You are sitting on the veranda
You are sitting on the veranda
enjoying the breakfast
of eggs fried with tomato with toast
and huge cups of very special tea
that I had made for you.
Sweet innocence radiates from you
while you watch the blooming
purple irises, some white lilies, pink,
orange and ruby red geraniums
and birds fly down
from the pepper tree
to peck up the seed
that I had put out for them.
There’s a melody in your voice
while you give some toast with Marmite
to the dogs that gather
with twisting tails
to get their treat
and the morning is sweet
and our house is a moated fort,
a treasured place
where only we are locked in.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
The car of Johnny staying at home
The car of Johnny staying at home
takes the garden route
and the old green wheelbarrow creaks
while I fill it up
with weeds.
I pull a lever
and like magic sprinklers appear
in the garden
and the two cats
run moaning out of the water,
before the dogs
rollick barking in it.
I am angry with the Indian Miners, rats,
insects and snails
that eats holes out of my ripe tomatoes
and even wreck the spinach
before they are even ripe
and I wonder if I am farming
for myself and my darling
or the wild animals
and who really are going to eat the fruit?
There are sparrows and doves
in the branches of the pepper tree
that are peering and waiting
for me to throw out some seed
and it’s getting white hot
while the sun
rises higher in the sky
and I enjoy
dark red roses, purple irises
and orange, white and pink
geraniums that are all flowering.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Remembering Favourite Foods
last night we late cooked
an old time kiwi favourite
yes hot baked beans on
toast with a side of marmite
on toast to keep it company
sweet simple kiwi luxuary
can’t buy my favourite band
Watties Baked Beans legendary
settled for a can of Heinz yes
you guessed it baked beans
in hot tomato sauce with melted
cheese in hot baked beans mixed
I had Sanitarium kiwi Marmite
on toast another kiwi favourite
as my side dish winter dynamite
real kiwi boys palate to excite
it is simple home foods we miss
Sanitarium Weet-Bix favourite
New Zealand's No.1 breakfast
cereal loved by kiwi generations
milk over golden wheat biscuits
with a sprinkling of brown sugar
acquired taste Marmite spectacular
my beloved ETA salt and vinegar
potato chips can’t find here miss
Cadbury Crunchie Bar local star
milk chocolate over a honey comb
center a delicious treat by Cadbury
Brunswick Sardines in soybean
oil or spring water and Canadian
sockeye salmon other favourites
sacrifice living here I really miss
but for a real kiwi smile happy
Watties Baked Beans legendary
spaghetti or beloved baked beans
are my choice “it must be Watties”
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Breakfast
Of all the meals that glad my day
My morning one's the best;
Purveyed me on a silver tray,
Immaculately dressed.
I rouse me when the dawn is bright;
I leap into the sea,
Returning with a rare delight
To honey, toast and tea.
My appetite was razor edged
When I was in my prime;
To eggs and bacon I was pledged . . .
Ala! the March of Time;
For now a genial old gent
With journal on my knee,
I sip and take with vast content
My honey, toast and tea.
So set me up for my delight
The harvest of the bee;
Brown, crispy toast with butter bright,
Ceylon - two cups or three.
Let others lunch or dinner praise,
But I regale with glee,
As I regard with grateful gaze
Just honey, toast and tea.
poem by Robert William Service
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Sweetie, drives me away!
Sweet voice of birds, that sing and chorus
Your voice, sweet melody chorus
A skin that radiates, every lotions' friend.
How we talk, a blended symphony
Your eyes, a pearl in a jar of milk,
Hips made of God knows how, lady!
Hmnnn, but what tell me, lady
Why, why, your breath, makes me shudder?
A cat wouldn't nibble a thing from your palms, Why?
Sweet its true you are sweet in sight
That I long that is right
Just some force, not you, drives me away.
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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Making Breakfast - a study in consciousness
Breakfast. Slick operation. You could
make it in your sleep..
you’ve refined the quantities,
the cooking and the timing
like a pro..
and eating it – you’re even more
brilliant at that – you can
eat breakfast, read the paper,
listen to the radio or tv,
half listen to the wife and kids,
make and take those cellphone calls;
then bestow a salty bacon,
sweet marmaladey kiss on several lips
or cheeks – and off..
But today something gotten to you:
the sun is shining; all’s well with the world;
this isn’t Monday breakfast, this is
Saturday breakfast…
You find yourself making breakfast
as if you’d never made it in your life before;
you hear the cereal on its way
from the packet to the bowl;
smell the coffee before drinking it;
never has the toast been browner, crisper,
eggs more eggy, tomatoes so.. well, tomatoey;
sweet meeting salt in tasting mouth..
the world’s made new today; and
somehow, you feel as if
you know that much more about yourself;
some sure sense of direction
seems to fill your heart and mind;
you’re on good terms with
the Creation as of now.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Don't Give A Dose To The One You Love Most
Don’t give a dose to the one you love most.
Give her some marmalade...give her some toast.
You can give her the willies or give her the blues.
But the dose that you give her will get back to youse.
I once had a lady as sweet as a song.
