Friday, May 15, 2015

haiku #2

magic white dust floats
down from the coconut tree.
it spirals to me.

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2015

Thursday, May 7, 2015

fear & guilt:  constants I no longer use in the operation of my life.

fear divides capability & guilt multiplies concern in a way that ultimately equals less power.

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2015

Sunday, May 3, 2015


too good to be had
too bad to be understood

such is the dilemma of a soul like mine

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2015

Thursday, April 23, 2015


so easy...

bathing in Golden Fire
you'd think it burns
nah, i plunge higher and higher
my spirit turns, satisfied.

he quenches my desire.

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2015

Monday, March 30, 2015

haiku #1

an orb of pure gold
hangs low in the matte black sky
the moon, majestic

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2015


hurry home to my love, my love
let me anchor my hope in your love, love
don't let me drift too long uncertainly
certainly i will not survive the choppy seas of uncertainty

hurry home to my love, my love
let me pour out buckets of love, love
don't leave me to drown in this pool of emotion
certainly my survival is in your devotion

hurry home to my love, my love
come fill my heart-gap with love, love
don't let me settle on the water-bed below
certainly we can tread against the flow

hurry from across the oceans, my love
let us build a home out of our love
don't let time steal from our ecstasy
certainly we were meant to coexist in eternity

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2015


when there is too much to say
silence still speaks on my behalf
unwarranted, it slanderously voices a meaning
louder than the words
i dare not whisper

i've been chewing on these words for months, years
but the bolus of hurt and apology and fault and pain and guilt and heartache
refuses to be assimilated
so i choke
on the mountain attempting to pass my cavernous throat

silence manages to saunter through the crevices
weightless, but heavy
delivering blows i no longer want to throw
cutting life-lines between me and you


you are the him who said he'd love me, but didn't
you are the him who i said i'd love but... can't
you are the him who i didn't love, but said i did
you are the him i want

you are the him separated from me
by words and the lack thereof
from things said and unsaid
done and undone
you are the one i have lost
or have yet to find

i imagine that my silence beckons to you in the late night
(as yours does to me)
whispering lies and truths, it betrays my position
but you send no cavalry to my rescue
no negotiations ensue

so my silence meets your silence
out on the open pastures
maybe they will succeed at the love
we could never capture

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2015

Tuesday, March 24, 2015


some days are harder than others
to put you out of my mind
to forget that i am the other
foolishly waiting in time

some days are harder than others
because i refuse to let you go
and as i watch you loving others
my heart breaks, blow by blow

i can see more than you think i see
and know more than you know
like how you love the smell of lilies
and watching forests grow

i can be more beautiful than the lily
and than any tree you can find
just come back to my arms, you'll see...
or get the hell out of my mind

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2015

Saturday, March 21, 2015


just saw the new pup, so...
i guess that's what's up?
told you to hurry up, but
yuh still a stir black coffee in yuh cup

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2015

Wednesday, March 18, 2015


mi love betta hurry an come
two day now but it feel like a month
two year now an mi still feel di same
beg yuh nuh put mi poor heart to shame

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2015

Wednesday, January 7, 2015


i am not only human
i am BOLDY human - God's hewn man
into my dirt-flesh blew His pneuma-breath
so call me pneuman - a new man
soul erupting anew... man, my God is good

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2015

Friday, June 20, 2014


Today, I open my mouth.

Who will hear my voice?

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2014

Friday, January 31, 2014


i'm weary from defending my good intentions
though I wear my heart on my sleeve for all to see,
they still choose to believe the worst in me.

it gets old being the one they love to hate
filling blanks in my identity with negative
suppositions as if it's real.

my love is thrown back in my face
like hot spit on a warm day,
making me wonder why i still care.

why care for others when no one else will care for me
so proving the selfish they believe is in me
i am now selfish, for me.


no more good intentions to defend
just the bad they always believed,
yet i am still weary.

