Gert Strydom Poems

I drove my old blue
Honda CB900F motorbike to town,
took a small backpack along,
...

No longer can you brake
my logical reasoning through your sensitivity
...

She is lovely, but sometimes silent is she,
so fragile she looks with her golden hair
but always she is seen as fair
and about her sheer beauty most men agree.
...

Maybe now it’s far too late
to tell you about what you meant to me
and I am closing the garden gate
where your flowers still grow with an own dignity.
...

That night it looked as if
the whole of the horizon was ablaze,
men were beating the fire throwing huge shadows
waving with arms outstretched
...

I

If my oppression has no end,
...

Next to the house
an avocado tree grows
over which this winter
during the night I draw
...

While we were walking
the seven miles to our house
that was in Emmaus
Cleopas and I were talking
...

When the wind is adrift
not a pebble of sand is stirring
at the salt marsh vapours lift
...

Every morning when the day begins
the sun rises beautifully red,
but at first I see the twilight
when the sun throws out its first rays gloriously.
...