My words are set
I do not set my sails
to the wind,
as it’s a thing
that at times
blow in all directions.
How can anyone
stay true,
if he doesn’t set
the right direction?
My words are set
like cuneiform writing
notched into rock.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Something of innocence was lost
I knew Shell-shocked troops,
who were battle hardened
and who struggled between
the sense and senselessness of killing.
Something of innocence was lost
and some brutal thing was gained
and the fatality of life remained
poem by Gert Strydom
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I Love You With The Feelings
I love you with the feelings,
the silent power
that comes from the depths
of the heart of a man
and although you life beyond the horizon,
in a world that is miles away,
thoughts bring you at times
to here close to me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Were winter fires swept
Were winter fires swept, burnt the veldt to ashes
and left it blacker than the night
green grass, bright early wild flowers
are sprouting after the first showers
poised on long stems
in colours of white, purple and pink.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Freedom (Pleiades)
For some life is at their will,
fantastic full of great joy;
for others there are things as
fear restraining their own lives,
faint pressure by government,
formal acts that does shatter
from what life really should be.
poem by Gert Strydom
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It’s the forth day
It’s the forth day
that I am at my new work
and the elevator is broken
just like my life
And I have to walk
to another entrance
The people are friendly,
but it’s a hell of a thing
to have only a contract
for a month.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Playing you act as if you want to flee away
Playing you act as if you want to flee away,
while you do entice me;
with your pretty perfect
summer dress
you skip flaunting
like a springbok
but run back into my arms again
and do fill all of my thoughts and sentences.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Beauty
Beauty is something
that the eye can see
that still lingers
in the mind,
long after its presence is gone
and still one can find it
in unconcrete things
like honour, passion and love
which have the ability
to remain great.
poem by Gert Strydom
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There Are Times, My Darling
There are times, my darling
that you are far away
that loneliness
along with dusk sneaks in
that the calls of the plovers
cut right through the dark night
and I am wondering
what there is still remaining
between you and me?
poem by Gert Strydom
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When the day did die
When the day did die
the evening star appeared blue-white,
when the day did die
it suddenly became the dark night,
while the moon rose like a golden yellow pip
with stars hanging like grains of sand,
when the day did die.
poem by Gert Strydom
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