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2014

Friday, October 18, 2013


I'm 16 today
I am pain

I am weakness.

I'm 16 today
I am mute

I am not heard.

I'm 16 today
I am stubborn

I will not speak.

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2013

Wednesday, October 2, 2013


As I speak, I learn.

Be patient with me when my actions contradict my words. It means I have yet to learn.

Assuredly, I have learnt to speak.

Yet, I must speak to learn.

Will you be an ear?

Monday, September 9, 2013

Truth, exploded.

BOOM; revelation unleashed.

The image of who you were exploded in a dizzying array of pieces like chunks of burning flesh disassociating from the bones of a destructive masochist.

So divergent is the split between who my mind had perceived you to be and how you now appear (subject to the bomb of truth) that I struggle to reconcile the contradicting images towards an appropriate decisive response.

To question you as you stand before me, morbidly exposed, is to naively expect a reincarnation of the you I once perceived.
An untrustworthy perception which would align with a supposedly truthful you, all proof of which currently follows variant parabolic thrusts upward to subsequently slap the sand at my feet.

My incapacity to formulate a response stems from the innate incongruity with who you were and what you did.
The constant is that you did do it, so I am left to surmise that the pre-explosion image of you is the variable in this equation.
You were merely an illusion.

Perhaps I am at fault.

For it could have been the unfulfilled desire of a parched soul (rendered unreliable by its thirst for the refreshment of a pure heart) which manufactured the mirage of your springs.
Perhaps you cunningly took advantage of my delusion and combined it with an appropriate appearance so that, together, we established the facade.

It could be, as well, that you are not at fault here.
Well at least not the fault of misrepresentation.
I discerned within you the glistening potentiality with which I interacted.
Sanctimoniously, I supposed that the future you would be the present you if only by virtue of my faith in you.

And then there is the possibility of corruption.
An impure introduction to your once pure person-hood.

Explanations aside, the retrospective reality is my reverence towards you.
An image I loved.

Then there was the boom. And all was changed.

The manifestation of my delusion/deception/interpretation was shattered.
Spewed, like flying body parts across my field of vision.
The pungent stench of disappointment erupted at once.
My stomach curled at the distasteful flavour of the air.
Shock chilled me to the core, causing the hairs on my arm to stand on edge.
Mistrust blew across my consciousness.

I wanted to embrace you, but I feared your sores.
I was urged to run from you, yet I hesitated.

You are not who you were/could have been/had been/are to be.
You are who you are.

I wonder who you are.

What I see before me is the pathetically limp image of a friend now dead to me.
No longer can you lie to me...

But, given the impossibility of forensic reconstruction, who will ever reveal the truth?

© Chereese La-vonne Ricketts 2013

Monday, May 27, 2013

Be Free, My Country

You are never a slave until you allow your spirit to be enslaved.This is a performance piece I wrote for the people of Jamaica. Stop suffering, don't bow down to difficulties of our past and present.Only then can we truly hope for a better future.

I have a story
'Cause mi need fi explain
How Massa take mi from mi glory
And tie me up wid chain.

A whole a two hundred year him keep me
But is a lifetime worth of pain
When him rape, beat, murder mi identity
'Til not even mi know mi own a name.

Although mi story might full wid  pain,
Time fi dash way dis yah ball and chain.
I am the resilient spirit in all a we,
The spirit of Jamaica saying "BE FREE"

By time Massa say him gone,
Mi did waan leave.
"Back to Africa as one!",
Dat mi shout back a Garvey.

'Merica, Hingland, all Canada mi run
Jus like mi friend Mister Stanley.
Mek dem vex? No Gordon House him sidung
And hear, "Five flights a day!" from Manley?

Yes, mi did run way pon jet plane

But, Time fi dash way dis yah ball and chain.
I am the resilient spirit in all a we,
The spirit of Jamaica saying "BE FREE"

Independence baby, not even learn fi stand
When rising oil prices knock me down!
In Manchester, is bauxite we mine from di land
But in the seventies, all a dem pick up and run!

