When Fantasy Is Totally Gone (In Answer To Mandi Engelbrecht)
Many memories still remain with me
of your white house with the wooden windows,
where irises bloom purple in the garden,
with a bottle of St. Anna on the porch,
the fireplace burning cheerfully in winter,
the stars that glitter silver-blue above us,
the branches of the avocado tree slamming
when the wind blows strong up on the mountain,
your deep glance that desires in silence,
the way that you sometimes happily smile
when being together comes to perfection,
when your red lips are soft, hot and hungry,
when we both build a castle brick for brick,
are together in all our future dreams;
where you sing joyfully, paint and write poems,
where every caress is pure and holy,
where there is no goodbye and just hello,
where all the fragile feelings become real,
where morning glories grow exuberant
and we somewhat innocent believe in love
l’Envoi
but this world is full of a own reality,
as a place of cruel hard actuality;
where destiny continually hits on its own,
where I constantly stand totally alone
where dreams flutter away like butterflies,
where morning glories becomes just a weed,
where many thousands of poems come from me,
where in the sounds of silence I bleed.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Wreath Of Sonnets For My Darling
I
Outside all the streets are lighted
while you smell red roses in the garden
and it's as if my thoughts linger with you,
at the morning glories trumpeting over the wall,
the windows reflect you in their glare
and you crawl just deeper into my thoughts,
above me stars sparkle, it's as if one is dancing
and I am aware of a secret bond,
I am madly in love with you;
our friendship came suddenly
where two people in the whole universe
are momentarily astounded by each other
and its only moments before you join me,
the doors are closed and locked.
II
The doors are closed and locked
when you come into my life irrevocable
and my world is falling to pieces
but it's as if you give to every day the summer sun,
you change the cool winter rain of months
with a unknown adaptability
and deep in my heart you are the only one;
that makes me happy and sometimes sad,
maybe we knew that difficult days will come,
maybe we had an intuition that moments do decay
but still we are in love with each other,
as two persons finding each other in all of humanity
and it's as if the blessings of God do descend on us,
when the nightly silence lingers.
III
When the nightly silence lingers
I read deep thoughts, your eyes shine
with the brilliance and glittering of rainbows,
they are radiated by a bright pure light,
they lie like two olives totally oval,
when you laugh full of sunshine and you are elated
and still they have got the capacity
to draw all of my thought to you,
when you want to make my whole world wonderful,
as if we are totally exceptional,
and it's as if every bird is calling its mate,
as if the sunrise and the days become more beautiful
and like two children we find meaning;
I cannot get you out of my thoughts.
IV
I cannot get you out of my thoughts,
in this cold winter I miss you,
it's as if I want to include you in everything
and I am constantly looking at your photograph.
Even the wind that blows inconsolable
brings in its songs a bigger sense of longing,
as if all things in life
suggests that I flee but still I am captured
in the power of destiny,
and it's as if escape lies in my power
(I know it sounds somewhat ridiculous
to change everything all at once)
and I am now attached to your soul;
we walk with your hand that fits in mine.
V
We walk with your hand that fits in mine
past the gardens of houses to the church,
the wind jerks on your jacket
and you are the only thing that I do notice.
Your voice makes my heart frolic,
when you tell me about all kinds of things
and your voice sometimes sounds like that of a young girl,
while I pick up beautiful rocks lying here and there
but something precious I want to pick for you
when your presence makes me feel good,
and I want to embrace you
as we stand for long moments
while the day passes rapidly;
silver-white stars are all over the sky.
VI
Silver-white stars are all over the sky
before the cold rain starts to pour down,
when the wind cries at the corners of the house
and I see leaves whirling around,
Thunderbolts fall for moments and disappear,
and there is monotony in the swirl
but it's as if you always cross my life
and even when my days are busy
I realise how fleeting life is,
that life comes down to the here and now
and when the rain keeps splashing down
you come to visit and we share every secret,
talk to deep into the night until the stars fade;
we talk about places where we had been.
VII
We talk about places where we had been
and through the window the moon peeps,
while we kiss and I hold tightly onto your hand,
when our thoughts go back to the past
and the seriousness in your glance
at times makes me scared,
as if a secret shines in your eyes,
when you look mischievous.
Outside many stars glitter blue-white
when the fragrances of jasmine and gardenia hangs in the air,
with lights that glow in the darkness,
the lights of cars that are caught in the moment
and a paper bag is rolling around in the wind,
the old oak tree throws a dark spot.
