"veld" poems
words fail to describe
the beauty and peace
found in the mountains sublime
the scenic panorama of the place
is captured so well
by those who live in
the mountain's veld
of trees towering to skies of indigo blue
of squirrels owls and fireflies
of streams pristine and pure
within the province
of mountain kin's hearts
there is an intrinsic
soulful yoke
inborn
of the mountain's
heritage
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
In my droom wereld...
Daar, in die verte, is n bed vir as ek moeg raak.
n Berg wat ek gebruik as n kuns muur.
En n oop veld vol rose.
Bo my, die blou lug met reen druppels wat val, maar wat nie nat maak nie.
My gedagtes wat rond sweef.
musiek wat gehoor word maar nie gesien word nie.
En dan, jy.
n Bed vir my en jou.
Jou naam op die berg met klippe, gevorm soos harte, gepak.
n Oop veld rose wat jou emosie kleur wys.
Reen druppels wat val, wys my jou trane.
My gedagtes wat vir jou wys *** spesiaal jy is vir my.
Musiek om als te laat kalmeer.
En jy, vir my om lief te he, sonder om te stres oor wat jy sal **** of se as jy weet jy is die een wat ek wil he.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
So word ons wakker in ons tent en dit reen...aggenee!! Maar dis koel en ons voel gelukkig.
Ek is vuil, so amper dat ek wil huil, maar huil van lekker soos n krekker want dis vakansie tyd!!
My hare is so waar deur mekaar, maar wat maak dit saak want niks gaan my keer om vir n gogga te wys *** deur mekaar ek rerig kan weesie...
Tanne geborsel en room half gesmeer, laat die dag begin want dis ons en ons ford bakkie die keer...alweer...
Kies n rigting en so voeter ons daarin...
Saans kom ons by die kamp moeg geploeg die bosse in om nou rustig te raak met n koeldrank in ons hand.
Dan word n vuurtjie gemaak deur die braafste ou ini land om n vleisie te braai vir die fraaiste meisie, hand aan hand.
Mens voel gou dankbaar vir klein dingetjies soos n stort... n warme een, die oop velde of selfs die digte bosse, die veld blommetjies so geel of die gras so lank en groen, die voels so mooi volle kleurrig en die jakkals so skaam maar nuuskirig.
En wanneer dit donker word le daar baie voor soos die uile se geluide, die sonbesies wat hulle vlerkies saam klap of dalk n hihena wat na oorskied kom krap.
So geniet ons die bos vol avontuur gepos net vir ons en ons se dankie aan ons Skepper vir n skepping net vir ons. 2016/03/14
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 1:32 AM UTC
My body is a beach house
And by the study room
with the view of the sea,
There is a coffee table.
All mornings have been made here.
It's a tiny piece of furniture that makes a huge part of life.
The match to the candle, and lighter to the veld fire.
There are doodles engraved on it.
They look like they could mean something,
Like how we are told not to recognize color but they turn around and tell us to tick in boxes.
Like how I'm a holy heathen who listens to the likes of Hopsin and Tech N9ne,
Like how I believe slavery is still alive but simply rephrased and concealed.
But then again, they are just doodles, who cares what they mean.
They smell the like the sunrise and bacon
Like broken hearts and virginities .
Like a shower washing off the previous night.
Like the disappointment my parents will feel when they find out who I really am.
A little girl angry at religion,
Angry at them for forcing it on me,
A little girl, angry at life.
Despite the meaninglessness of this old scared coffee table, the devil and the angel in me sit in loving peace sipping this deadly caffeine.
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 9:16 AM UTC
So ver ek loop ruik ek die droogte, die son se gebak, maar ja ek loop met gemak, al vinniger en vinniger die pad langs.
My droom het waar geword om n ver pad langs te stap en te gesels, met wie anders as met myself, die wind, die vertes en die mindere gebergtes.
Die wind waai om my heen, dit kreun en steun, maar dit leen my n tyd vir alleen wees in my gedagtes, ag daar is net geen klagtes.
Soos ek stap lag ek klip hard want my hart voel so vry, so vry soos die wind wat my verby kry.
