Month: January 2017

These Walls

by Chevvy, posted in Poetry

These walls speak

Sometimes too choked with fear

To tell us about what happened here

These walls cry

Tears of dried blood from old scars

Of prejudice and pain behind those bars

These walls scream

Of  silenced voices and separated lives

Edicts determining who endures and who thrives

These walls hide

Exhumed hatred, resurrected from a bygone era

When masked men darted knives of burning terror

These walls hear

Vitriolic words, disguised in the name of the holy book

Claiming promised lands with a stolen verse as the hook

These walls see

How we cower in shadows when we make that mark

That gives our permission for self selection into the ark

These walls know

Who carries blood and dirt on their hands

When we build new walls to extend divided lands

The fortress

by Chevvy, posted in Poetry

Impenetrable

Walls so high to protect me

Even from myself

Deep in the basement

In cobwebs behind a door

Is the hiding place

Of secrets that are

Shrouded behind a dark veil

I dare not expose

Even to myself

Shielding me from destruction

If it is revealed

The fragile essence

Of guarded imperfections

You will never see

They are pounding now

On the doors to be released

To help set me free

I am not alone

I see it so clearly now

Your lock and your key

Let us take the steps

Find that hidden place of fear

Torment and sorrow

The war is over

Time has come to surrender

And break down the walls

Freed from the fortress

What ifs

by Chevvy, posted in Poetry

These questions that gnaw at me,

nibbling at the joy that life brings,

feeding me with cheesy excuses,

muddling doubts, impotent fears,

stealing glitter off golden moments,

when I should have been totally here,

not wondering on my own out there–

an exile behind my own prison walls.

What if this is what was meant for me

all along, complete with every crack,

every blemish that prizes the antique,

aspired by most but afforded to a few.

What if I had made an irrevocable error–

taking the bus and not boarding the train,

believing that life had to ride the highway

instead of pausing at each station en route?

What if there were no what ifs to choose–

where automation usurped my controls,

clipped my wings so that I could not fly?

Would I be the me that has reason to be?

What if I told you that this is exactly it?

I’m just where I need to be, here with you?

It’s in the the stars my love, in the stars!

Thank you to Marie from ComeFlywithme for the prompt to write this poem

When Reason leaves

by Chevvy, posted in Poetry

She wavers a while

Knows she should stand guard

Has felt the pain before

But she has a Rival

Passion is not her friend

He descends in Don Juan style

Sweeps her out the door

Yesterday’s dust that had settled

Residue of ashes from old fires

Caught off guard in the moment

She savoured its forbidden taste

Intoxicated by its delirious fragrance

She faints again and again

There are no smelling salts

To revive her back to sanity

Once more the fool

When the music plays again

A piped tune, she’d follow to the end

Into the abyss of regrets

Where guilt bites hard, a rabid dog

Infecting her with madness

Until the face in the mirror

Becomes a stranger

Lost to who she thought she was

Passion has his way with her

Even when she tried to say no

It was merely a whimper

He chose not to hear

Because her actions spoke

Much louder than her words

Reason would find her once again

In the drunken gutters

When the party had ended.

The silence of the Bush

by Chevvy, posted in Poetry

A silence that stirs and kisses

Whispers deceptively in hisses

Beckoning to enter her depths

Stilling your quickening breaths

She leads you to her inner shrine

A place that loses your track of time

Save the rising and falling of the sun

Your hearts beating together as one

Far from the jungle made of stone

Her brush strokes are for you alone

Where going out means going within

Bringing tranquility to your inner din

Her music is deafeningly loud

Nature’s requiem, a chorusing crowd

Setting the scene and the stage

To free you from your secret cage

The Magic is always near

by Chevvy, posted in Poetry

Sometimes you know the Magic is near

It somersaults and pirouettes in the air

Announcing that someone special is there

She knows how to bring a smile to your face

Generous in spirit, not frilled behind the lace

A heart so warm, filled abundantly with space

She once waved her magic wand to the star

And spotted me amidst the milky way from afar

Soul to soul chemistry, that’s just how things are

When you reach out and touch what you can’t see

You know that this was always destined to be

That we’d touch each other’s lives and hold a key

Unlocking memories, the mysteries of our dreams

Because we know that it’s not always as it seems

We are to each other as the river to the streams

So here I stand raising my glass and saying cheers

Wishing you many blossoms and harvesting years

And if you cry today, let it be with joyful tears

Our Graffiti Walls

by Chevvy, posted in Poetry

Sometimes the pain is unyielding,

deeply plunged with serrated edges.

Only you can see the ghoulish images

stuck on repeat, record, rewind, replay…

Brother take my hand because I understand

how the weather won’t efface, nor time erase,

the graffiti on the wall of your remembrance,

bleeding paint, rolling from those crying eyes.

Why does midnight seem so dark and cold

when you’re feeling strapped  and alone?

While Insomnia  wrestles your  demons away,

daylight can’t seem to come soon enough.

But it eventually does Brother, it does!

See… the bleeding has stopped for a while.

When you looked out of your window

and saw that other artists had been at work…

Painting their own graffiti walls, you knew

that there were others outside just like you,

chasing ghosts at midnight, in frenzied spritz,

their pain transformed into nobel–prized art.

We’ll rise from the ashes again Brother!

Take my hand, you may lend me yours too.

Life’s garden

by Chevvy, posted in Poetry

Even as he turned the soil, unearthed the weeds,

He knew that he would have to plant new seeds.

For what is it to grow a garden and not linger,

To stop and revere,the art of your green finger?

What pleasure there is in being freedom’s child

Sprouting buds and leaves, trendrils twirling wild.

There is also great merit in the design and pruning,

For complementing–colour, shape and fine–tuning

At the end of the day, we’ll sit back and admire

The achievements of hopes to which we aspire.

No longer prisoners of our own fault and device,

Co-creators, not victims of the throw of the dice.

No root stands firm without tender loving care,

Nutrients and water, sunshine and refreshing air.

Even when we think that chance is to blame

We must each move towards our own end-game.

Close the door quietly

by Chevvy, posted in Poetry

Hush now my friend

though winds have spiralled

and lashed out at you.

Walk away on padded feet.

Let them not hear you

as you close the door,

on tricks of your mind

that thwarted your courage.

Those nights tossed in restless sleep,

those days of useless self pity,

those hours of longing

for what you could not have.

Close that door in silence

as you step aside for the light

that will bathe you, caress you

with the holy promise of a new day.

A day filled with surprises–

wrapped with ribbons and bows,

waiting to witness your sheer delight,

to find it was just what you wanted!

Close the door quietly my dear.

Let them not hear the echoes

of your footfalls, or know

that you have been here before.

And when you return to this place,

wearing your victory crown,

let them ululate, bowing at your feat

in their invisible shapes and forms,

No longer able to make you cry

because you have learnt how to fly.