VIII
The old oak tree throws a dark spot
while doves constantly coo from it,
while the wind jerks on the windows
and the moon watches us shyly.
Gleaming sharp light glitter in the night,
bringing a kind of joy to the dark hour
and in my veins the pure power rushes
of the glowing fire of great passion
of earthly desires, as if from the ground,
burning full of emotion through me
when sparking, flaming your soft mouth
awakens emotion in a showering flood
and sweetly your clear laughter sounds,
your lips are suddenly hot, sweet and soft.
IX
Your lips are suddenly hot, sweet and soft,
tonight there is a potsherd golden moon
and it's as if I am yearning for years for you,
as if the whole wide world suddenly comes to a halt,
as if the moon is breaking into pieces,
it rises as if it's following the stars in its orbit,
and a piece pierces into the heaven
as it brightens, gleams lingering
and it's as if the moon uses magic,
with golden rays and shadows
and for moments I consider conquering you,
to find love without fear
and intensely you watch me for moments,
when my heart beats in rapture in my throat.
X
When my heart beats in rapture in my throat
you smell of flowers that bloom in spring
while passion wants to run away with us both,
when your eyes glow with secrets.
When you kiss me a star jumps in the sky,
you are the sun that carries this summer,
you make me madly in love with you,
you are the answer to which I am yearning.
Your lips caress butterfly soft over my mouth,
for moments lightly touches my cheek
as if you are near to holy ground
and moments linger, are caught;
in the distance a lightning bolt rattles,
a dove calls to its mate in the dark night.
XI
A dove calls to its mate in the dark night
and we both are full of joy and tireless,
when you smile like the sun in the afternoon,
it's as if thousands of fountains flow from your eyes,
radiating flaming from your whole body,
against your blouse sinful blossoms appear,
an attraction that goes to your thighs
making all other needs disappear,
as if eternally you are my flower of flowers
from which all other flowers come;
as if you walk in Eve's steps with sympathy,
can entice any man but it is me that you are astounding,
and I want to marry you and make a home;
when time suddenly stops in that moment.
XII
When time suddenly stops in that moment
when you set me free from all other women,
my blood pulses through my head,
and in this summer you are only looking at me.
When old age appears with the years,
will fire then still arise between us,
when destiny makes us grey, bowed and disguised,
and wants to show us the road to eternity?
Will we then still know love,
when all other things fade away
like fog in the secret places of the mind
and then still be following love,
will we want to find each other in every sentence and word,
when your eyes tell me that you love me?
XIII
When your eyes tell me that you love me
let smoke rise from the glowing sparks,
let us then constantly begin each day anew,
and remain silent about the mistakes of the past.
Let our love become more than just passion,
in the holy temples of the heart,
let us pour out our spirit and soul into each other,
then let you still play your role and I my part;
may we love each other in happiness and sorrow,
even in the wild stormy wind,
may we be stand together on each occasion,
even when life blinds us at times,
may you never fabricate any truth,
when I look into the depths of your soul.
XIV
When I look into the depths of your soul
now that winter goes strips to skeleton,
I know that we can conquer any problem,
while I search joy and meaning from you
and like always I am still blinded
to the errors that your humanity screams out,
and still there is something in me that wants to find you,
while you are caught in this century
and right through the night I am dreaming
about how you fold your slim arms around my neck,
but I do not know what to expect from these things
and it's as if you are still here with me,
even when the last leaves falls with old age,
when we stand before the God of the universe.
XV
Outside all the streets are lighted
the doors are closed and locked
when the nightly silence lingers
(I cannot get you out of my thoughts) :
we walk with your hand that fits in mine,
silver-white stars are all over the sky,
we talk about places where we had been,
the old oak tree throws a dark spot.
Your lips are suddenly hot, sweet and soft,
when my heart beats in rapture in my throat,
a dove calls to its mate in the dark night
when time suddenly stops in that moment
when your eyes tell me that you love me,
when I look into the depths of your soul.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Poems
Memories are like seasons,
Come spring they are refreshed again and again,
You say, poems are just poems!
But no dearest one,
My poems…
Are reflections of my deepest feelings,
My garden paradise,
Where beautiful birds cheerfully sing and play,
My daily place of recluse and solace,
My crafted dreams,
To momentarily taste your refreshing sweetness,
And feel your presence, close!
poem by Desert Life
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Come to my garden
Come to my garden
when purple irises flower perfectly,
morning glories summit over every thing
and be speechless by the glory
of sunspots that trumpet their beauty purple-blue
and violets that rise up everywhere.
