We were on patrol in the desert
We were on patrol in the desert,
drove through a part of the Namib
with a brown armoured car
at a place where there were firm ground
and camped for the night,
seeing the trip as a type of joy ride
and during the day the sun was utterly hot
but the night was black and icy cold
and we counted bright stars
that looked shot-gunned into the sky
and the Bushmen trackers
sat round a fire where they prepared tea
reminding me of the British army
but we were continents away
in another country, fighting a enemy
that did not bother them.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Under a African sky
The sun burns furious
and the harsh reality,
of a live in the semi desert
of the Kalahari
is set in my mind.
There are some bushes
growing in this arid land,
with red sand
stretching as far
as the eye can see,
but they are riddled
with large white thorns.
A Group of bushmen trackers
are gathered round a fire
and are drinking tea,
near to the huts
where they live.
It’s time to go and we set out
into the bush,
with two trackers
running in the lead.
One is carrying my R5 rifle
and we follow
in a fighting formation,
with armoured fighting vehicles
and armoured cars.
The LMG becomes heavy
in my hands
and sweat are running
down my cheeks.
Every hour or so
the trackers are changed
and we keep following the tracks,
for hours without end
and then reality is frozen.
Rpg-7 rockets whistle past
and the sound of enemy
AK-47 rifles and mortars,
are almost everywhere.
We return fire at dark dots
and every moving thing
becomes prostrate
and the dead enemy are gathered
and I feel like puking;
and some troops are smoking
and it’s just another day
under a African sky.
[LMG=> Light Machine Gun]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The night is full of brown Ratel armoured cars
The night is full of brown Ratel armoured cars
and Olifant tanks
that drives and rolls in on the ground
and salvos from rocket launching trucks
that draws arcs
and in the distance howitzer canon reports
in volleys
and when a light flare suddenly falls
it is as if the bushes are teeming
with enemy tanks and armoured cars
just where I look
and it looks
like the day of judgement.
Projectiles find their targets
and canister-shot comes down exploding thundering
and it’s an apocalyptic night
for some of the enemy
who are burning,
scorched and blown to smithereens in their armour
and when a tank
suddenly appears out of the bushes
there is a hell of a red thunderclap
as a shot from another Ratel hits it deadly
and I realize that even here
a person’s time is measured out
and around me there are fireworks
like stars falling from the sky
while we stop and aim
the following killing shot.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A shot rang out like lightning out of a gun
Goodbye to the land where the sun always shine,
to the blue sky that always is bright,
goodbye to the light that comes every day
and hello to that midnight which is cold and dark.
A shot rang out like lightning out of a gun
fading the sun while white vapour rose
out of a shot out armoured car,
I couldn’t close my eyes or look away.
Goodbye to that enemy tank stopped in its tracks
against a bank of earth
while my armoured car’s gun rang out
sending a phosphorus shell with fire from hell.
A rocket flew past with a flaming tail
like a star falling from the sky
before exploding against a tree with a blast
and goodbye to the enemy soldiers who fired it
while we moved past at speed
with a machinegun howling a great cry.
I heard that enemy commander weeping over the radio
while his frequencies were blocked
being in shock
and sounding like the voices of many men
crying in the anguish of death
as if a deadly net had been cast
and I wish that I could understand Spanish
but the noise was ear-splitting
and it was goodbye to tank after tank
and goodbye with blast after blast and going in quick
stopping, firing and running away fast
and every enemy armoured car we found
only got one shot
till the last shell had being fired
and tired we went to fetch some more,
ate in a hurry before being wished good luck
and going back to war.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Bitter Night
When I sit here on this cold ground with this sky full of empty trees creaking with the bright moon lighting down on my part of the world with all the stars out to greet the river that's flowing though, my hands slowing down from the chilled night. oh what a night to enjoy a night to remember a night to cherish a night to look forward to, to sit and look out at a calm and peaceful powerful bitter night
poem by Ryan Adamec
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General Roberts in Afghanistan
'Twas in the year of 1878, and. the winter had set in,
Lord Roberts and the British Army their march did begin,
On their way to Afghanistan to a place called Cabul;
And the weather was bitter cold and the rivers swollen and full.
And the enemy were posted high up amongst the hills,
And when they saw the British, with fear their blood thrills;
The savages were camped on the hillsides in war array,
And occupying a strong position which before the British lay.
