"suid" poems - Hello Poetry

Die môre groet jou met ń nat soen En ontplooi haar goue gloed Oor jou fynbos en Olifants-oor Die wind ween oor die rykdom Wat jy deur jare van sweet en bloed, vir jouself terug geëis het , maar streel deur jou grashalms Met die harmonie van hoop wat deur jou are pols... Pols, wanneer 4x4 en ossewa spoor oorkruis! Hier timmer jy aan my - lê die hoeksteen van ń graniet gebou Ek sal strewe om jou te eer. Suid-Afrika , ń ode aan jou.

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Apr 4, 2014

Apr 4, 2014 at 2:06 PM UTC

pieter-andries-christiaan

Ode aan my land

Die môre groet jou met ń nat soen En ontplooi haar goue gloed Oor jou fynbos en Olifants-oor Die wind ween oor die rykdom Wat jy deur jare van sweet en bloed, vir jouself terug geëis het , maar streel deur jou grashalms Met die harmonie van hoop wat deur jou are pols... Pols, wanneer 4x4 en ossewa spoor oorkruis! Hier timmer jy aan my - lê die hoeksteen van ń graniet gebou Ek sal strewe om jou te eer. Suid-Afrika , ń ode aan jou.

12

Ek was die Suid Weste wind wat jou wintermaande bring , jou skimme van diepsee inwaai om jou land ontsuimig te laat. Ek was die ysige hand wat jou sagte vlees knyp en nakend onder my sagte streling laat vries in die kou en sy ryp. Die onaardse storm van skadu's wat sonder ophou jou uit jou midnag sliuimer ruk as ek soos n besetene in die vroegoggend aan jou deur kom pluk. Watter vors sou jy, ag tsja ~ so nietig teen my kon inrig *** sou jy kon staan as ek my volle wendings op jou rig? *** naief was ek om teen jou te hammer en myself keur op keur teen jou vas te gooi , waar jy onomwonde staan. Jy ~ vind ek ook toe uit~ die tafelberg van my ou bestaan.

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Aug 19, 2014

Aug 19, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC

pieter-andries-christiaan

Naief

Ek was die Suid Weste wind wat jou wintermaande bring , jou skimme van diepsee inwaai om jou land ontsuimig te laat. Ek was die ysige hand wat jou sagte vlees knyp en nakend onder my sagte streling laat vries in die kou en sy ryp. Die onaardse storm van skadu's wat sonder ophou jou uit jou midnag sliuimer ruk as ek soos n besetene in die vroegoggend aan jou deur kom pluk. Watter vors sou jy, ag tsja ~ so nietig teen my kon inrig *** sou jy kon staan as ek my volle wendings op jou rig? *** naief was ek om teen jou te hammer en myself keur op keur teen jou vas te gooi , waar jy onomwonde staan. Jy ~ vind ek ook toe uit~ die tafelberg van my ou bestaan.

24

"Nou wie is jy?" "Ouma, my naam is Siyasanga, Ek is jou dogter Lalie se seun" "My Lalie, sy wat in Suid Afrika bly?" "Ja ouma, ek het vir ouma kom keur" I watch on as the spark of recognition lights up her eyes Happiness flowers through the creases on her face like fresh rain through a Namib riverbed Her brow furrows as if trying to keep this revelation prisoner The Sun continues its long journey across the sky Her brow relaxes, and. . . . . "Hello virtel my, my kind, Wie is jy?" "My naam is Siyasanga Ouma, Ek is ouma se klien kind. My ma se naam is Lalie" "Lalie, sy is my dogter wat in Suid Afrika bly" "Dis reg ouma, ek het vir ouma kom keur" The spark returns The fresh rain flows The love warms my soul as we embrace The Sun once more takes flight Taking respite from the heat I watch as she shuffles and shimmies and shuffles once more down the corridor To the foot of the bare bed I've made my haven Words like spun silk spill from her lips as she asks "May I sit here my child? "Ja my ouma, ouma hoef nie vra nie" She shuffles and shimmies and sits down to read What a beautiful life affair she has with words, Even those from a magazine, Whose pages danced that day at her touch A letter whose ink for 2 decades laid dry The name of the man she loved preserved in his evergreen book Both retrieved from the vault that was her purse Oh how she loved those words, and they loved her She turns her head to look at me With that spark in her eye "Jy is my Lalie se seun" I smile, my face awash with fresh rain "Ja ouma, ek het vir ouma kom kuier"

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Dec 4, 2019

Dec 4, 2019 at 5:52 AM UTC

Xhwangusha

Every first conversation (for Lydia)

"Nou wie is jy?" "Ouma, my naam is Siyasanga, Ek is jou dogter Lalie se seun" "My Lalie, sy wat in Suid Afrika bly?" "Ja ouma, ek het vir ouma kom keur" I watch on as the spark of recognition lights up her eyes Happiness flowers through the creases on her face like fresh rain through a Namib riverbed Her brow furrows as if trying to keep this revelation prisoner The Sun continues its long journey across the sky Her brow relaxes, and. . . . . "Hello virtel my, my kind, Wie is jy?" "My naam is Siyasanga Ouma, Ek is ouma se klien kind. My ma se naam is Lalie" "Lalie, sy is my dogter wat in Suid Afrika bly" "Dis reg ouma, ek het vir ouma kom keur" The spark returns The fresh rain flows The love warms my soul as we embrace The Sun once more takes flight Taking respite from the heat I watch as she shuffles and shimmies and shuffles once more down the corridor To the foot of the bare bed I've made my haven Words like spun silk spill from her lips as she asks "May I sit here my child? "Ja my ouma, ouma hoef nie vra nie" She shuffles and shimmies and sits down to read What a beautiful life affair she has with words, Even those from a magazine, Whose pages danced that day at her touch A letter whose ink for 2 decades laid dry The name of the man she loved preserved in his evergreen book Both retrieved from the vault that was her purse Oh how she loved those words, and they loved her She turns her head to look at me With that spark in her eye "Jy is my Lalie se seun" I smile, my face awash with fresh rain "Ja ouma, ek het vir ouma kom kuier"

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