Come to my garden
when purple irises flower perfectly,
see roses from crimson to auburn
and find no words and become dumbstruck
by odours and colours that my plants trumpet forth
and come and look at every thing, come my most precious flower,
come to my garden.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Oklahoma-Texas Line
Got an old dog, it don't like me much
That thing starts to bark his head off every time we touch
Sittin' on the porch listenin' to the radio
We sing every single song we know
Even the ones we don't
When she moves a little closer
She puts her hand in mine
Oh what I wouldn't give to stop the hands of time
She's got long blonde hair and deep blue eyes
I got all I ever need when at girl is by my side
Everything I love is there inside
A little brick house on the Oklahoma-Texas Line
She's got a part time job at the Tastee-freeze
She took the weekend off to spend a little bit of time with me
I got an old car we drove to the edge of town
We stopped by Old Man Millers' farm
Just to watch the world spin around
And she moves a little closer
She puts her lips to mine
Ain't funny how the good Lord out does himself sometimes
She's got long blonde hair and deep blue eyes
I got all I ever need when at girl is by my side
Everything I love is there inside
A little brick house on the Oklahoma-Texas Line
Everything I love is there inside
A little brick house with a black top drive
Big oak tree with our names carved on the side
She's got long blonde hair and deep blue eyes
I got all I ever need when at girl is by my side
Everything I love is there inside
A little brick house, little brick house on the Oklahoma-Texas Line
Oh here they come
Long blonde hair and deep blue eyes
Everything I love...
song performed by by Rascal Flatts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Bright Stars Sing A Song Of Joy
The bright stars sing a song of joy,
they are telling the world when you are coming to me
en continually one of them are jumping,
flowering blue-white in the heaven.
Continually the wind mentions your beautiful name,
softly it whispers our secrets to branches,
it witnesses our being together while it blows
and its pitch dark night
when your teeth glitter while you laugh in joy.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Morning glories
morning glories
in slight breeze
young girls in
their shy years
try day by day
to smile to sweetheart
through their smitten hearts
a field of morning glories
dance in silence
subdued dance
in the morning quiet
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Only Dreams I Have In Writing Now Are Poems
THE ONLY DREAMS I HAVE IN WRITING NOW ARE POEMS
The only dreams I have in writing now are poems
Poems and more poems-
I write them in the morning and in the evening
At all times of day
Whenever I can make them come to me
They calm me and make me rest
They bring a sense that I am still alive
They justify me an amuse me
They give me hope
The only dreams I have now are poems
And poems keep me alive
As long as they can.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Silence of Night
The silence I am with
Comforts
Stills
Surrounds
The silence is not real
Full
Constant
Chaotic
The silence is for me
Friendly
Hopeful
Peace
The silence becomes
All
Nothing
Ambiguity
No child to remind me I'm not alone
Little patter of feet to keep me up
Cries for 'mom' are far from this home
No last night time kisses and hug
The crickets sing there woeful tunes
Sounds of cars and screeching tires
Baby's scream and mother to sooth
Sounds of an urban type comical ire
The slamming of near neighbor’s door
TV blares a messy reality reminder
Silence carries drive by bass to poor
Teenager’s worried yells are a timer
Late night bacon from downstairs
Orange light filters in the windows
Revving motorcycle give night flair
Sounds of silence continue to grow
By Ruth L. Rivers
Aug. 4,2009
poem by Ruth L. Rivers
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Forever
The bright blue
folds open through the room’s window
and I see rows of purple morning glories
that shoots in domes up to the wall.
There are purple irises
that keeps butterflies busy
and bees turn around the roses
and I can hear
them passing outside
and the soft sweet smell of jasmine
mixes with lavender
on the fresh morning breeze
and the ginger golden Persian cat
stretches himself out long
on the wall
of the fish pond
where he lies
looking at the world.
Somewhere Sussa
(the big black dog)
talks grumbling with herself
and I hear Flippie
passing carefully
on her small paws
in the corridor
and we are safe
in our fortress
and your hand lies
soft and spoiling over me
and I hear your breathing evenly
and while you sleep next to me
and I could stay forever like this.
poem by Gert Strydom
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I paint on a sky
The dawn is breaking its early morn
Here, I m standing on a promise
of a brand new day
for new morning comes.
for the early morning smile,
So then, I paint on a sky.