And viewed from the front their position was impregnable,
But Lord Roberts was a general of great skill;
Therefore to surprise the enemy he thought it was right,
To march upon the enemy in the dead of night.
Then the men were mustered without delay,
And each man of them was eager for the fray;
And in the silent darkness they felt no dismay,
And to attack the enemy they marched boldly away.
And on they marched bravely without fear or doubt,
And about daybreak the challenge of an Afghan sentinel rang out,
And echoed from rock to rock on the frosty biting air;
But the challenge didn't the British scare.
Then the Highlanders attacked them left and right,
And oh! it was a gorgeoua and an inspiring sight;
For a fierce hand to hand struggle raged for a time,
While the pibrochs skirled aloud, oh! the scene was sublime.
Then the Ghoorkas did the Afghans fiercely attack,
And at every point and turning they were driven back;
And a fierce hand to hand struggle raged for a time,
While in the morning sunshine the British bayonets did shine.
And around the ridge or knoll the battle raged for three hours,
And British bullets fell amongst them in showers;
For Captain Kelso brought us his mountain battery,
And sent his shells right into the camp of the enemy,
Then the left of the Afghans was turned, and began to flee.
Meanwhile, on the enemy's strong position Lord Roberts launched an attack,
And from their position they could hardly be driven back
Because the Afghans were hid amongst the woods and hills,
Still with undaunted courage, the British blood thrills.
And the Afghans pressed the British hotly, but they didn't give way,
For the 8th Ghoorkas and the 72nd kept them at bay;
And the mountain guns shells upon them did fire,
Then the 8th Punjaub, bounding up the heights, made them retire.
Then Major White seized a rifle from one of his men and did retire,
And levelled the piece fearlessly and did fire;
And with a steady and well-timed shot
He shot the Afghan leader dead on the spot.
Then the British with a wild cheer dashed, at them,
And on each side around they did them hem;
And at the bayonet charge they drove them down the hill,
And in hundreds they did them kill.
Then in a confused mass they fled down the opposite side of the hill
In hundreds,driven by sheer force sore against their will;
And helter-skelter they did run,
For all their positions were carried and the victory won.
Then on the 8th of August again Lord Roberts' march began
For to fight the rebel Ayoob Khan;
And with an army about seven thousand strong
On his way to Candahar he fearlessly marched along.
And the battle that followed at Candahar was a complete victory,
And Lord Roberts' march to Candahar stands unrivalled in history;
And let's thank God that sent Lord Roberts to conquer Ayoob Khan,
For from that time there's been no more war in Afghanistan.
Success to Lord Roberts; he's a very brave man,
For he conquered the Afghans in Afghanistan,
With an army about seven thousand strong,
He spread death and desolation all along.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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The bad lands
Nowhere in the bush
where lions, leopard,
crocodiles, hippos
and snakes dwelt
felt really bad to me.
On patrol at times
a hidden landmine,
a booby-trapped corpse
could shatter you
with a thousand
hell hot pieces of steel
and still skill, tenacity
and knowledge kept me safe.
Even in Angola facing enemy armour
where shells swished past,
Ratel armoured cars were trapped
and shot out
and the enemy
hatched in steel caskets
that were armoured cars
and tanks at a time,
where hyena, jackal
and vultures ripped through bodies
of shot, sliced, ripped Cuban
and Fapla soldiers
we overcame
and although the cruelty of war
and lost of human live
gripped me
and the smell penetrated
up into my soul,
the ground stayed pure
and African
as if we did belong.
Yet when I visit that little hill
(in Natal)
where Dingaan misled Piet Retief
and had him
and his companions slaughtered
and fed their bodies
to the birds, the wind, the sun
their spilled blood is still glowing
as if radioactive
and that place
feels really evil to me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Finding your god
After your father’s demise
you didn’t have a god
but you had to find one
or you’re writing of children’s stories
in the nether world of Toeka
(a place far away and long gone)
would come undone.
So we went to caves
to view Bushmen paintings
drove through Namaqualand
visiting quiver trees
to get a pincushion-type quiver
to fit your hunting arrows in
with which you wanted to hunt your god down
past Gifberg with its white poisonous daisies
right through the cruel sea
where only here and there
some clumps of hardy trees
grows defiantly against the Namib Desert
and carrying on through a raging sandstorm
with its suffocating warm wind
and you though that we
would surely find him at God’s finger
near Asab, where you believed
supernatural powers prevail
and the pillar of rock
with the narrow neck
pointing up into the heavens
just looked like erosion to me.
