.
He stumbled over his words
and it made her laugh.
Suddenly he was at ease
and it seemed they were
the only two in the room
and when he looked around,
they were the only two
everyone else had disappeared.
As they chatted he felt at home,
a home he could only have wished for.
They ate and talked
and when they had finished
the food and the dishes disappeared.
Suddenly as if by magic,
an orchestra began playing.
They got up and danced
and danced and danced
into the late evening.
They then took a stroll
into the garden in the moonlight,
walking arm in arm.
They stopped briefly,
where he stole a kiss.
As he awoke the next morning,
he could not remember much
of the night before
only that he had met his princess
and had a wonderful time.
“I am your clothes for today.”
He looked around as the clothes
suddenly threw themselves at him
and suddenly he was dressed.
“I see you are ready M’ Lord.”
“Ready for what? ”
“Your wedding M’ Lord.”
He followed the tall man
down the stairs
and out into the courtyard
where a carriage pulled by six white horses
stood waited for him.
He stopped and looked around
apart from the crowds of people
white doves danced
pirouettes in the sky.
They looked golden
as the sun painted them
with its warming rays.
Flags and pennants of different colours
hung out from everywhere.
From the Cathedral, church bells filled the air
as the carriage moved slowly
along the cobble stone streets
lined with people either side.
He sat and waved at them
through the window of the carriage
as the procession passed.
Within a few minutes,
they arrived at the great city Cathedral.
As he stepped from the carriage,
there seemed a party atmosphere everywhere.
Entering the Cathedral
the serine voices of the choir
rose up to the rafters
as the Cathedral bells
could be heard across the hamlets.
The pews were filled
from front to back.
He stood at the alter
waiting for his bride to be.
He felt that this must be all a dream
and in a moment, he would awake
back to the harsh realities of his life.
Then the organ announced of the brides arrival.
To be concluded
18-19 April 2011
poem by David Harris
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Acacia of my blood
When I let my eyes go over the earth
in the distance there’s a pretty green tree,
that stands out.
On the edge of Africa
her branches reach to the sky
and she almost touches the clouds.
I see that God could make no other
so wonderful and exceptional
and that as a sprout,
He protected her against overwhelming darkness.
Later a super power’s dread knights had drawn
their strongest weapons against her
and fire touched her bark,
but her thorns made them wrench
and drew painful blood.
She was trodden down and axed to pieces,
but with time her stem sprouted out again
and new shoots shot out
and grew stronger than before.
Out of the North
the enemy tried to put their hand to her again,
but where they stroke
her own gum brought healing
and they were torn apart
by huge branches with thousands of white thorns.
From near there’s great white thorns
that almost throngs each other out
and branches that braid against each other,
as if no one can grow together
and each has a live of its own.
Still they stream from all over the continent
to eat her berries and catch shade in her shadow
and her seedlings are sprouting out all over the world.
Acacia of my blood,
I will always be proud of you
and are called by God to be one of your offspring.
poem by Gert Strydom
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~~It was May, The Summer of my 12th Year~~
My fathers' field
acre upon acre of hay
barren in May
from winters blight
perfect for me to play
~~
Flat land
as far as I could see
except for one huge pine tree
a young boy, idealistic still
I thought this tree was grown for me
~~
I climbed the tree most every day
climbing right to the very top
branches formed a perfect seat
magically sitting there
time would stop
~~
Wind would blow, branches creaked
the tree and I swaying with the breeze
protected in my tree
ignorant of life's confusion...
its little ambiguities
~~
Now I wonder, as I sit
in these my twilight days
if only I could travel back
to that my 12th year in May
to hear the wind, smell the pine
and feel the boughs as they sway
~~
I would love to whisper one more time
to my very special tree
thank you so for keeping me safe
and all the memories
but most of all for the excitement
and the passion for feeling free
poem by Peter Shea
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the Touch**********************1979
i looked up into the deep blue sky
little white clouds were floating by
i looked upon this young girls face
she held it down in disgrace.
