Gert Strydom Poems

Each and every weekday
grips with its own ferocity,
as if life was meant to be
made of days of labour.
...

When her fingers
lightly ripple the water,
a row of fishes
dart to come to investigate.
...

I killed them and still
they rose to haunt me
in my sleep
and death’s hand
...

Speed wants to
pen me in to the earth,
but the ballooning material wins.
...

I saw a twenty first century man
who knew three or four or five girls
intimately well,
like a tribal chief;
...

Love is a wonderful thing,
that can bring
the greatest joy,
or it can sting,
...

It was great fun,
to be with parra bats
in a camp.
...

Every day
the blue curtain appears,
unless white clouds
linen it off.
...

One day at the hotel 224,
a beautiful girl crossed
the street to talk to me
and her words “how’s it”
...

I saw a man Saturday,
standing at a robot light
with a sign,
which stated that
...