Further on near the Kuiseb River
you believed the canyon to be ablaze
as if your god was walking there
but still he was nowhere
and at Okaukuejo we went to the magic forest
of Moringa ovalifolia trees
and you were certain that now
we were drawing near
as these trees looked
as if they were flung out of paradise
landing upside down
where they were still growing
and at the Etosha pan
we saw a large herd of Oryx
drinking water
and couldn’t understand
how they lived in the desert
and you were sure
that your god
was sustaining them somehow
but still no other signs
of your god was seen
and we drove back to the Kalahari desert
where near the Orange river
we found a stretch of white sand
about nine kilometres long
right there in the normal red desert
and I went up a dune at the southern face
and while I walked
it made a strange sound
and it roared when I sailed down
and you where awe struck
at the voice of your god
and in the desert
with the roaring sand
you heard his voice
when you walked there
and I had to lock it
in preserved-fruit bottles
with lids welded together
and a tiny hole drilled through
and filled one jar with that white sand
and when sealed air tight
it looked like a huge egg timer
but its singing roared
into a humming sound
and your were sure
that your god
was captured and found
and from now on
you could hear his voice
whenever you wanted to.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Forever young
I saw boys driving away to war
in a Ratel-90 armoured car
and they were well trained,
ready for action
and called up for military service
against their will.
Two smiled and a few
waved goodbye
and there was dirt
in my eyes,
when my armoured car
caught speed.
Enemy battle tanks were everywhere
and we fought right through the night
and with first light
an armoured car was stuck
in a mine field
and they were hoping for the best
but the worst was there
and shot out they paid the cost.
Although the enemy
paid a much higher price
and lost,
it’s like yesterday that they
waved goodbye
and sacrificed in vain
their lives for people
that does not honour them
and remain forever young.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The road ahead dissolved into dust
The road ahead dissolved into dust
and we could not see the track
nor any of the other fighting vehicles
consisting out of Olifant main battle tanks
and Ratel armoured cars that were ahead of us.
Bushes were covering the veldt
on all sides and around us,
the early morning fog
had drifted over from the river
and worse still tried to cover things
and in the distance I heard the cannon
of a enemy tank blasting off a projectile
and almost felt the impact hitting us,
but it shrieked past
and at speed we left the track
rammed through some bushes
and the Ratel-90 armoured car
draw to a halt
and our return shot
found its mark
and we had to take another one
to make dead sure
of the destruction
of the Russian manufactured T-55 tank
before speeding away
trying to avoid being hit
and found another target
and one more and another after that
and later even filling the night
with bright flashing canon flame,
sending death out with projectiles
to whichever enemy that we found.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Why?
If I could paint
I would paint a portrait
of a shot out Ratel armoured car
standing in a landmine field.
Out of which the smoke still rises
And I would print in defencelessness
with every brush stroke
of armoured steel failing
against projectiles
and then becoming a coffin
and enemy soldiers standing grinning
with teeth brilliant white
and bones of fallen comrades
that tried to stop a horde of barbarians
and hyenas and jackals standing drooling
and vultures turning in the sky
and in the background till the horizon
enemy tanks, armoured cars
and men would lay shot to pieces
with pools of blood, intestines
and shot of legs and hands
and the title would be: Why?
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Ballad of the Black-Sheep
A black-sheep, from England, who worked on the run –
Riding where the stockmen ride –
He sat by the hut when the day’s work was done –
Lone huts where the black sheep bide.
“I’m tired of my life!” to his lone self said he,
“My girl and my country are both done with me!”
“I’m tired of my life!” to the wide scrubs said he –
“My girl and my country are long done with me!”
He took from a packet a portrait and curl –
Such things as the exiles keep –
And sadly he gazed at the face of the girl –
Lost girl of a lost black-sheep.
“I’ll go where there’s fighting and die there!” said he;
“My girl and my country are well rid of me.
“I’ll go where there’s fighting and die there,” said he;
“For heart-break and country that’s well rid of me!”
He rode with a thousand, he rode with the best –
Riding as bushmen ride –
Who’d ridden alone on the wastes of the West –
Wide wastes where the drought-fiends bide,
They rode as they’d ride to an up-country ball,
And the laugh of the black-sheep was lightest of all!
The road was a shambles, the hill was a hell –
Red rosed where the reckless ride –
And he with the foremost lay torn by a shell –
(Die hard where your father died!)