Dan haal ek die wind weer in en sing n lied van blydskap teenoor my Heer, my dapper Held en stap Maat.
Soos die dae verby gaan en die vertes nader kom, verstom ek my aan my hart se gejubel van blydskap en geluk.
My hart is vry so ver soos die oog kan sien, ek loop in vreugde en gemak, dag na dag in n natuur so hard maar tog so sag.
My hart smag na my liefde, die maat van my lewe, so ewe te vroeg weg gevat, maar stap, stap hy saam en ons hou net aan en aan tot ons weer by mekaar gaan staan in n veld van omhelsing en blye verwelkoming, hand aan hand net aan die Anderkant.
Ja my hart is vry so ver soos die oog kan bedui.....
2017-11-08
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 7:55 AM UTC
Her father wants his cows
He said I can’t come inside
I can’t loiter by the gate
I can’t see my love
Her father wants his cows
Cows of great size
Cows the acres of the veld to the lake
Then I can see my love
Her father wants his cows
Then i told him i am a poet
And little did i know it
From his dreams he was aroused
He changed me a dead dove
And now i can see my love
Maybe i should of told him
I’m a poet at day’s dim
And a doctor with whims
Jul 12, 2021
Jul 12, 2021 at 8:03 AM UTC
The sun is risen above the summit of a mountain- a Dwala-
Beaming, chasing darkness away;
Rejuvenating the veld as the dew shimmers,
Pasture assumes its deep brown lustre
As if trying to blend with the golden sun’s rays;
The Dwala – where it had momentarily perched-
Has slowly set it free for its westerly journey
My Tropical Savannah is a beauty:
Deep brown pasture in summer, clustered bushes, umbrella trees
Irregular footpaths run across its plains,
I assume one of them leads to you,
But as I trace them, they shy away at a distant horizon,
As if the sky is eating them up
***
The sun brings a light breeze mid-flight,
It blows softly on my quill,
Making a melody with the fur;
Whistling a song on the brim of my inkwell
On one footpath, I spot two love birds coming from the well,
The damsel is balancing an earthen calabash on her head;
My lips crease into a marvel-smile at their chatter and carefree laughter
I am surprised at myself for sharing their moment of bliss,
But then, it is always easy to share happiness.
Bliss is…abstract,
*As the beauty and radiance of our sun
But the burden of sadness is…concrete,
*Something I can share with you,
Only after I trace these footpaths beyond the horizon
***
The dying sun perches on a faraway ridge like an alter offering
Its deep brown rays permeate the foliage.
By and by, colours fade away with darkness.
The veld now looks old and beaten, almost gothic,
The sun is gone, leaving a trace of a blue-brown spectrum;
I hope it has come to you my dear,
With the same happiness it brings me
***
Darkness sets in.
Though my sentiments are hurt at the thought of having to close my inkwell,
I love the sweet calmness reigning in harmony with the sound of nocturnals,
Besides, seeing another beautiful sunrise is enough consolation.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 2:49 AM UTC
Swelter of summer in the veld.
An old buggy hums along,
Playing a German tune.
The bushbucks scatter from cover.
Roland dismounts; his partner too
Stares out across the thicket sea,
With quavering jaw, puffs his pipe
And slings a hunting gun.
Says he to Roland:
“Here, we are masters of the plain!
In the company of beasts,
We should not be lonely,
Yet my heart cries out
For land and love that I left.”
Roland stamps a dusty rock.
Arms hang freely, eyes sunken low.
His bronzed face,
Marked with the age of a soldier,
Nurtures a sad smile....
“In the land of Amazons,
We roved like bandits
And lived like kings;
We could take whatever we wished,
Amidst the cries of desperate men….
Don't you see, brother?
Men like us are destined
Never to find happiness.”
...Evening birdsong ushers
Cool night over the veld.
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 2:53 PM UTC
_the wettest grass-_
are the tears we shed.
So when our eyes are: _dry and
so empty,_
we know all our grass is dead!
_on the greener side_...Do you know
how to even get there?
Searching a heart' veld, what
shall you find?
