You’re in another country called Cape Town
I peer at a city
while the rain is pouring down
and see blue-white thunder
falling from the sky
while dark clouds are milling up high
blown by storm winds
and the smell of rain
rises fresh from the earth
and my thoughts loiter
and I know where I am
and you’re in far off Cape Town
and I in my Pretoria.
Below me I see the zoo
and a city stretched out
in clear squares,
great buildings among statues
and gardens,
and on a hill
the sacred place of a nation
and you’re in far off Cape Town
and I in my Pretoria.
The houses in the suburb
are build for the summer heat
with verandas and big rooms,
with yellowwood floors,
with fans in the ceilings
and yards as big as parks
and trees with purple blue blossoms
lining every street
and you’re in far off Cape Town
and I in my Pretoria.
I hear a crowd roaring
in the stadium near to the university
for their rugby team to win
and everywhere blue flags are waving
and some faces are painted blue
and some heads have caps
with horns thrusting into the air
and you’re in far off Cape Town
and I in my Pretoria.
On the other side of the mountain
avocado and some tropical trees grow
and here I stand in the hero’s acre
among the fallen great
and to Andries Pretorius
I offer my salute
and in church square
my eyes stare
at the statue of uncle Paul
who still faces north
now turning green
and you’re in another country called Cape Town
and I in my Pretoria.
[Reference: To -. Composed at Rotterdam by Thomas Hood.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
Nothing can make a day last longer
Nothing can make
a day last longer
but being in love
with the sun.
I long to live
in Cape Town
when it’s summer time,
where at eight
the sun still hangs high
as it did at three
but in winter
when the chill sets in
give my Pretoria to me
and then you can have
your Mediterranean climate
with intermittent rain
and north of the Magaliesberg
I will bask in the sun
and look at a blue sky
unless you invite me
to your lair
and we share
a Cape winter there.
poem by Gert Strydom
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I am from Pretoria
Notwithstanding the way
that the country and world goes,
I still want to stand for many years
in the streets with purple-blue
Jacaranda trees.
Let my friends go and live
in London, New York,
Amsterdam and Sydney
but in Pretoria I earn my keep
and no other city
calls me away from my fatherland
since only Pretoria
is right for me.
I am from Pretoria,
a place where princes stay
and if you go to Pretoria
you will find many Afrikaner princes there.
In Pretoria noble Afrikaners are everywhere
and they build their lives
in the right way
and like their ancestors,
still cling to the hand
of the Almighty God.
poem by Gert Strydom
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To have a girl like you
I remember you coming
to Pretoria station
to say goodbye
while I caught the train
to a military camp
and four months of war.
The clock on the wall
showed that we were
half an hour early
and I bought you a can of Coke
at the café
before we walked
to the right platform
where the train
departing to Cape Town
had just come in
and I carried the brown duffle bag
and was dressed in my brown uniform
with shining boots and beret
and your big blue eyes
had a life of their own.
It was always first Cape Town,
then De Brug (at Bloemfontein) ,
next Luhatla and after that to war
and by then you knew that route.
There was a sad smile on your face
and you were beautiful
in a classical way and slender
and I gave you a hug
and a goodbye kiss
and when that train left
we both waved.
Other soldiers where also
looking and waving at you
and some to loved ones
and another officer said
that I was lucky
to have a girl like you
and the next goodbye
was at Waterkloof military airbase,
but you wouldn’t be in it
and I didn’t know it then.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Cape Town
Cape Town
Is waiting for my return
So that I can go back to work
On my fishing boat
Cape Town
Is where I left my heart
During the winter months
Sleeping away
Until the summer arrives
So that I can go back
To cape Town
To wake up my heart
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Christmas In Capetown
Every night
In jungletown
All the boogies in the street
Radios turned up very loud
Playin dancing queen
They love our music
This english girl from the north somewhere
Is stayin with me at my place
Drinkin up all my beer
Talkin about the poor niggers all the time
Its a real disgrace, she says
I tell her, darling, dont talk about things
You dont understand
I tell her, darling, dont talk about something
You dont know anything about
I tell her, darling, if you dont like it here
Go back to your own miserable country
Its christmas in cape town but it aint the same
Oh, the boys on the beach are still blowin
And the summer wind still kicks the clouds around
You know my little brother, babe
Well, he works out at the diamond mine
I drove him out there at five this mornin
The niggers were waitin in a big long line
You know those big old lunch pails they carry, man
With a picture of star wars painted on the side
They were starin at us real hard with
Their big ugly yellow eyes
You could feel it
You could feel it
Its christmas in cape town but it aint the same
The stores are open all the time
And little kids on skateboards cut in and out of the crowd
And the christmas lights still shine
Myself, I dont like to drink the way
I used to, man, you know
It dont seem to get me high
And the beer dont taste the way it
Ought to taste somehow
And I dont know why
Dont talk to me about the planes
Man, Ive heard it
Just take a look around
What are we gonna do, blow up
The whole damn country?