“the death of a rebel!” he laughed as he groaned –
“for the land that adoptee – the land that disowned!”
the death of a black-sheep! – they laugh as they groan –
for the lands that adopt and the lands that disown!
poem by Henry Lawson
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Ride My See-saw
Ride, ride my see-saw,
Take this place
On this trip
Just for me.
Ride, take a free ride,
Take my place
Have my seat
Its for free.
I worked like a slave for years,
Sweat so hard just to end my fears.
Not to end my life a poor man,
But by now, I know I should have run.
Run, run my last race,
Take my place
Have this number
Of mine.
Run, run like a fire,
Dont you run in
In the lanes
Run for time.
Left school with a first class pass,
Started work but as second class.
School taught one and one is two.
But right now, that answer just aint true.
Ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah ah
Ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah ah
My world is spinning around,
Everything is lost that I found.
People run, come ride with me,
Lets find another place thats free.
Ride, ride my see-saw,
Take this place
On this trip
Just for me.
Ride, take a free ride,
Take my place
Have my seat
Its for free.
Ride, my see-saw.
Ride, ride, ride, my see-saw.
Ride, my see-saw...
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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(It's Hard) Letting You Go
It ain't no fun lying down to sleep
And there ain't no secrets left for me to keep
I wish the stars up in the sky would all just call in sick
And the clouds would take the moon out on some one-way trip
I drove all night down streets that wouldn't bend
But somehow they drove me back here once again
To the place I lost at love
song performed by by Bon Jovi from These Days
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spellbound
Blinded by a bright beam
Shattered by the windscreen
Stunned by the whiplash
Im a victim of a bad crash
I can do nothing right
I never sleep at night
Cant even start a fight
My feet have left the ground
Spinning round and round
Spellbound, my world keeps a tumbling down
Beaten by a blind bend
Wrong way up a dead end
Screaming through a speed trap
As I tear into a tail back
I can do nothing right
I never sleep at night
Cant even start a fight
My feet have left the ground
Spinning round and round
Spellbound, my world keeps a tumbling down
Im slipping down
I got my hands in the fire
Im sliding on an oil slick
Blinded on a bad trip
Yes and nothings going to change it
I can do nothing right
Cant even sleep at night
My feet have left the ground
Im spinning round and round
Spellbound, my world keeps a tumbling down
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ride D-Clock
ride clock
running
'round 'n 'round rhyme time
swimming through
the salty hills
with fishes
walking,
talking,
fighting,
killing,
eating each
other's principles—
when there are none
nor flowers
growing from the clouds
lights bounce
another layer of clouds—
done and gone darkness singing
on a cold winter night
in the desert
poem by Karlo Dela Cruz Oropesa
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Waiting for the bus.....(for Karen)
The market place was closin'
my feet were nearly frozen
I tried to see the bus come through the snow.
But even though I strained
no bus ever came
and I wished I were in bed, that night,
back home
Then behold, we saw a Taxi
Mother said 'oh should we,
baby's cold, ain't that what money's for? '
So she held up a free hand
and hailed that taxi man.
I'd never been in a taxi cab before.
It was big and bright and black,
and we sat up at the back,
the man who drove it was so very nice.
I snuggled up to mum
She said ‘you warmer hon? '
And I fell fast asleep upon her lap.
It was the best ride I'd ever had
in that black taxi cab.
I thought my mum
the best that there could be!
When I was three
and she hailed a cab for me.
poem by Ruth Walters
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I Took A Trip On A Gemini Spacecraft
I took a trip
On a gemini spacecraft
And I thought about you
I passed through the shadow of jupiter
And I thought about you
I shot my spacegun
And boy, I really felt blue
Two or three flying saucers
Parked under the stars
The winding stream
Moon shining down
On some little town
And with each beam
The same old dream
I took a trip
On a gemini spacecraft
And I thought about you
I shot my spacegun
And I thought about you
I pulled down my sun visor
Boy, I really felt blue
You jumped into your gemini
I jumped into mine
Well orbit the moon
For just one time
Tomorrow night
Tomorrow night
Will you hold hands
With me in the moonlight
I took a trip
In a gemini spacecraft
And I thought about you
I shot my spacegun
And I thought about you
I took
I took a walk in space
Boy, I really felt blue
Well, I peeked through the crack
And I looked way back
The stardust trail
Leading back to you
What did I do
What could I do
Yes what did I do
Well
I thought about you
I thought about you
Took a trip
On a gemini spacecraft
Thought about you
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Winter night and the three little men
Winter Night and The Three Little Men.
