Gert Strydom Poems

I

I saw boys growing up as
Christians,
...

There’s a big painting of a girl
with a light pink skin
that lies on a white skin cloak
in front of a dark pool,
...

There’s a road like out of a dream
or a fairy tale
that twists into the bushes,
but it’s white and pure
...

There’s a painting of a beautiful shy girl
with a bunch of rust brown keys,
that she holds
and I know that her painter
...

There are red flames
that’s curling in a bush
out of her head
and the fairy princess
...

Early one afternoon
I walked through the streets
of a small village
and it had to be in Italy
...

Cars speed past
and their lights search
to find direction
in the rush of the city.
...

The priest and the poet
and the terminally ill,
all know me.
...

Cage in like in a prison
it walks up and down
and looks at itself in the mirror
and it gets food and water
...

I knew a woman
that some people
would have called mad,
who was just different
...