A dat deh time tings get bad
When pon the shelf not even piece a bun
And mi, tun 'gainst mi own a bredda like mi mad
When Uncle Sam gimme gun!

By these hands too many were slain,

But, Time fi dash way dis yah ball and chain.
I am the resilient spirit in all a we,
The spirit of Jamaica saying "BE FREE"

Who is Massa now, in dis yah my country
Yes, it no matter how mi reach.
Is Massa, the withering economy
Or the IMF with them kin teet?

Is is bredda 'gainst bredda
Or rich versus poverty?
What is it now trying to
Bring my soul back to slavery!

Stop look round fi summadi fi blame!

Time fi dash way dis yah ball and chain.
I am the resilient spirit in all a we,
The spirit of Jamaica saying "BE FREE"

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2013

Monday, May 6, 2013


We live in a world where it has become the norm to subscribe to fantasy more than to reality itself. We form our lives around norms, mores and beliefs which suit our desire of normalcy.

We live in a carnival house of mirrors, which, at best reveals only a part of our true selves but distorted in great proportion. And though disoriented, we fool ourselves into thinking we have seen the whole picture; that it is a clear enough reflection on which to base our actions.

The truth? Our innate lack of understanding of ourselves and our world scares us. For most, the effort is too great to try and decipher the true origin. Or perhaps it offends our ego to admit that the true authority of our own world is not ourselves.

So we take control, to the degree that one who had no power over his own eruption into being can do; that is, a minimal degree in the grand scheme of things. Yet, we utilize perhaps our only true power, that of imagination to soothe our fears of an undefined world, or one at least not designed by ourselves.

So close your eyes to reality, friend. Turn away from the noble task of uncovering absolute truth. Create your fantasy, subscribe to it... But do tell me, are you at peace? And then tell me, do you even know what peace is... Or have you only imagined it?

Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts © 2013

Wednesday, April 10, 2013


darkness is darkness
from all angles; it will never be light.

but all is dark
to a blind man; he chooses what is right.

"For ever since the world was created, people have seen the earth and sky. 
Through everything God made, they can clearly see his invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature. 
So they have no excuse for not knowing God. 
Yes, they knew God, but they wouldn’t worship him as God or even give him thanks. 
And they began to think up foolish ideas of what God was like. 
As a result, their minds became dark and confused. 
Claiming to be wise, they instead became utter fools." 
(Romans 1:20-22 NLT)

Monday, April 1, 2013


Ghosts of the past pull strongly on my heart strings; tethered to my brain.

Dead things.
Rotten things.
Of-no-use-to-me things.

They want me to never misplace the memory of them.

They want to control where I place the memory of them.

Ghosts of the past visit me often and whisper in my ear,
"Just wanted to make sure you know we're always here,
 "You are ours," they taunt.
"Come fly with us," they want.

And as I stand here, eyeball to treetop, recalling the exhilaration of free fall drop...
I remember too the post flight crash,
On the floor: hopes, dreams, identity - dashed.

"Silly fears!" The ghosts of my past jeer.
"In any cases, it matters not, we control you."

Oh really now?!

I am securing my ancient remembrance; some things I must forget.
Like the pull of darkeness which encapsulates my regrets.

I jump past these things to the origin of truth, the origin of me.

My freedom is not defined by the right to plummet to my death.

Rather, I express freedom by denying my right to make faulty choices.

I tune out your taunts and believe His voice. And then my spirit truly flies, with all rejoicing.

Sunday, March 31, 2013


to wish aloud is to give permission to be
unauthorized wishes must not define me
my sovereign Lord has that responsibility
in him I rest, silently

Thursday, March 28, 2013

lost in translation - morality

Do you know that some languages have words to which there is no English parallel?

What this means is that in the culture of the English-speaker that concept isn't recognised; there is no need to put a word to it.