Its christmas in cape town
Its christmas in cape town
Its christmas in cape town
song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Without a car in Pretoria
There are few things that bother as much
as to look for you car
and almost to count the other car’s,
when you come round a corner
and to be without a car in Pretoria
and to know the fear
that it is stolen.
There are fewer things that bother as much
as when two of your cars get stolen
and something is wrong with the insurance of both
and to be without any car in Pretoria
and to tell everyone that you call
of your predicament
and no Police ever being able to find any car
and every similar car that drives by
looks to you like the stolen one
and the robbers are now much better off than you.
There are few things that bother as much
as to walk
and stand with a hand stretched out
and the worst is to tell other people
and to be without a car in Pretoria
and to read comprehension in their eyes.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Fairest Cape
The mild Cape Town winter weather
triggers blooming of the Heather.
The Erica shines their lanterns
amongst the Foxtail Ferns.
The white clouds overhead feather.
The Silver Trees create a foil
against which the flora toil.
The King Proteas are gearing up
to supply a feast for birds to sup.
The Cape Cobra in slumber coil.
The Aloes have many a use
and can withstand much abuse.
The fiery red Cape Honeysuckle
led the cultivated hedges to buckle.
Mountain fires lit by the obtuse.
Our proud heritage was in full bloom -
a rambling pathway the only room.
Scorched earth, naked and black;
sustenance of the soil now sadly lack.
The canon on Signal Hill boom.
poem by Suzette Crous
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Six o’clock on a Friday morning
It’s six o’clock on a Friday morning
and I wait for my bus
and across the street,
the lights are burning cheerful and yellow
in the square and dome shaped windows
of the state library
and I wonder what documents are kept there
Street hawkers sell newspapers and sweets
in front of the Pretoria News,
while passengers are already
catching busses in rows.
There’s an icy chill
that hangs in the morning dawn light
and there’s a skew pointed obelisk
that is in front of the high court chambers
and a newspaper heading
talks about the recession
that is blowing hot and cold,
but it’s freezing
and the cold even eats
right through my leader jacket.
On the east side of Vermeulen Street
the sky becomes a light yellow,
while the blue of the heaven
folds open all over the rest
and streetlights stand in a long row
up the street past traffic lights.
Schoolgirls dressed in blue
are watching school boys with red jerseys
and young women
stand and shake
from the cold and I wonder,
how the old red delivery bicycle
behind the pillar
are not getting stolen
where it stands every morning on its place.
There’s a street sign that points to the Pierneef museum
into the L te Groen Eureka factory building,
but it’s still too early
to go and look at paintings
and I wonder how
the Pierneef paintings inside looks.
On the side of a building
I am amazed at the Tswane sign,
but this big city
will always stay Pretoria for me
and I wonder how people
can build buildings so pressed into each other
and look at old and new buildings
standing rowed in onto each other
and the bus stays away,
while others come and go
and I wait
a while longer in the cold.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The bus that drives to Vryburg
From Pretoria station
I take a bus that drives to Vryburg
to go and fetch a car.
Cornfields flashes past
and all of the people round me
tells a bit of the things that hurt.
One is going to a funeral because her brother died
and the bus drives on
with the road that stretches out in front of it.
Another is going to her parent’s home
she can find nowhere else to go
and is unmarried and pregnant.
The nearer we get to Vryburg
the more scared she becomes
and the bus drives on.
An Older man has lost his job
and restarts his career in Vryburg.
So everyone of us are caught
our own world with freedom that always stays away
and fate from which everything hangs
and I wonder when everybody in this country
will ever get a Vryburg.
[Vryburg=> The name of a city in the Northern Cape province. Meaning place of freedom or free city.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Flight to reality
The jet turns over the ocean
and a lonely gull,
flies past the wing.
Picturistic Cape Town is fading
while we fly,
through a sapphire blue sky.
Inland a summer thunderstorm
hangs heavy with dark black clouds,
like the feeling in my heart.
Death comes at its own time and place
and when I depart from the plane
it’s like walking into
another sad world,
where I would never see
my grandmother’s smile again.
poem by Gert Strydom
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At Springs
I am trying to get a job
at Springs
and wonder why people live here
away from Johannesburg
and Pretoria
and what fountains
spring out at this place
and all that I find
is rotten smells
rising from the Blesbok river
where sewerage is flowing in freely.
The town lies stretched out
up to Brakpan
and has two internet cafés
that I know about
and a computer shop
where the people
know less about computers than I
and my animals
may not come into the house
and I must explain why
they are barking at the gate.
