19DEC12

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

or do we just grow in our tolerance of sadness?

10dec12

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

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

The battle rages on...

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

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

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

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

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

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!
MUST 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,
regardless
of if i stand or if i fall
if i've gathered weapons or none at all

fight
or die


© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2011

12feb11

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

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

at peace, alone

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

© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2010

reflecting...

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

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

"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

discerning...

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

Welcome

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.

Contradistinction of Sameness

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


we eat
we breathe
we live


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


trapped
in this asylum of sameness
distorted
by fogged mirrors
of age
race
place
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