Consider the Zulu term "sawubona". Some English-speakers translate this to "hello", which is often a simple, meaningless passing phrase in the English-speaking culture. Truly, the word speaks to a much deeper notion of recognition which translates more closely to "i see you [on a deep spiritual level which brings you into existence]". Similar examples exist with other language comparisons.

Unlike a word which translates to something immediately tangible, like say a "chair", these concepts are harder to compare since the equivalent doesn't exist in that culture. So the words fall on untrained ears.

Thing is, the culture is not even aware of what is missing.

I've observed a similar phenomenon among many people in the world culture. The ideas of morality have been so skewed and eroded over time that some today know nothing else and can not comprehend the Godly concepts of righteousness and purity.

In their world, it simply doesn't exist.

Here's the thing though; blindness [and conviction in such blindness] does not validate lifestyle.

This is God's world [regardless of what one chooses to believe] and "my world" must establish [and be established in] His founding principles.

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2013

misplaced hope

I broke a heart today.
crushed it.

The tender flesh barely resisted,
as I twisted it so.
I bound it with misplaced hope
now on my hands,
the blood of a doe-eyed innocent.

It was the gentle heart
of a true

am I?

Turns out
a broken heart
is a dangerous one.

since its devastation
my heart had only hoped to hope.

he came.

the atrophied muscles feared over-exertion at his proposition:

I reasoned:
Is it not
at the point of failure
that strength
is borne?

I questioned:
How could this be real?
Be true?
When it comes to the core of life
he doesn't see it like i do.

i found myself marking my daydreams
perchance they came true;
beginning to idolise a simple man
a lovely man.
But just that;
a man.

Where things of beauty
once brought my spirit to God,
they filled my mind of him.

I had to

I missed the mark.
And there is collateral damage.
For me,
For him.
I inflicted wounds
with the shards of my own broken heart
as, well-meaning,
he offered to cradle it.

Ohso, forgive me.

Lord, forgive me.

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2013

addressing my self-indulgence

Last year, I went through enough experiences of failure [within a relatively short period of time] to rock me to the core.

My most recent posts have mostly been about that. About looking inside and seeing [and confronting] the inner turmoil which now seemed to define "Chereese".

It is rough.

I'm not necessarily proud of all my moments; of the weakness and darkness my poetry began to represent. The theme of hope was never lost, though perhaps only expressed intermittently. And this being the journal of my trek to self-realisation I own every moment. However, it is time to move up and on with joy.

But what did I hope for?

Indeed, it was to be free of the confusion that comes with the territory when one's identity comes into question.

This means re-turning my gaze to my Lord; away from the pain and uncertainty that is in me and to the clarification and invariability that IS him.

I have discovered His peace, which abundantly covers those who "worry about nothing; instead pray about everything" [Phil 4v6] and I am determined to return to it.

In short, my posts [and my life] shall be less about my pain and more about His reign.


Wednesday, March 20, 2013


The fuel of daydreams is the hope that they will be.
The fool of daydreams is that they probably never will.

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2013

Saturday, March 9, 2013


Memories wrapped up in experiences anew.

See, memories don't leave like people do.

Is anything, then, ever truly new?

If all I encounter, is a memory of you?

Monday, February 25, 2013

Studio Sunset

Today was better than yesterday, which means it was a good day.

As class ends, I look through the louvres on the west end. The olive green of the hills has faded to a deep purple, contrasted by the rustic orange of the soon-to-be-night sky.

Twinkling lights of the distant homes read as perforations in the hills, with the sky bursting through.

With the perceived mass of the mountains gone, they seem like paper motifs. Readily blown over by the night breeze or burnt up by the fire of night lights.

Presently, in fact, they fade completely into the dark sky and are no longer of effect. All I see is the sparkle of lights from the abodes which house life.

Yes, today was a good day.

I am myself my own fever.

"I attempt from love's sickness to fly in vain,
Since I am myself my own fever and pain.

No more now, fond heart, with pride no more swell.
Thou canst not raise forces enough to rebel.