The Fire burns bright,
While the woods turn to night.
The cold creeps in with sudden quickness
and trees set in sudden ice.
It is, suffice to say, that this is a cold Winter night.
The fire that night kept warm the three little Men
and cast a light that stayed the predators of that cold winter night.
The cold crept and the Wolves howled but all tried in vain
for the fire kept the three little men safe,
but men are lazy and some call them crazy.
All the same because that winter night was to
be the last for the little three men.
The three little men eyes drooped and finely closed
but the poor men forgot to tend the fire.
The fire went out with a flicker then a splutter
and Winter night crept in;
There was one witness that cold Winter night, the Moon.
Try as she could her brightness could not save the poor
little three Men, that cold Winter night.
Josiah, Lozier
poem by Josiah Lozier
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I Took A Trip On A Gemini Spaceship
Took a trip on a Gemini spacecraft
And I thought about you
I passed through the shadow of Jupiter
(sigh)
And I thought about you
I shot my spacegun
And boy, I really felt blue
Two or three flying saucers
Parked under the stars
The winding stream
Moon shining down
On some little town
And with each beam
The same old dream
I took a trip on a Gemini spacecraft
And I thought about you
Well I shot my spacegun
And I thought about you
Pulled down my sun visor
Boy, I really felt blue
You jumped into your Gemini
I jumped into mine
We'll orbit the Moon
For just one time
Tomorrow night
Tomorrow night
Will you hold hands
With me under the moonlight
Took a trip in a Gemini spacecraft
And I thought about you
I shot my spacegun
And I thought about you
I took, I took a walk in space
Boy, I really felt blue
Well I peeked through the crack
And I looked way back
The stardust trail
Leading back to you
What did I do
What could I do
What did I do
Well
I thought about you
I thought about you
Took a trip on a Gemini spacecraft
And thought about you
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Capture of Havana
'Twas in the year 1762 that France and Spain
Resolved, allied together, to crush Britain;
But the British Army sailed from England in May,
And arrived off Havana without any delay.
And the British Army resolved to operate on land,
And the appearance of the British troops were really grand;
And by the Earl of Albemarle the British troops were commanded,
All eager for to fight as soon as they were landed.
Arduous and trying was the work the British had to do,
Yet with a hearty goodwill they to it flew;
While the tropical sun on them blazed down,
But the poor soldiers wrought hard and didn't frown.
The bombardment was opened on the 30th of June,
And from the British battleships a fierce cannonade did boom;
And continued from six in the morning till two o'clock in the afternoon,
And with grief the French and Spaniards sullenly did gloom.
And by the 26th of July the guns of Fort Moro were destroyed,
And the French and Spaniards were greatly annoyed;
Because the British troops entered the Fort without dismay,
And drove them from it at the bayonet charge without delay.
But for the safety of the city the Governor organised a night attack,
Thinking to repulse the British and drive them back;
And with fifteen hundred militia he did the British attack,
But the British trench guards soon drove them back.
Then the Spandiards were charged and driven down the hill,
At the point of the bayonet sore against their will;
And they rushed to their boats, the only refuge they could find,
Leaving a trail of dead and wounded behind.
Then Lieutenant Forbes, at the head of his men,
Swept round the ramparts driving all before them;
And with levelled bayonets they drove them to and fro,
Then the British flag was hoisted over the bastions of Moro.
Then the Governor of the castle fell fighting sword in hand,
While rallying his men around the flagstaff the scene was grand;
And the Spaniards fought hard to save their ships of war,
But the British destroyed their ships and scattered them afar.
And every man in the Moro Fort was bayonet or shot,
Which in Spanish history will never be forgot;
And on the 10th of August Lord Albemarle sent a flag of truce,
And summoned the Governor to surrender, but he seemed to refuse.
Then from the batteries the British opened a terrific fire,
And the Spaniards from their guns were forced to retire,
Because no longer could they the city defend;
Then the firing ceased and hostilities were at an end.
Then the city of Havana surrendered unconditionally,
And terms were settled, and the harbour, forts, and city,
With a district of one hundred miles to the westward,
And loads of gold and silver were the British troops' reward.
And all other valuable property was brought to London,
The spoils that the British Army had won;
And it was conveyed in grand procession to the Tower of London,
And the Londoners applauded the British for the honours they had won.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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