How many sunshines

And rainy days did I miss

Of your daily life?


In this pretty urn

Is all that remains of you.

I wonder which one.


The one that smiled

In my memories of her

Or the scowl and frown.


Did I really see

The person you paraded

Or the masquerade?


Will I ever know

The genesis of your smile

Now hidden away


In your everyday life

That I missed all these years.

I said: “I love you!”


Now I’m not so sure.



Truth held her tongue

Shuddering, timid and weak

Kneeling to power


For too long subdued

By weaponry of the state

Built on the Big lie


For too long crouching

Convinced she could not win

Against the mighty


For too long ruled

By bigotry and sly greed

She  lifted the stone


Now we have a sling

Giving voice to the voiceless

Through phone and fibre


Empires will fall

When crowds speak truth to power

By choosing their mark


The David within

Dormant for too long



I curled around your imagination,

hissed the words you should write,

slithered between

your wake and sleep.


Left my venom behind,

I’m not here to harm you,

rather to exorcise

the fear out of you.


Don’t be afraid

at the flick of my tongue.

Hear my silent quips

as they escape my lips

divining the greatness

I see in you,

Communing with the spirit

that others don’t see.


I’ve chosen this form

to help you confront your fear

because that’s what it takes

before you can get near

to the you that is within,

the you that squats

in the dark,

shrinks into a corner,

hides in a suffocating closet,

sings muted songs

and beats quiet drums.


Don’t just stand there

paralysed and afraid

when you see me.

I’m just a sign, symbol sent,

sliding through your life,

serving a summons for you

to seek and find

the essence of you.


Chevvy8 : Sea Point

Some would call you a scavenger,

Scouring for your favorite meats,

Indiscriminately relishing your hidden treats,

Unruffled Don Juan, always so cavalier.


Others say that you are a messenger

Sent from beyond horizons of the sea,

With epistles you have composed for me,

Glad tidings from another hemisphere.


You stand with pride on your pillar,

Confidently studying my every move,

Casting doubt of what I need to prove

As you roam shores, ever a serial spiller.


I am inclined to see the very soul of you

Before my thoughts carry me too far.

I recognize you for the seagull you are

On ocean and sand, swooping through.

facades 2

Wandering through the day

in many disguises, we parade

our wares like enterprising peddlers,

bargaining for the best prices,

trading in the currency of

luminous words or emotive appeal.


As the sun dips into its western shores,

the peddler dons the performer’s cap,

forced to speak much louder

against the din of traffic’s rush hour,

where many voices are heard,

some speaking louder with simple, muted words,

in the deafening silence of solitary nights.


In the high noon of night’s darkness,

the adjudicators step out of their closets,

self appointed to determine share prices.

With full oversight and freedom,

they determine the futures’ market.

They audit for “good” ethical practice

and hand judgment down for those

breaking the moral high-code.


Such are the facades we sometimes wear,

in our liberation of freestyle art to share.