Poetry Feature – Callum Andrew McGhee

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My name is Callum Andrew McGhee. I am from Johannesburg, born in Roodepoort many years ago in 1983. I have travelled a lot and experienced a lot of things, both good and bad. I play guitar and piano, but most importantly I love putting my personality onto paper. I write short stories and poetry about anything and everything. I am an aspiring novelist of both fiction and non fictional
books. I am a recoverd alcoholic with an epic story to tell that I am currently writing a book about in the hope of helping alcoholic and non alcoholic people realise the dangers of addiction through my own chaotic experience of it.

It is a light hearted approach to a serious problem that society faces. I believe humour goes a long way when writing a story with such a serious underlying message. My poetry depends on how I am feeling. It could be about trying to help a suicidal person, or simply about the beauty of a Rose in a full moon. I’m an observant person with a unique way of expression. I point out the little things people miss in their daily race to the top of the ladder. I aim to put South African writing on the world stage, one page at a time.


By C McGhee


Sanitised halls seep in anxious families,

As they await loved ones results.

Some stricken by unexpected tragedies,

Others relieved by news of doctors consults.


Organised chaos by the nurses,

Reassuring those in distressed wait.

A chaplain reciting religious verses,

As a patient to heaven he tries to reinstate.


Vulnerability is felt within the healing bricks,

Felt even by the healthy.

We realise our own clock as it ticks,

Whether we are destitute, or wealthy.


Two people arrive at lightning pace,

Scared and afraid of what awaits.

Three people leave with an exhausted face,

One a new born joy with both parents traits.


One day we shall all be in need,

In need of care and reassuring attention.

It is with the angels that we shall plead,

To grant us our eternal redemption.


The passages of hospitals are all seeing,

Having witnessed many things.

Thank goodness they are filled with caring,

When tragedy it one day rings.

– End –



By C McGhee


Death knocks at all of our doors,

Out time will come unknowing.

We cannot live thinking of our deaths cause.

We will never know when it is coming.


Terminal disease is not an ending.

Unfortunately though the pain must be felt.

It is actually just the magical beginning,

Of your next journey for new cards to be dealt.


Painful memories fade into oblivion,

Replaced by forgotten joy.

That single moment that was one in a million,

Conquers pained loss like the surprise of Troy.


The mourning of a loved one,

It too shall have resolve.

Even though they are now physically gone,

They remain in the form of their soul.


Only silent words need be uttered,

About a moral man dedicated to love.

For not a feather had he fluttered,

A true gentleman looks down now from above.



By C McGhee


Why not believe in pixies and fairies,

Of course unicorns too?

They have been here for centuries,

Just search your garden for a clue.


Moonlight, blue it beams down,

As little elves dance for joy.

There are even special hidden towns,

For every believing girl and boy.


Clovers with four leaves,

Will bring you lifelong luck.

If you find one in amongst the trees,

Carefully pick it up.


Believing though it is a must,

If you seek these magical scenes!

I once sneezed on fairy dust,

They are real, so it seems!


Invisible to the grumpy mind,

A whole world of wonder for you awaits!

Deep in moss covered forests you’ll find,

Smiling creatures in ecstatic states!


Keep on saying that you believe,

Please don’t make you new friends cry!

For should you forget they do grieve,

They grieve until they die.




By C McGhee


It is said that African soil is so red,

From all the battles of civil war.

It is stained from all the bloodshed,

Its heart ripped from its core.


African beauty cannot be explained,

The sun, the bush and sea.

Its blood runs through our veins,

Calling you back it will always be.


The African wind is now weeping,

The animals are being murdered.

The silver lining disappearing,

Its people being slaughtered.


An African elephant named,

By the shape of her continental ear.

Wildlife roam free and untamed,

Not for long, as they slowly disappear.


The pain she feels as man has neglect4ed,

The generosity of her lands.

She is a gentle soul being rejected,

By the greed of outstretched hands.


There is hope for her future generations,

Our children can hear a lion’s roar!

Only if we start now with preparations,

Stitching back what we have torn.


Understanding the African lure,

Can only be felt by those born there.

It is wild, perfect, pure,

Although it seems that some don’t care.


I fear for Africa, divided by poverty,

Made possible by her political leaders.

There is no longer solidarity,

Between the battling soldiers.


Africa quivers as war rages on,

Unnecessary hate in the breeze.

Her tears continue to rain upon,

Her ground that is red, it still bleeds!

 – End – 

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