i looked upon her cheeks so fair
she looked up to me to see if i care
i looked at her with content
and she knew right there it was heaven sent.
she smiled at me, and our eyes then touched
we knew then, it was much to much.
our hearts entwined and her lips met mine
we felt right there it was a love divine.
poem by Louis Rams
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Evening. To Harriet
O thou bright Sun! beneath the dark blue line
Of western distance that sublime descendest,
And, gleaming lovelier as thy beams decline,
Thy million hues to every vapour lendest,
And, over cobweb lawn and grove and stream
Sheddest the liquid magic of thy light,
Till calm Earth, with the parting splendour bright,
Shows like the vision of a beauteous dream;
What gazer now with astronomic eye
Could coldly count the spots within thy sphere?
Such were thy lover, Harriet, could he fly
The thoughts of all that makes his passion dear,
And, turning senseless from thy warm caress,--
Pick flaws in our close-woven happiness.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The Recorded Message
Hello, I’m standing here looking up into the clear moonlit sky
a bright star stands out above the rest and I don’t know why.
Several times I’ve looked away and tried to focus elsewhere,
but each time my eyes return to this stunning heavenly glare.
Without warning all the stars have vanished except for this one,
I’ve rubbed my eyes in disbelief, but yes they have definitely gone.
Even the moon has disappeared from its place high in the sky,
but the brightness hasn’t altered and still I don’t know why.
This star seems to be zooming in and changing the night to day,
but it isn’t a normal daylight seen in the usual kind of way.
All the edges of this light are tinged with yellow and blue,
and to focus my eyes properly is very hard to do.
I’m so overwhelmed I’ve fallen backwards onto the ground
I feel foolish and embarrassed, and look quickly all around.
But there’s no one to be seen; where has everyone gone
there’s no one here to share with me what is going on.
This is beyond understanding, only a few moments a go
people were all around me busily walking to and fro.
I put my hands on to the ground to get up, but they’re not there
everything is disappearing into the yellow and blue tinged glare.
Hello, I’m standing here looking up into the clear moonlit sky
a bright star stands out above the rest and I don’t know why.
Several times I’ve looked away and tried to focus elsewhere,
but each time my eyes return to this stunning heavenly glare.
poem by Orlando Belo
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The tree that knew me.
My tree will know it all
The tree of my childhood
With the endless branches
And the many whispers
Time that it can only measure
My tree remembers
The boy with the wind in his hair
The boy with the crazy laughter
The boy with the fear of living and of lifes unknowns
The boy I used to be
Before the internet or the mac
Playstation Nintendo and games that attack.
My tree remembers me
Clinbing its branches into the sky
Hung on its strong limb
A swing
Of rope and wood.
Telling me I should
Swing as high as I could
Touch the weightless sky
On the magical piece of wood
I can fly and pierce the sky.
My tree remembers
Red Light
Green light
Outdoor street light
Before
My first crush or even a kiss
Dodgeball
And street baseball
Red rover
Red rover
Please come over
And play
Hide and seek
Take cover
And be meek
In my tree
Is everything I want to be.
Imaganary places
People
Creatures
And mystical things
High In my tree
I can see the world
But no one can see me...
My tree remembers me
The boy I use to be
My tree does not know what happened to me
My life has no room for fasanations of fantasys
Now complacted full of responsibilities
I have no time
To many dead lines
My tree looked at me
And said this is where you should be..
One day I drove hurriedly by.....
The pain of progress has its cost
And my tree has lost its spot
It was no longer needed for shade and play,
And its slow pace way
Was its end.
In my heart that tree and me are not appart.
poem by Howard Johnson
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To Minette
With your lovely face
and bright blue eyes
at any time you could disrupt my life
and a single word made me believe in your love
and your soft lips, the blush on your cheek
and bright blue eyes
really caught me
and the sound of your voice
and your soft lips, the blush on your cheek
grasped my heart
and your soft hand folding around mine
and the sound of your voice
leaves me now only with mourning
and the remembering of how wonderful you were
and your soft hand folding around mine
has been extinguished by destiny, changed to ash.