She was my darlin’, and she was my dear.
But she had a dose, and she passed it along.
Now she’s gone, but the dose is still there.
So, don’t give a dose to the one you love most.
Give her some marmalade...give her some toast.
You can give her a partiridge up in a pear tree,
But the dose that you give her might get back to me.
So if you’ve got an itchin’...if you’ve got a drip,
Don’t sit there wishin’ for it to go ’way.
If there’s a thing on the tip of your thing or your lip,
Run down to the clinic today, and say...
'I won’t give a dose to the one I love most.
I’ll give her some marmalade...give her some toast.'
Give her the willies or give her the blues,
But the dose that you give her will get back to you.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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I saw the sun rising slowly
I saw the sun rising slowly,
changing the hue of grey dawn
to pink, orange and orange-red
and the breath of the air outside
smelled with the odour of blooming flowers
and with the passing hours
the world came awake,
birds started to sing, flying from tree to tree
and this morning I knew
that it was the beginning of spring.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Everything is going to be wet
Every day rain falls down
from the overcast grey sky
and lightning bolts
flash blue white
like the fingers
of the gods
caressing the earth
while the leaves of autumn
cover every tree
in auburn, yellow and brown.
Green leaves on the stems
of big pink hollyhocks
here and there
dip up and down
when hit by drops of rain
as if suddenly coming alive
and it’s going to be
a wet winter
and probably
not all that chilly
with rain falling
out of season.
The grass is green
and everything but trees
are growing
as if it’s still spring.
and flowers bloom
on geraniums, roses, hollyhocks,
lilies, irises and petunias
in colours ranging
from white, orange, yellow,
violet to red and blue
and without covering
everything is going
to be wet.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Ode to breakfast
Breakfast is special to me
It’s a meal supremely suited to my solitary reflection
that has a more special, culinary cachet
Than are given more familial repasts
partaken throughout the day
A certain translucency of one’s self
That only transpires in early morning time
Requiring only the key of good strong coffee
To chase off sleep and unlock the keep… of sunshine
It’s a time when one’s mind
Has the real world forsaken
In lieu of a slew of great food
Like soft eggs, warm toast…and bacon
The newly risen sun
A new day born again
A time when inspiration… unannounced,
Drops in, now and then
Just an old man… in old shabby jammies
Feelin’ the warmth of the sun, so sublime
Sittin’ out on the porch steps, sippin’ morning coffee
Hummin’ tuneless songs..to the birds… in the sunshine
poem by David Whalen
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How to make your wishes come true
She liked white and had not said a word yet
On her tenth birthday
she stood on the red steps
of the red opera house
-the red opera house on the north side of Sydney Harbour
almost opposite the white opera house
She scattered orange petals, yellow petals, green leaves and spoke
in a light blue voice
A bird of navy blue pink and gold feathers stood by her. Was this the grateful bird? Purple gold and white danced
She said
white stillness, pure gold, purple wonder, gold strength, pink joy, pink infinity, navy blue now, strong indigo blue, light blue fountain, the green first reason, compassionate orange, endless yellow,
royal red, single red, free orange, free yellow, green depth as clear as crystal, all attractive light blue, strong indigo blue, strong navy blue, pink wishes, gold compassion, compassionate purple,
gold of golds, of creativity, white of whites, gold truth, purple mentor, funny gold, pink friend of children, navy blue of nature,
indigo blue knowledge, light blue song of nature, green creation, yellow in senses, orange guide, red way, red inspirer, orange giver, yellow help, dazzling green, light blue of the delicate, with indigo blue eyes, navy blue good, with pink kind eyes, golden hair, golden complexion, purple complexion, gold warmth, of white space, white and gold love, of all purple knowledge, gold presence, pink in thunder and storms, navy blue pleasure, indigo blue beauty,
light blue lines, all attractive green, of yellow stirring music, of orange, red refuge, clear red, orange orange, yellow yellow, with green giving hands, of green, light blue truth, indigo blue essence, navy blue sparkle, pink with gold, purple guide, gold here, here white, white is the sun with penetrating vision, purple and golden constant winner, gold reach, of all pink, infinite navy blue, indigo blue knowledge, light blue care, deep green in greens, orange truth, dedicated to yellow, red peace, red glory, orange beauty, yellow, of green and light blue evenings, handsome indigo blue, intelligent navy blue, pink of pinks, of gold golds, purple purple, gold friend,
openness, formless white and gold, prevailing purple, efficient purple, purple origin, purple form, gold and permanent pink, navy blue belief, indigo blue blue, dense green, orange, yellow, red friend, red
and fell silent
Are the colours telling us that reciting the girl's words could make all our wishes come true? What else do red orange yellow green light blue indigo blue navy blue pink gold purple gold white know?
Today is a Monday
poem by Bhupen Thakker
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All our morning glory days are done
All our morning glory days are done
just like the flowers
that you made me rip out
from where they grew
towering under the sun.