For love has more pow'r and less mercy than fate,
To make us seek ruin, and to love those that hate."

-Henry Purcell

Sunday, February 24, 2013


Alas, there is room for pain in a good life.
For heavy days, like today,
crises of heart, of relationship, of self.

There is room too for silence.
For quiet days, like today,
of hope and hidden strength rising up.

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2013

Friday, February 8, 2013


It's not that I don't trust the strength of the waves to carry me to shore
As I tread with the little strength I have left.

And it's not that I've lost faith in myself either;
That perhaps, if I mustered all, maybe I could endure.

It is this, that I am tired,

Tired of kicking and floating and wading
And still not seeing the shore.

It is not that I believe drowning is inevitable,
It is that I wonder if it is easiest right now

And perhaps, indeed, as I let go and sink
I may change my mind, and see that life is worth the fight
And worth the effort it takes to move in sync with the waves that should carry me home
And as my lungs fill with the poison that is to do me in
I may decide that I want to kick, float and wade
But perhaps it will be too late, because by then I would be too weak
And the depth too deep
And then my suicide becomes my murderer.

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2013

Saturday, January 12, 2013

sad soul sojourner

Today, sadly, I leave.
Today, my soul, I heave.
Though it begs to cleave
To this place;
To its home.

Today, my heart, bereaved
Must beat, it must, believe
Though thoughts meant to deceive 
Challenge its motive;
Tell it, it's wrong.

The journey, it is, to take
Is one, the mind, did make.
"For health and wellness sake!"
Such Irony!
For now, it seems, it'll break.

But, weary, it holds true
To, prospects, of hope anew.
Prospects, of hope, renewed
The unseen,
It must come true.

So, heart & mind, combine!
And, body, trudge behind.
Yes, strength, do find.
But quickly!
Our only currency is time.

Today, boldy, I leave.
Today, in hope, I heave
My soul, to new ranks, to cleave
To find its rightful place;
To find its own home.

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2013

Wednesday, December 19, 2012


do we ever really reach "true happiness" in this life?

or do we just grow in our tolerance of sadness?

Monday, December 10, 2012


my spirit never sleeps
even when my body is weak
my inner man forever strains
to hear the truth you speak

though time rumbles on
still... i am still.
my constant devotion:
to complete your will

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2012

Monday, October 15, 2012

I am tired of fighting,
But I am too afraid to stop.

The battle rages on...

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Heart Break-in

You stormed into my heart.

A once unwelcome intruder I felt a strange intrigue from your sudden presence. You stood, skin glistening from the valiant effort of scaling that first perimeter wall. This was a feat no other had done, though I've foolishly let some in through the barricaded gate only to expel them once I came to my senses. 

But you fought your way in... and you stood there, skin aglow and slightly flustered, perhaps unbelieving that you yourself had made it through the murky moat of my indifference and across the treacherous roped bridge of my mixed signals.

You declared your intent to usurp this kingdom of my heart.

Perhaps the absurdity of your declaration faded in the glory of your successful infiltration efforts so much so that I, the usurped, found myself impressed and decided to make no more of a fight.

Maybe if we worked together, you'd work to protect this kingdom. Heaven knows my corned hands were tired from the strategic laying of each brick on this fortressed building. I could use a protector and well, you showed yourself able.

So, I did not resist, I mean it does get lonely holed up in this place so a strong man to kindle a fire, and to warm up this home with his good looks and charm... I should have noted the startling resemblance to my fantasies... This could not be true!

But it was, you warmed my heart and opened my emotions to accommodate your unrefined warrior ways. I would care for you as or because you cared for me and together in the safe kingdom of my heart we would grow in love and understanding of the strangeness of the strangers we really were.

And as I stretched to care for you, to nurse the wounds you'd collected from scaling other kingdom walls and the bruises from being beat by those not so understanding of your benevolent usurpation plans, you rested. And my attentions turned from reapplying the mortar between the fortress bricks, so my heart began to crumble... And I felt pain.

