Short Veld Poems

September rain
Cape chestnuts rule the veld
In the morning
The wife of kong-tsai
Asleep in my royal bed...

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Meet me in the veld
Where the wind carresses
Our intimate vows
My hero is the dawn
That unites our hearts...

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here is
my own recipe
letters simmering 
e 
     vs   v
d s  v  
     e dp  o
  vel  p      mo
opes  om
   m  delvs po v
veld opes om
poem solved
...

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The purple and grey clouds
come like giant airships
baptizing the veld with millions of drops
falling gently like feathers

The plants dance merrily 
earth sings a serenade of thanks...

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vegetation turf
I am just a blade of grass
cut me i will grow

greenery, green lawn
narrow leaves, growing wild sod
cultivated mead

grasslands blades of grass
lawns pasture, as a fodder crop.
field, pasture, meadow

sward, lea growing spring
grassland veld literary 
vegetation turf


8/10/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr....

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The corn is sweeping low;
her tasseled head is bent,
as dying souls lament
about the waning glow.
This life too quickly fades,
thin mists that pale the glade.

In furrows dark and dry,
the kernels, hard, that fall
beneath the autumn squall,
now lie alone. Awry
the seed the wind propelled
to propagate the veld.

So life reflects the corn
that dies to bloom reborn.

Copyright, August 16, 2015
Faye Lanham Gibson...

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Its wound an ugly welt
And its pains deeply felt,
A school child shall again melt
At the sight of A Disciplining Belt…

The child could his teacher user stalk,
As he tries to home calmly walk 
To with him achieve a rude talk, 
Now that he isn’t in class with chalk…

The kid who had down knelt 
And was with a belt
Lashes dealt 
Would want a thing to melt
In the teacher user of the belt…

Him trace to South Africa’s Veld....

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Hunter

Ears are prone on the ground
To catch vermin's motion sound.

Up empty skies, eyes are cast-
In the dark sea they're steadfast .

On the veld, the long nose,
Trails to catch a whiff while close.

                    *

Writers are a Natural Hunter
Of Gist and not the blind punter.

Fishing Gist in the deeper wild
With Guts is his or her brainchild.

Sometimes, the hunt of the day
Bestows Hunter no bag to flay!...

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In South Africa, we imitate Thanksgiving, even "Black Friday!"
Is it business or American culture-wannabees
I hear awkward Howdys; "How U doing?" Narratives of "space ...customer care"
Just as plastic bags decorate sidewalks, veld, pretty cities. Krag, "power,"
Is out more than "on," and the same for water "Loadshedding,"
One of of very own phrases, as with 'State Capture' by WaBenzi
The newest tribe that found state funds for that German car!...

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By Parizo Van Thulare

Like the thunderstorm in my mind  
It rolls ,seeking  a way out 
It crawls deep out of my pores, hoping to see sun

Burning as the veld fire 
From my medulla to my spine ,the heat is felt .
In words rhyming like in a flog 
Telling me to wake up and let in bleed 
Round and round down my mouth 
It wants to speak for the broken 

The mender of souls 
The healer of hearts 
The remedy of doubts 
This is POETRY in making...

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With Waheed they had roughly dealt,
The bitterness still deeply felt.
Enroute did Celts him with stones pelt
And he's like the hit with strong belt
"Let's watch him smile and fail to melt"
He won't for all The South's veldt!"

Black Tourist facing Racist Celt:
Any time out of doors would melt.
Begged he had all Celts and down knelt
But they had his feeling not smelt...

Waheed guessed he'd his feet planted
Where both right and left aren't wanted....

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I am a soldier of my land,
a defender of the earth.

The heavens above as the,
showers to quench the soil.

But when it has been tamed,
the fish-eagle soars to the sky.

My spirit runs free here,
I am an African born.

A home to many people,
home to many a tongue.

The sweet scent of veld,
grass in the air.

The tang of a red soil on my,
tongue.

The majesty of the stinkwood,
as it basks in the African,
sun.

Calls me home,
yes it calls me home....

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I
What weather will welcome roaming?
Any, if it's sunny, she says
Off they go, Thomas Hardy tales recalling ...
Roaming the veld, let me count the ways -

II
If we were cattle, we would range
If we were bandits we would rove -
No roots in "Rome," that's strange?
R O A M, it's a word for today, by Jove!

III
Students would read the root word is "roven"
Way back from 1300, Middle English, I'd say
A word, if attended, becomes like one chosen
Revealing history while "rambling" today...

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