The garden is empty
and stripped of the violet flowers
that grew everywhere
and I am no longer there
and wonder if the geraniums,
irises, marigolds, white lilies,
red roses and lavender
are still being watered
or is every thing in your life
just fading away
into death
with the falling leaves
of this autumn?
poem by Gert Strydom
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Carnations in the garden
There are carnations in the garden
in colours of ruby red,
pure white and blossom pink
and some pink with deep purple inside
and others purple-blue.
I smell the sweet fresh flowers
and look at colours
hue as if by magic
into each other.
Some grow in flowering pots,
some are planted in flowerbeds,
others even in the rock garden
and the flowers at places are mixed
to catch the eye
and everywhere there’s care
and a lot of love
that went into the tending of it.
poem by Gert Strydom
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So in our pride we ordered for breakfast an omelet, toast and coffee and what has just arrived is a tomato salad with onions, a dish of pickles, a big slice of watermelon and two bottles of cream soda.
quote by John Steinbeck
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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There’s a place
There’s a place
where lost flowers grow,
in spite of no care.
An old dilapidated house
is half torn down
and litter lies everywhere,
like on an old rubbish dump.
Purple irises and blue-violet lilies
burst through the weeds
and I wonder what tale,
the old house could tell.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Toast Of The Town
Hey, hey, hey
Hey kid, the whole house is shakin
We got the time, right in our sights
Hey, hey, hey
Hey kid, the worlds gone crazy but you know
It wont last too long
You know it wont last too long
You know it wont last too long
You know it wont last too long
Hey kid, youre the toast of the town
Well hey kid, youre the toast of the town
Hey, hey, hey
Hey kid, whats it gonna get ya
Screaming through the hours of the night
Hey kid, the worlds gone crazy
But you know it wont last too long
You know it wont last too long
You know it wont last too long
You know it wont last too long
Hey kid, youre the toast of the town
Well hey kid, youre the toast of the town
You heard me sayin baby dont be a fool
I got news for you
Well pack your things baby, dont be a fool
Before it crashes down on you
Down on you
Down on you
Down on you
(guitar solo)
Come on
Well hey kid, youre the toast of the town
Well hey kid, youre the toast of the town
Well hey kid, youre the toast of the town
Well hey kid, youre the toast of the town
Well hey kid
song performed by by Motley Crue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnets of home
I
I dream of building
a mansion, villa
or big white house
with a lot of space,
or maybe a Tuscan place
or two set on a terrace
on a mountain
with a wonderful view
overlooking the ocean
with a ivory white beach
that runs as far
as the eye can see
and to make it home
just for you and me
II
The birds will be our companions
and whales and dolphins
will pass in the bay
and a garden
as big as a park
will run all the way
down to the sea
and every plant and tree
that you like will be there
and vegetables will grow in patches
against the hill and there will be orchards
with juicy red, yellow and orange fruit
and plantations with big green pines
will cover the rest.
III
The house will be a white pillar
that towers like a castle above it all
and a place where any wary traveller
will be welcome to visit and rest
and there will be steps coming down
to the bay and a lift or two or three
next to an azure lagoon
where a cool river splashes down
in a big pronged waterfall
and we will be able
to lie in the bright sun
and run with the dogs
on the white beach
like children having fun.
IV
l’Envoi
Let others live in big crowded cities
and be packed into matchboxes
reaching up into the sky
and have more neighbours
than they care to know
but you and I
will be able to watch
blue waves twist and break
and hear the melody
of the rushing sea
and your studio and our home
will stretch from the hill
down to the aquamarine ocean
and touch the big sapphire sky.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Marmite!
Marmite!
Sweet course of a meal;
But this love was led by you,
And like the joy of peace in the land of many waters.
Marmite!
Sweet course of a meal;
And like this week's message! !
However, you are always my valued client.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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After You Left (Fay Slimm Form)
The day you left the rain poured down almost endless;
many things have changed.
The jasmine, geraniums and irises started blooming
as if they were destined
with pretty flowers opening in the morning mist,
the air soft with lavender
breezed into the room through the open window
but still your shadow
keeps on wandering into my mind, much
as if you are hiding somewhere.
The sun came just as bright as
when you were here, shining with intensity
and each and every day birds sing joyously,
happy to be free.
poem by Gert Strydom
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I Will Wait
Behind the tomato fence
I sit as quietly as Sunday
waiting for her to come
and hum me Camelot,
where I have won a showdown
with the red wasps that stole
her ruby nectar.
But the only sound I hear
are the flirty chirps of sparrows,
and the only thing I feel
is air.
Still, I will wait
behind the tomato fence,
sitting as quietly as Sunday
for her to come
and hum me Camelot.
And when I catch sight of her
I know I'll gasp just like I always do.
She steals my heart away in chunks you see,
but she will blow me off
not even noticing I am here
worshiping her shimmer.
Still, I will wait
behind the tomato fence,
sitting as quietly as Sunday
for her to come
and hum me Camelot.
Meanwhile fragrant basil
smiles my mood,
and rosemary is drying.
There is an eye full of brightest brilliant blue,
and a crescent of white moon dying.
Here I will wait
behind the tomato fence,
sitting as quietly as Sunday
for her to come
and hum me Camelot.
poem by Sara Fielder
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