Pain from oppressive arrows being shot through holes in the wall. Enemies of myself, but also enemies of you slithering in and biting my ankles at night... And I turned to you, to remind you to protect... but you weren't well enough yet, you said. I should not forget my duty to care for you, to nurse you.

So I didn't forget, but as I hunched over your body dressing and re-addressing the stubborn festering wounds I could feel the skin of my back being torn by the claws of assailants of our love. Don't worry about them you said, worry only about you.

And I foolishly did, until one day my skin was too torn to ignore and too raw to even lie back. So I asked you to leave. I couldn't care for you AND guard the walls, I explained.

And to my shock, you left.

I thought you would do anything for this kingdom, I thought you wanted to see it flourish. I thought my threat (that's all it was) would remind you of your own desire. 

But no, you left. 

And so I'm confused about your true identity, and left to conclude that you don't care, never cared about anything but the excitement of your initial conquest. You had no desire to sustain my kingdom, only to overpower the strength of my self-sufficiency.

Perhaps I am to blame for trusting the words and character of an intruder.
Or maybe I scared you away... but how can a coward so convincingly disguise himself as a resolute warrior?

Now, I'm torn, between rebuilding the walls to protect myself and  waiting for you to return. 

Little by little I reapply some mortar here and some plaster there, reminding my hands of the old ways, the ways I'd never thought I'd have to go back to. And as I lay each stone I glance across the treacherous bridge, past the vast plains and to the shambles of the perimeter walls that once stood; yearning to see your silhouette galloping in on hope.

You'd laugh at your folly and beg me to forgive you. You'd thank me for my care and say how safe you are in my hands. You'd gallantly sweep me up and declare your irrevocable intent to rebuild my heart and to guard it.

But no hope rides in. Only cold breezes of indifference blow over and through the walls and tumble across the plains.

So, I rebuild the walls. You can easily climb them again, I figure, as you did before. Better not make it too easy for another to stride in in your absence.  As I reconstruct the walls, I find my arms weak from lack of use and my mind hazy as it tries to remember the ways; the way it was, the way I was, before you.

The kingdom of my heart is now weak and where I once felt safe and strong I feel frail, fragile and unguarded. I wonder if I will ever regain the strength to venture beyond the stagnancy of this guarded place. If my kingdom will ever open up to new horizons and fearlessly jump at new adventures.

But for now, I struggle to find the resolution to re-fortify that wall and reset the obstacles.

I've left the door of my castle open, and I gaze, all day, across the bridge, waiting to see your form and toying with the idea of cutting that last bridge into my heart. I consider it with every baited moment that goes by that you do not return.

It seems you've left the kingdom of my heart and moved into the kingdom of my mind so instead of blessing me with your presence, your memory torments me.

At the door, frigid air rushes in in your absence and I cringe at its sting.

But I stand, and I wait.

And I'm standing and I'm waiting.

Maybe one day it will get too cold.

Maybe one day I'll cut that last bridge.

Maybe one day I'll close the door.

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2012

Friday, March 9, 2012

work in progress...

not that I want to be emotionless
but how do i listen to my emotions less
cuz when i'm down i lie motionless
unable to do a thing

for everyday that i've wept
there's a day that i've slept
and it's just another day that i've kept
myself only dreaming

all i know is the disappointment
of another missed appointment
i said i'd be in point then
but i wasn't, again

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2011

Thursday, March 1, 2012

if my tears were words, they'd tell i'm wounded... but I will never cease to fight.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Truth be told; Darkness must resolve itself into light.
Therefore my faith is strong, I will never cease to fight.

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2011

Friday, December 9, 2011

rosebud amongst manure

Like a rosebud amongst the manure
on which it feeds,
are new prospects tainted 
by the stench
of the corpse 
left behind.

Interests once divulged 

into ensuring its existence, 
you are now torn apart 
by the requirement to accept what's past 
as past 
and build on its deposits.

