Gert Strydom Poems

When Michael or Gabriel
comes for me
do not write
RIP on my grave
...

I knew a man
who met a working girl
and with a twirl
of her head,
...

Like a little boy
he wants to play
with the rescue and fire helmets
and opens the glass cabinet
...

At times
my work, the church
and to drive in a car
becomes to much for me.
...

I knew a boy
who claimed
that doing drugs
and sleeping around
...

Without any rebellion
and without a great bleating
did the lamb
lie down,
...

If words could kill,
then kill they will
without impunity
reaching out
...

While working as a senior accountant
at the head office of a major worldwide religion:

I have seen colleagues
...

In storm language the wind talks
blind full of thunder
that draws blue lines
over the tar road
...

Do not look
for fairness in this life,
for you will not find it
as the reason to be living
...