When madness snaps at my heels
Women with maniac bipolar disorder, depression
and that swearing illness
marry me and crucify me
and maybe,
I have to live alone in loneliness
or never ever
get married again.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The day they robbed my car (englyn cyrch) (in answer to Don Mattera)
On high the sun did witness
with a kind of aloofness
how black men robbed my car;
but by far in lawlessness.
[Reference: “The Day they came for our house” by Don Mattera.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Into The Depths Of You I Fall (Quintella)
The small candle flickers on the wall
while shadows make us somewhat tall
your eyes gleam shining in the night,
outside it is golden moonlight,
into the depths of you I fall.
poem by Gert Strydom
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In Flesh And Blood
In flesh and blood
you continually smile at me,
in flesh and blood
at times you awake a kind of glare,
you walk past as a picture
that brings a kind of joy,
in flesh and blood.
poem by Gert Strydom
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In Thoughts Today… (Rondelet)
In thoughts today
I prayed for your happiness,
in thoughts today
all your cares were swept away
I loved you with eagerness,
I dreamed of each sweet caress,
in thoughts today…
poem by Gert Strydom
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Love and science
If love is just
a chemical reaction
then how do a scientist explain
the though process
that accompanies it
and feelings that are real and true,
if it’s all just a chemical hue?
poem by Gert Strydom
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Water (Acrostic)
Water is my favourite drink,
At times the best thing to quench a thirst
That comes to me suddenly,
Even though it's abundantly available
Refined, pure specimens are sold in shops.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Something About Spring
Spring is something amazing
when flowers suddenly appear
in colour upon colour on branches
when everything comes to life overnight,
in the joy of existing
coming to full maturity.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The games we play (sijo)
During our youth we played innocent games without guilt
by the whim of playing them there was a kind of sheer happiness,
but as adults, life and love is a game without absolution.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Down At The Marsh
Down at the marsh
weavers rock up and down,
down at the marsh
your lips are soft against mine
when a big dog barks far away
and your right knee has lost some skin
down at the marsh.
poem by Gert Strydom
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