As the odour 
wafts through the nostrils of your understanding
you recognize
it is not entirely disagreeable;

Underlying the smell of memories to missed, 
friendships to take on new colours and 
changing of roles
is the subtle sweetness of His hand.

Once clogged by the selfishness of your flesh 

-its utter cockiness which propounds that all you think, do and desire is right-
Once clogged by such filth 

you could never defer your logical interpretation 
to the desires of Him you were created to please.

But now, 

(Thank God!)
your mind tickled by the touch of His hand,
you sneeze
And you breathe...

not the stagnancy of what you want 
but new sight and understanding 
that He is building 
and of the joyful necessity 
for you to respond

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2011

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

the battle rages on

fight or die

a faint reminder breezes across my mind
so courage i fight to find
yet courage i cannot find to fight.

i start to face the darkness with an open mind,
perhaps the darkness i won't mind...
as it washes over me
it says
"it is over, come with me"
temptation seeks to overcome me.

my soul i feel the darkness wrest
and my heart longs to rest
but it CAN NOT!
in this soulless solace

i drift in and out of consciousness
and the question arises in my head;
have i reached the end?
i hope this thought's a lie
but i fear it may be true
and i fear hope may die
at the hand of fear...

if hope does exist,
my heart i must re-guard, lest
i fall deeper and regard less
the things i once esteemed.
see, the battle rages on,
of if i stand or if i fall
if i've gathered weapons or none at all

or die

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2011

Saturday, February 12, 2011


When I was 5, or there-about, I watched an episode of Sesame Street which I'll never forget. A young girl, not much older than myself, was taking us through what looked like a junkyard. We passed through a dim corridor between a zinc building and a concrete wall and to the back of the yard. She strapped on some wooden beams to her legs and started walking... taller now than the wall which previously towered over our heads.

I was mystified.

I could feel a strange excitement bubbling up inside of me like none I had felt before. It wasn't the kind of thing would make me yell "Mummy, mummy! I want to do this!" because it didn't seem like something that was feasible, especially since I lived in Jamaica and the video was done in some other part of the world. But it was an excitement I hid deep down.... a hope that I never truly let go of; that one day, I could be transformed into the majestic Moko Jumbie.

Somehow, as a teenager, I ended up in Trinidad. The plan was to complete my final two years of high school and then return home. That didn't happen. Those two years ended up being the best in my life and so I decided to stay just one more year, and signed up for a Visual Art certificate course at the University of the West Indies.

It was there that I heard these words: "We're going to the Moko Jumbie camp on a field trip."

It was early 2009, I was 19 and these words spoken by my tutor at the art school resonated against that hidden hope. The one I had all but forgotten. "What did you say?", I asked with a heightening pitch. I could barely believe my ears. At that time I didn't specifically remember the Sesame Street showing, just that this was something I always wanted to do. At the camp, as I was strapping on the stilts, I remembered the show and I mentioned to my tutor. "Oh yes, he said, this is the same place that was on the show".

This knowledge only heightened my euphoria as I moved around on my 2' stilts. It was a feeling I had never experienced before not just excitement but contentment.... I had actually achieved a dream. And even though the events leading up to it weren't by my own doing it's a feeling I relished and which taught me to always allow room for my dreams to come true.

So even now, I don't feel confined or defined by my physical location or current ability or stage in life. I count no aspiration of mine impossible instead I'm eager to keep learning and develop; to exist in a state of readiness so that if any opportunity comes along I may be able to grab it.

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2010

Thursday, February 3, 2011

3 feb 11

What's a house without walls?
A travel mug without a lid?
A refrigerator without a door?

Life needs boundaries to maintain optimal functionality.

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2010

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

at peace, alone

the tormented soul
has no need to fear
the taunts of others
as it rests in silence;

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2010

Wednesday, December 1, 2010


light dispels
the deceptive veil
that wraps the lies
and makes them feel real

purity burns
so the darkness runs
and despises every mirror
that reflects the sun

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2010

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Stay on the road

The skies cry the tears that I try to hold in
And like a quick hand they are flung from the windscreen.