With your lovely face
and the remembering of how wonderful you were
at any time you could disrupt my life.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Morning Bright
Morning bright, night chill gone,
the scented wind stroking
high, pliant branches,
and I wait for you
in our summer garden;
lush in leaf and yellow rose
and silky grass
in vernal sunshine,
and it's you I wait for in the ivy shade
watching our lazy cat
stretch her dappled fur
on the bright, sun soaked
concrete step.
Like the tender vine
in the warming soil
I am content
to wait
for you.
poem by Steven Federle
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The summer
The summer is busy
catching speed
and I see how the bright blue sky,
is changed by clouds
that suddenly hangs dark and breeding.
In the distance a thunder rolls
and there are big drops
that falls about me in the red dirt
and I can almost see the grass,
bushes and trees
jump centimetres
from the power
that the clear drops bring.
Small sprouts are bursting green
out of the red brown ground
in the vegetable garden
and the magic of new life
is everywhere to be seen.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The leaf in the wind
The leaf in the wind
Missed the tree
The tree it was in
That made it be
It fell to the porch
A child held it
And gave it a stroke
Then gently left it
The wind came again
And took it to the sky
Then the sky rained
And it fell to lie
The things on the ground
Kept pushing it away
The wind had an angry sound
It wanted it in its way
So the wind blew
And picked up the leaf
And held it through
Earth’s grief and relief
No tree would claim
The young leaf left
Touched by time
Time itself had left
poem by Ragy Sandid
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In some fields of grass under the hills (sestina)
This afternoon the peaks throw a big shade
with the black cliffs shining up on the hills,
while we lay together in the long grass,
I look in your eyes that are amber-green
while under my head there is a small stone
and you smile at me like the prettiest lady.
I had once known another charming lady;
that part of my life is now left in shade,
bad churchmen were casting stone upon stone,
while I had to flee from them to the hills
to pastures were everything is green
to find the Lord in divine fields of grass.
Under your head there is a crown of grass
and your mother is a gracious, kind lady,
around us everything is lovely green
while we are still resting in the cool shade,
we are softly chatting about life’s hills,
about walls of very hard granite stone.
Your eyes are much brighter than emerald stone
while all of your words are softer than grass,
reaching higher and beyond all the hills,
the high mountain which is dangerous lady,
while from our pain nothing gives any shade,
nowhere is a place of rest that is green.
Your summer dress is lovely, is bright green,
suddenly all our ails have turned to stone
I follow you further; see your small shade,
I am seen as one that woos any lady,
we walk past some flowers growing in grass,
climbing up higher into the foothills.
Bright streams are splashing down some of the hills,
with water transparent, sometimes cold and green,
love and lust burns like in a youthful lady
while I at that moment feel cold as stone,
we notice a deer feeding on lone grass
while our garments lie under a tree’s shade.
Far into the hills you want love till dusk’s shade,
where you peep like some green moss from the grass,
are tossing me with a stone like no lady.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Make-believe
Make-believe
The olive tree had three trunks Siamese triplets?
It was old and gnarled, some of its branches had
no leaves and it was lost in an abstract, cosmic
dream and not aware of its surround; I touched
the perennial and thus gave it soul.
A mild breeze blew, a fluttering of leaves and
the three could see the blue sky where a silvery
bird flew northward glinting in the sun. It could
also see how cute other trees looked, when aware
how ugly it was dawn dew dripped from leaves.
Wished it could be a cosmic dream again and
not know of time and place. But look, its tears
had fertilised the ground and around its trunk
flowers so rare they had still to get a Latin name,
sprung up from red/rusty soil.
They are my creation I have created beauty out
of my distress, the plant whispered as in awe.
My children, must shade them from the hot sun
and bitter winter rain. Vanity be gone, and see,
on its naked branches green leaves grew,
poem by Oskar Hansen
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