Gert Strydom Poems

(a small ode to my wife Daleen)

Hers is a clean kitchen
with everything tidy in its place
...

(after Roy Campbell)

They praise there own elitist workmanship
then write a poem over and over again
...

It’s autumn and while leaves drift down
from the big old pepper tree
you sit on a bench in our garden
with a distant look on your face
...

It’s as if the darkness
walks over the twilight abyss
with a blackness that totally removes sight
before the first stars appear slowly
...

Our love was conceived as a secret,
an oath between you and me
and in silence we adored each other
and I felt your pulse beating in your nipple
...

I was called up to a military camp
and we were in tents in Parrow
and I was seconded to a special unit
on our way to De Brug
...

A statue stands at the gate
of the school,
marking a place of distinction
where children get the highest grades
...

My clothes, my shoes fit from the shelve
as if in shops clothing
was specially designed for my body
and whatever I desire fits perfectly
...

Am I that sign here, God’s last prophet
and do I carry the burden
that I through my self-conceit do not always know His ways
with somewhere where I do fit into His plan?
...

Drive men, drive!
Get the freaking ball!
That’s it, now go.
Fling it, throw the damned thing!
...