On the radio croons the voice of Jimmy Cliff;
"You can get it if you really want, but you must try, try and try"

Try not to let this sadness cloud your dreams,
Like fogs obscures the hilltops
Try not to slide into distraction
Like the slippery road threatens to throw you off.

The song breaks.
A weather brief comes on,
Tomorrow morning, it will be sunny.

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2010

Sunday, May 2, 2010

"Cher, can you hear me?" My mother's voice crackled through my ear-piece, "I can hardly hear you, I never hear you."

In the prior two weeks a few others had mentioned not being able to hear me well, but since my mum hadn't said anything [and heaven knows we call each other 10 times a day], I had quickly judged their phones as the problem. As I drove, my mum's words rung deep, "I can never hear you". I had ignored her enough times in my life.

Now, I must admit; my cheap Sony Ericsson could earn miles for being a frequent faller, but you'd never know it by looking at its barely-scratched screen and hurricane-resistant paint job. Perhaps if my phone's outer appearance had seemed somewhat more dilapidated I would have considered it as the dysfunctional one, instead of quickly judging others' phones, but it didn't seem that way, so I didn't even consider it. Like my phone, I have fallen more times than I've flown, and with a seemingly unscathed outer appearance. The inner wiring, however, was not so lucky.

There is a famous proverb which says:

"Why do you look at the speck in your brother's eye, but do not consider the plank in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, 'Let me remove the speck from your eye'; and look, a plank is in your own eye?"

I've been able to fool people that I'm alright and, by their belief, slowly fool myself into the suicidal state of self-deception. I've been judgmental and critical from an imaginary throne of self-righteousness. The proverb continues to say;

"Hypocrite! First remove the plank from your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye."

A great desire of mine is that my life can be a resource that others may be able to learn and gain wisdom from. This seemingly noble ambition, however, is compromised and unfruitful if it's done sanctimoniously.

I've had to be real with myself and question; Do you have a plank that needs removing? Or perhaps a cellular unit which could use some re-wiring?

The action to heal the world cannot predate personal healing.

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2010

Saturday, April 17, 2010


I can see the light at the end of the tunnel,
where the metal torpedo drove.
Through thickened skull it opened
with cerebral confetti
and the severance of vital ribbons
[of impulse]
[no longer in pulse].

I see a flicker
of light
as lamplight glistens on trigger,
rushing to the concluding breath.
And now,
the fresh new expectancy of...

Tambourines in the violent screams
as lips tremor
and legs quake,
while through the window streams sunset light.
Shadows announce the impending night....
But I see saturation intensify;

Colours have never seemed this bright.

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2010

Friday, April 16, 2010


I'm often told I talk too much, though not often in words.

What I think those that "say" this really mean is that I think too much, messing up their comfortable non-thinking.

I see dead people, all around me. Zombies, who think they are alive, and deciding how to live. But they are all on a leash, trapped in the vicinity of death. I used to be one of them.

Now I'm on a quest to find and establish me, to decide what aspects of what's here I want to keep and hone, and what aspects to totally trash. To look around me at others' lifestyles and to question them, with a somewhat selfish mindset; "what can I learn from you", but in the process hoping I can deposit some thing of value to them as well.

The point is not to be rebellious, it is to be conscious.

Identify yourself.

Defy death.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Contradistinction of Sameness

binds us
in a sameness
of which impossibility
our ability
to deny

we eat
we breathe
we live

but contrastingly,
we envisage
and we execute
what we envisage
and we exist
as our execution
according to our vision

in this asylum of sameness
by fogged mirrors
of age
we must make out our own definition

resist the authorities of conformity
question their clonal laws
march against
their storm
of belittling words
screaming your shouts

make the colours of you-ness heard

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2010