__(all has been destroyed
by a tragedy' fire)__
Dec 20, 2021
Dec 20, 2021 at 10:50 AM UTC
Paul McCartney, John Paul Jones, Pope Paul VI, Ru Paul and
Paula Jones... Beethoven and Presley, Euripides, Little Ricard, Oscar Wilde, Marie Currie and Martha Washington, The Rolling Stones,
Boy George, Helen of Troy and Clarke Gable, T. S. Elliot and
Eliot Gould, Melville, Shubert and Marilyn Monroe....
If all this humanity were but grains of sand
all who have came and all who will come
would neatly fit in a hundred gallon drum
a pittance of the vastness and dark realms
the stars that light, the bit we can see
of the unimagined depth of our the galaxies
a twig in the veld, a bubble in the burst
for we are but a dot in time and blink of rays
a mere spark that ignites the eternal blaze
organize, politicize, economize, engage and rage
we think, we plan, take turns at splendor
when stars fade and breath falters... we quietly surrender
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 8:03 PM UTC
losgetorring
vasgespeld
daar is ’n onding
los in die veld
‘n ontmaakte gedierte
wat wag ek kyk
tot jou verweer
jou in die donker ontwyk
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 7:08 AM UTC
Life is gorgeous but rugged
At mountain tops and valley troughs,
Finely shaded here and there.
At noon, it’s snowy and white.
Light green across the veld
Like orange and cream at brunch.
Then pink and peach at lunch,
But grey and off at dusk.
Life is gorgeous but rugged:
A valley of medals and “slaps”.
Mended will that fills up bones.
A prop above wrecked bottles.
Then, a skip to prevent a bleed.
Ahead, though a troublesome lane
For rewards that’re nearer than far
Through success netted by zeal.
Oct 31, 2020
Oct 31, 2020 at 8:51 AM UTC
All along I kept it under wraps for the wasps from the veld.
Their senses of smell and taste were the real denominators of ruining my case.
I tried my best to keep the silence but things were turning out to be a ****** mess.
Oh yes oh yes, how could I miss the simplest things.
From the moment she walked in she suspected something was amiss.
Tisk tisk tisk.
Of course she was gonna find my black list.
Fortunately I erased the single hint that could give it all away.
Gladly at the end of the day everything worked out perfectly.
I ended up Proposing to her ;)
Jul 31, 2019
Jul 31, 2019 at 1:22 PM UTC
De pijn is diep en goed
verspreid, niet zomaar
aan te duiden, onduidelijk,
iets wat je moeilijk onderscheidt.
Zoek voor haar momenten om
nieuwe uren in te luiden.
Laat van tijd een luchtje scheppen,
paarse bloemen, bomen bruin
en uitgestrekte velden links,
rechts, een kinderspeeltuin.
Wanneer we de tijd weer nemen
om te kijken, zien we meer
dan wanneer
we haar aan het raam laten
zitten.
Geef de kans om haar tuintje om te spitten.
In en uit balans krijgt het groeien
terug een kans en zie die paarse bloemen, in goed licht,
die zich maar al te graag weer komen moeien
met het veld van je gezicht.
May 20, 2019
May 20, 2019 at 3:01 PM UTC
Denk toch niet zo veel aan dan, Daan.
Denk maar aan de zon,
de schaapjes in het veld,
de vrienden die je telt,
de momenten die je won.
Denk maar aan het zachte bed
voor straks en aan muziek,
die liedjes die je luisterde met
je lieve naasten, je hechte kliek.
Denk maar aan dieren, bomen,
gras en rolmodelfiguren komen
vanzelf je netvlies op, stap
naar buiten, lach om de grap
van de pakjesman,
lach met de mop
van je kind.
Wees gewoon vandaag
de beste versie van jezelf,
wees lief en help waar nodig
en als dat niet lukt,
maak je niet zovele zorgen,
je mag het allemaal opnieuw proberen
morgen.
Jun 12, 2019
Jun 12, 2019 at 8:17 PM UTC
sewentien kraaie
krys oor my kop
sirkel en duik
sweef
bo die volop
van laatmiddagherfs
iewers in die veld
lê ‘n karkas en vrot
die ontbinding van een
vul die ander se krop
Jun 13, 2021
Jun 13, 2021 at 12:11 AM UTC