Your eyes that shine like a golden sun.
I sense the morning glory.
Those cherry blossoms
That I paint on my mind.
As I heard the morning breeze,
That plays inside of me.
The notes and melodies
Were I paint on a sky
Over there beneath the silence
I watched the sea that dance on a wave,
And then I draw a line on sand
A line that connects my soul on wind
There I can dance to the music of my own
There I can paint on a sky.
Every step that I have been through.
I belong to the wind.
To fly higher than the mountain
Fly as free as the bird.
Then, I paint on a sky.
These dreams inside my mind,
These hope that I have been holding on
These love that last for more than time.
I walked on a bridge of the rainbow
I’ll be the sun in the sky.
I’ll be the light in all time
I’ll put back the blue in the sky
And learn to see the beauty that is waiting for
So then, I paint on a sky
All the happiness that brings back in my heart.
poem by Cheryl Aldea
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Seasons
I
As if summer will never end
irises are everywhere in the garden
with opening flower after flower
in light yellow, deep purple and rust-brown.
The bright hot sun hangs day after day
in a cobalt blue sky and even carnations, geraniums
and flame lilies are showing their beauty,
are still holding onto summer.
Doves are still cooing in the oak tree,
their are finches and sparrows cavorting up and down
and it’s as if nature is thwarting autumn
while dew is still shining on the leaves in the mornings
until later the sky becomes dull blue
while the sun is getting much more faint.
II
Slowly the leaves are falling
descending in different colours,
in one’s and two’s and later in a bigger number
tree-trunks become dark brown, red and some pallid
until every tree but for those that are evergreen stand skeleton,
the birds that remain sit next to each other shivering,
wishing for the winter to past
having difficulty to find seeds and other food
and the cold winter wind blows through everything,
filling the air with whirling dust clouds
with stripped branches flinging up and down
and everywhere leaves and branches lie in a jumble
until the wind dies down and the morning fog hangs like vapour,
at times only at noon is dispersed by the sun.
III
Days are cold and grey while the sun hides,
with a owl hunting during the day
searching for hungry mice sneaking around in the yellow grass
and all other signs of animal life is missing
but for doves sitting here and there
on telephone wires,
in disconsolation staring into the distance
and early mornings the grass is covered with white ripe
and it is as if every flower succumbs,
is shrinking crumpled and are folding close
until the first spring rain comes suddenly,
with sprouts and buds appearing and new flowers folding open
when fruit trees are covered with white, pink and yellow blossoms
and the sudden beauty takes your breath away.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Without you [2]
In my thoughts we sit on the porch
of the big old house
in fifth avenue
and we watch the sun setting,
with colours that no painter can reflect
and the smell of the flowering jacarandas
is heavy and sweet in the air,
we drink sweet wine, from a bottle St. Anna
and your smile and the short happiness
I cannot catch here
but now there are tears that hang heavy
on my eyelids
and I am afraid of every new morning,
as without you my life is shattered,
without you
my life is like a cup full of holes
from which the water of life, flows continually,
as if I am caught in a world
where my destiny is already set
and this is just a helpless daydream
which is disillusioned
in the brightness
of every new tomorrow
and the reality of life.
[Reference: Sonder jou (“Without you”) (a song) of Mandi Engelbrecth.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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We Celebrate Silence
I write to you only
In poetry now
Letters are useless
Our poems contain
All the silence between us
Wherein we remain
Poems are the songs
Of church morning bells
Lyrics are scriptures
Of soft evening rain
The choruses ring
On the craters and hills
In echo, again and again
We make love and listen
We laugh when it's funny
No judgments to sweeten in
Vaseline and honey
We never use words
Language is absurd
For transactions of touch
Where blood rises unheard
Now we celebrate silence
It causes no fuss
Love and only Love
We will let speak for us
And with all time erased
Your hands recall my face
And kisses speak to you
In every quiet place.
poem by Frank Bana
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The Tower That Ate People
There's a bump in the basement
There's a knocking on the wall
In the pumping of the pistons
I swear I heard you call
There's a bump in the basement
There's a hole in the floor
There's a guard in the garden
Locking up the door
There's a rumble in the floorboards
No shutting out the sound
And the workers down below me
Digging underground
Feel the building all around me
Like a wrap of armoured skin
But the more we are protected
The more we're trapped within
Tell it like it is
Till there's no misunderstanding
When you strip it right back
Man feed machine
Machine feed man
Tell it like it is
Till there's no misunderstanding
You make up what you like
Man feed machine
Machine feed man
?
