Biography of Daleen Enslinstrydom
Daleen is the name that I want people to call me. I am happily married to the poet Gert Strydom and I am a mother, grandmother and people are important to me. I do love gardening, housekeeping and Jackie, my Jack-Russell crossbreed.
When I can find some time I do paint and at times I do write my thoughts to paper. I am a champion of equality among people and do believe that everyone have got the right to a life. The creator is the most important person in my life and I believe in Him with a fixed confidence
Darleen comes from the old-English name “dale” that means “she is living in the valley, ” as a dedicated friend that supports people through times of gladness and hardship, somebody who brings joy to life, somebody who is beloved, awakec full of energy, the caretaker of broken hearts, not a easy person but a woman who is virtuous and loved by children
© Copyright: Helena Dorothy Enslin-Strydom for all poems on this webpage.
- Far beyond this night -new-
Daleen Enslinstrydom Poems
What happiness means
Happiness is so different to each and everyone and to you it’s probably all the things that money can buy,
The Hands Of A Farmer
I have known those hands all of my life and many times I have looked at those hands, at big rough hands that worked the fields and calluses in their palms tell a own story
Under the shade of the big old oak tree
Under the shade of the old oak tree Jafta sit and his mind wanders back as he reflects on his life while the sun sets in the west. He is overcome with sorrow to braking point,
When the heaven cries outside and are taking pleasure in songs of joy and pain
Jewel of my childhood
There was a time in my life when I was just a child and we lived in a small community in the mountains of the Marico district
You are my summer sun
When the winter cold creeps out like a old memory without warning the days get colder
A Female Friend
A good friend makes life easier when destiny covers you with a dark blanket and you have got nowhere to hide she is there with a cup of tea
A Mother’s Work Is Never Done 
In the basin the old wrinkled hands are quiet for a while and her head is bowed in reverence while a tear runs down her face and if you should ask about it
Difficult to understand
When the sorrows of this world is sprayed like graffiti on the walls of your heart and it screams out in silence to every passer by
Will somebody pleas take me?
She sits on the porch early in the morning just as the sun breaks through some clouds after a stormy night
Words written on paper
Before you came into my life the candle of love had burnt out a long time ago and I was left hard and cold.
Your penned words do inspire me
Your words are like thousands of butterflies landing on the flowers of my heart. and I have learned to blossom when I hear them.
The Face In The Mirror
I have known you all of my life and when I look back I see your childhood face with you long blonde hair and freckles
Don’t we all paint With the paintbrush of life On our own canvasses every day? Sometimes we paint beautiful landscapes
Caught in the act she fears them,
hears their voices
as they drag her like an animal to the slaughterhouse
while her prosecutors pulls her by the hair
to the pebbled courtyard
where she stumbles and she is naked
and she knows that she is guilty
while her heart pounds anxiously in her chest,
uneasily she grasps for air.