One of my cats
Lurks in the a storm water drain
against the road
and I am tired and fed up
with lifting concrete blocks
with a crowbar
to free the Persian cat
on his cries for help.
The mines are stripped bare
and at places there are pans
with poison
that has accumulated there for years
and at times there are friendly neighbours
with whom I talk
and virtually every second day
the weather is overcast
with falling rain
and thunderbolts
hitting outside around my animals
but mother’s garden
is a real idyllic spot
with hollyhocks bursting out pink
over fallen trees
in a rock garden,
geraniums of all colours
growing very rampant,
flame lilies blooming orange,
morning glories coming up anywhere
and a much larger vegetable garden
than I could plant in Pretoria
and over the yard
the Creator spreads His hand
and there are new flowers
sprouting almost every day
and I am astonished
at how easy
things grow here
and how high
the plants are suddenly
and the yard is so big
that the animals
almost play in a field
and it’s actually past lovely
to stay for a time
with my mother
as she loves me very much.
poem by Gert Strydom
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South Gippsland In April
The leaves on the deciduous trees are turning brown
Yet in the Parks and gardens of Wonthaggi Town
The mynas are singing their songs tell of rain
And the frogs they are calling in the roadside drain.
Though into mid April and the Winter quite near
The weather quite warm for the time of year
On the beach at Cape Paterson the sun lovers lay
It may rain tomorrow but the sun shines today.
Only six weeks left of Autumn the time ticking on
And quite Summery weather though Summer is long gone
The old coastal hills overlooking the sea shore
Have seldom looked this dry or this brown before.
South Gippsland in April a fresh coastal breeze
In the woodland is soughing in the sunlit trees
Utopia on Earth the South Gippslanders say
That from where they live Heaven is not far away.
The birds in the Parkland they whistle and sing
It is more like weather in Summer or late Spring
The sun shining brightly but those brown hills nearby
A few hours of rain now would surely enjoy.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Table Bay
The sun sets over table bay
and that rough sea lies calm
and a moon rises full,
above the waves
and the thundering breakers
roar like they did
many years before
Odysseus sailed from the island of Ithaca
and went to Troy to war
where he accompanied the heroes
Neoptolemus and Philoctetes and the
armour and shield of great Achilles,
was his to take
and for years he dwelt
on stormy seas and in far away lands.
If per chance his ship would stray
and reach the cape of storms
in another age and time
and his eyes could see
the beauty of that lovely shore,
no other place would
his ship sail to
When Bartolomeu Dias set his ships sails
and left king John ashore,
he was prepared to sail
to the ends of the earth
and no horrendous sea creature
could keep his ships in check.
I wonder what he thought
when the fog faded away
and table mount sprang into view
and table bay lay stretched out
up to its shore
and when he set his cross
did he know that he was marking
a great place
and when he marked his charts
did he wish to come back
to that stormy Cape?
When King John gave the name
Cabo da Bõa Esperança,
did he know that he was naming a place
from where a nation would sprout
and that it would become a city of hope?
[Reference: =>”Cabo da Bõa Esperança=>Cape of Good Hope”]
poem by Gert Strydom
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On a hillock outside the city
On a hillock outside the city
a monument build from marble and stone
guards forevermore,
catching the sun’s
rays one new day dutifully.
It tells true stories
of a nation’s struggle to survive and be free
from oppression and a great trek
across the veldt and over high mountains,
of vicious wild men
and the belief
in the creator God
who came to aid
to save from total annihilation
when they called on Him.
[Reference: Voortrekker monument just outside Pretoria.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Op ‘n koppie buite die stad
On a hillock outside the city
a monument build from marble and stone
guards forevermore,
catching the sun’s
rays one new day dutifully.
It tells true stories
of a nation’s struggle to survive and be free
from oppression and a great trek
across the veldt and over high mountains,
of vicious wild men
and the belief
in the creator God
who came to aid
to save from total annihilation
when they called on Him.
[Reference: Voortrekker monument just outside Pretoria.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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At the zoo
There are street hawkers
selling their wares
next to a wall build
of rocks and stone
on all sides of the entrance.
Carved wooden walking sticks
african faces in black wood,
grass brooms, pottery,
hats and t-shirts
and African drums
and paintings line the sidewalk.
Light pink flamingos
parade next to their dark brown pool
and walk among long palm trees
while they call to each other.
Some white swans
drift on a lake in the park
and catch something to eat
with dipping heads
from the dark water.
a Couple of elephant throw
red-brown sand
over themselves
and their pleated skin
looks like rough sandpaper
and at the back
there’s an old white farmstead
with a green roof
and some hay
for them to eat.
Some spotted Hyenas
swim in a stream
and their dark brown
dots stand out
against their light coats.
There’s some long walkways
going through gardens
that stretch into the distance..