Brick by brick by brick by brick we're building
Brick by brick by brick by brick we're building
Brick by brick by brick by brick we're building
Brick by brick by brick by brick we're building
Brick by brick by brick by brick we're building
Brick by brick by brick by brick we're building
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Awe Of Life
Focus on life, on all of life, your good dreams, the feelings, aliveness, the sublimeness, the beauty, love, meaning, wonder, such alive real dreams are life of life, they are you, more than you as well as ahead of you, making real your share of paradise now. Actively be with them, put into meaning, into understanding, into discernment the painful, hurt, dark, complex emotions, feelings while you hold onto your good memories, experiences, feelings, your joyous experiences are the digestive enzymes of the negative. One is light the other is substance. You only grow, you only get stronger, only wiser, when you face both. That is how the good is released into this world; that is how you truly stand in this dwelling place from your soul. This is the only way this world as well as your next world is made real, more humane, more fulfilling to our real many deep and not so deep desires, more spiritual. I do not have to tell you what happens when you become one-sided.
poem by Michael Kavuoti
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World of Empty Tombs
Sacrosanct blue waters pure and timeless
Eyes of the sun look upon the fields
Something inside belonging to mystery
The hope that we have not totally blown it
Feelings of nothing negotiated
Nothing for sale or on display
Deep in the eternal now
Self-discovery without fences
Warm meadows where butterflies sing
Rest deep in your dreams where love lives
So much of me is not here
So much lives in awe and in wonder
Beyond the karmic wheel
So much is innocent like beauty
Part of me plays in the resounding joy
The world of sureness is deeper than logic
Guardian angels live in this world
The world where roses sing praise
The world of empty tombs
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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A Winter Smile
The first icy mist of morning covered the land
With foggy, hazy, vague and blur memories of the Autumn
Where silence is deafening
Ans winter frost are chilly and deep.....
where vale of grief is lonely
And frost wind of mid winter looks cold and gray
And freshly fallen snow
Warms up the nostalgic memories.........
Where imagination helps to add a tint and a shade of life
And show the color of miracles on the garden covered with snow
And springs the hope in our hearts and souls
To bring us a whisper of joy and a winter smile........
And all this takes us on the momentary trip
Of an emotional journey of life
Where we can hear the echo and sounds of silence
And a hand full of memories from the gray and frosty winter mist........
Seema Chowdhury
23rd Nov,2010
poem by Seema Chowdhury
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Morning thoughts
Morning thoughts
~
A sun rises over roof tops
Greeting the cold morning air
A wind blows heavy, swaying trees
The branches stripped bare by winter
The world is slowly waking
And the picture beyond my window
Emerges to life once more
I lay motionless in silence
Nursing warm coffee in my hands
Early thoughts begin to stir
My pen yet to be put to paper
I think back to dreams
The night passed what they brought
I think to the day ahead
What will it bring
Thoughts of love and romance
What could I write of them
I watch a world waking
A sun rising over rooftops
And I listen to my thoughts
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Reeds
They grow so tall
like solemn reeds,
swaying in the morning sun,
and rustle when the wind blows,
only when the wind blows.
Like revelers with the saddest songs
the wind tells them to sing along,
but to and fro with tame resolve
they move, and grow, and life goes on,
softly in the morning sun.
When the wind has come and gone,
and silence is the evening song,
they'll be at rest, but shiver some,
gently in the falling sun.
poem by by unknown author
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On Fridays he’d open a six-pack of beer
On Fridays he’d open a six-pack of beer,
after coming home
would tear the wrapping from them,
and sit on the porch with his white vest
stretching over his huge chest
and there were distant thoughts in his eyes,
long forgotten memories coming back,
sweat running down his face and cheeks
and the foam of icy Castle Lager was on his lips
and the silence had a funny way
of talking to me,
telling things about heartache, chances lost,
while he was trying to chill out
and the man in vest and shorts
drinking his bear on the porch,
I couldn’t really comprehend
and the blue tattoos on his arms
told their own stories
of a converted hippie, a man converted
to the responsibilities of life,
and he was convinced
that my stories, my poems
would not lead anywhere
and I saw a man
who had lost
the words, the poems
that he once wrote
and he watched the setting sun,
the awakening stars
trying to catch the magic
of the moment.
poem by Gert Strydom
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