Just the head and back
of a lonely Hippopotamus
rises from a dark brown pool
and it drifts with its nose
under the water
in the direction
of some other Hippopotamuses.
Some bridges run
over the small stream
of the Apies river
which splash over rocks.
a Blue crane
combs its blue-grey coat
next to a striped Kudu cow
that grazes on the green grass
with the Kudu bull watching
the visitors.
a Big brown bear
walks up a rock slope
and splashes in cold pool.
Some Impalas are gathering
on a rocky slope
and a narrow path
stretches up the wooded hill.
A Tiger lies sleeping
under a tree
and two black-backed jackals
stand grinning next to each other.
There are yellow-gold lions
that hides in the long green grass
and a slim female
with two cubs
steps out and watches
and the big male
comes out with a twisting tail
and roars menacing at the crowd
while one of the keepers
are giving them meat.
There’s a great view of the buildings
of Pretoria from the top
of the hill
and some high rises
and towers jump up
into the sky.
I take a cable car
for the long way down
and see the Union buildings
far in the distance
and miniature animals
flash by on the bottom.
A Leopard growls
when I leave the cable car
and I hear the calls
of some black Chacma Baboons.
Some African Buffalo
stand grazing like cattle
and a Rhino
lies stretched out
on the grass.
Some of the gamekeepers
are feeding a giraffe
and it stretches its neck
over a high wall
and time catches me
and something of the animals
stays with me
when I walk back to the car.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Hat Of The Stars
The cape I don is like victory concealed,
Inspiration is the reaction of this.
My breath worked more and more every day,
As the torture of the sun was above.
I looked at the sky, worse were the stars
At night, fierce was the brightness,
Like supergiants.
The cape I don works as if by magic
A cape has been donned, to adorn the head
Somehow, somewhere in this country.
The path to happiness is donned
By the head, it is the cap I wear for safety.
poem by Naveed Akram
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At Cape Point
As I drive past Cape Point
and the winter rain sieves down,
I see the track going up the hill
and see walking up the slope
my girlfriend and I
on a long gone summer’s day.
Her smile was like the sun
and the tranquillity
as we walked up the hill
is with me still and what we said
does not matter at all
and at the top we looked
at the great rollers of the sea
where two oceans
and two strong currents meet
and saw huge waves crashing below
and through the telescope
we watched a liner sailing bye
and the wind ruffled her hair
and only the two of us were there
my girlfriend and I
and as feelings go
never have I felt a thing like that
and was the great world
as lovely as just then
and now I would give almost anything
to be back there
while my solitude
is giving way to loneliness.
[Reference: Cape point: A place where the Atlantic and Indian oceans meet and the hot Agulhas (Mozambique) and cold Benguela currents.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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City of Pretoria
Our pride stem
You are named after
Opportunist and racist
Voortrekker leader Andries Pretorius
And now non-racial democratic and prosperous City
Welcome to home of procurement policies
Multi- cultural and multi- racial City
Unisa and Medunsa are in you
I boldly know that
You are better for living
So clean and leaning on Mountains
Africans gathers in you like ants heap
To dig your gold
I've seen a beautiful Pedi Girl
Great Sekhukhune and Tshwane
Dwelled in you neighborhoods
Lights like heavenly streets
Number one in none and world class city
A home of parastatals
And a pillar of economy
Welcome to Pretoria
Tsheane ya Mamelodi
poem by Jacques Sprenkie Mateya
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Ghosts Of Cape Horn
All around old cape horn
Ships of the line, ships of the morn
Some who wish theyd never been born
They are the ghosts of cape horn
Fal deral da riddle de rum
With a rim dim diddy
And a rum dum dum
Sailing away at the break of morn
They are the ghosts of cape horn
See them all in sad repair
Demons dance everywhere
Southern gales, tattered sails
And none to tell the tales
Come all of you rustic old sea dogs
Who follow the great southern cross
You were rounding the horn
In the eye of a storm
When ya lost er one day
And you read all yer letters
From oceans away
Then you took them to the bottom of the sea
All around old cape horn
Ships of the line, ships of the morn
Those who wish theyd never been born
They are the ghosts of cape horn
Fal deral da riddle de rum
With a rim dim diddy
And a rum dum dum
Sailing away at the break of morn
They are the ghosts of cape horn
Come all you old sea dogs from devon
Southampton, penzance, and kinsale
You were caught by the chance
Of a sailors last dance
It was not meant to be
And ya read all yer letters
Cried anchor aweigh
Then ya took them to the bottom of the sea
All around old cape horn
Ships of the line, ships of the morn
Those who wish theyd never been born
They are the ghosts of cape horn
Fal deral da riddle de rum
With a rim dim diddy
And a rum dum dum
Sailing away at the break of morn
They are the ghosts of cape horn
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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