Archive for the ‘Prose’ Category

Conor McGregor

Conor McGregor, I beggar, is the news of the day,
A world champion in a weight division, and in another cut down like hay,
A fighter in a sport they call UFC,or if you prefer  Mixed Martial Arts,
Where all contenders come from the world, come from all her parts.
Now many see McGregor as  a cur, buffoon, an obnoxious little chap,
To him that matters little, as he puts his life and country on the map,
He’s successful in his field, and his field requires pain,
So I’ll just simply laugh at those, that have never had to train.
Now he lost a fight, against Nathan Diaz, before he ever entered the Octagon Ring,
And I’ll tell you why, and I cant believe, he missed this simple thing.
I’ll elaborate, slowly, for I think this is important indeed,
And McGregor if he reads this, may well grow from this seed.
I’ve fought a battle, near killed, by result of an accident,
So I know what pain/struggle/failure has meant
And yes, I’ve felt that fear and used it, to motivate me once again,
The difference is , and he knows this, you never call people other names
The fight game is unique, accepted, and I understand the ‘sell’ of the fights,
But the lesson surely for McGregor is,  the bloke  that spoke less, won the speaking rights.
We all can see through the ‘razzamatazz’ , and as much as it feeds our thirst
The Guy, who said  ‘he’d bury him’ finished second, didn’t finish first.
Now don’t get me wrong, I like this guy, I like his depth of dedication,
He doesn’t get to be where his without pain and humiliation.
I suspect he’s probably worked harder than anyone we could know
A 120 hour week at least, between all the media  side show
So what is it, what I’m trying to say…? Well let me put it as straight as this..
Conor McGregor lost to Diaz for he bought into the bullshit of showbiz.
How do I know? Oh I know… and I’ve fought every step in the dark,
Having a punch up in an octagon…..?  Jaysus a bloody walk in the park
True champions do the work, on the field of play,
They seek not to belittle any, for they know it comes back biting some day,
True Champions, face all challenges from a place of respect,
Otherwise they just become, a showbiz puppet that showbiz will reject
So I beggar, Conor McGregor…knowing your financial worries may well be no more
If and when you decide to pick yourself up from the floor,
You’ll truly represent the Irish, by respecting your adversary..
Seems like a winning formula,
 as to celebrating adversity
So keep working hard, keep being the best you can,
Keep the faith, the desire, to represent your master plan,
I’ll just leave you with this,
‘Pussy’  ‘Skinny’ ‘Fat’  are words that can bury
And if you’re an Icon, then know your words can be to those that never want to fight in a playground,
Very , very , scarey….

“Every Bullet”

Posted: January 9, 2015 in Prose
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Every bullet fired in anger, every gun waved in rejoice,

Speaks volumes of the danger, of how we’ve come to lose our voice,

Every spilling of our precious blood, regardless of which Deity we claim,

Serves only to diminish all, to fertilise disdain.


Every bullet ever made in profit, profits all of none,

Manipulated fears and lies, solved only through the gun,

Every corpse left as carrion, as the bullets continue to fly,

Serves only to steal away our lives, to pile bodies high.


Every bullet missing a target, every rifle stuck or jammed,

Weapons destroyed or dismantled, reduces numbers of the damned,

Every hand extended in congruence, in the respect of differences that burn,

Serves as an educator, a chance for all to learn.


Perhaps we all hold bullets, the power to harm and destroy,

Tis up to all and one to see, we all have bullets we deploy,

Every time we meet adversity, we have two choices as we ride into that town,

To load the weapon with a bullet, or extend a hand,

 whilst laying the weapon down.



“The Reason”

Posted: February 14, 2014 in Prose
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No one likes to give one, a Reason why they did,

All of us, stumble over words, we act just like a kid,

However, that is when we feel we’re wrong, when we feel we’ve done something we shouldn’t have done,

Alas, this Reason, holds no such fear, no such explanation,


We shudder, when we’re questioned. We shiver, within the glow,

As if;” How can they not understand, when I simply trust and know?”

She is the Reason, it’s not that hard, she lights me like a day,

What part of me , seeing her, …….questions you your way.?


No one likes to give one, a Reason why they feel,

It results in stumbling words and movements, that somehow, don’t appeal,

However, quelle surprise, justifying who you are,

is hardly a marathon runners extension,

Alas, the Reason holds no such fear,

no such explanation.


The Reason?

A Reason?

 Do I need a Reason at all?

To say that all my being, becomes swift in its enthral,

When in her presence, her gifted touch, her ears upon my talk,

Her lilted song, her melody, her shadow in my walk,


No one likes to give one,

a Reason, why they love,

For our words become all stumbled, as if we’ve become mute from up above,

However, I’m willing to sound like a fool, if it means that I can find a communication,

Alas ,

the Reason holds no such fear,

no such explanation.

Happy Valentines my love…..xxxx


“Happy Father’s Day”

Posted: June 16, 2013 in Prose
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Believe it or not, he cares and emotes,

He’ll travel the miles, be it car, planes, or boats,

He stands on the sidelines, cheering your game,

He wears, his princess’s Dandelion chain,


He fixes the bike, paints,  washes up,

He yells occasionally, He never gives up,

He may never tell you, about the joy that you bring,


that just a Daddy thing.


Make no mistake; he hurts the same as you,

But he puts it aside, for that’s what Daddies do,

He sees his role, as being solid, strong, and true,

Whenever you need him, he’s there for you.


He never acclaims to be perfect,

 he knows he is not,

But he tries to be the best he can, with the tools that he’s got,

He’s funny at times, and really a big kid at heart,

He’s a bit of your life,

that’s an important part.


He’s your Daddy, your Da, your Father, your mate,

He puts out the bins; get’s you home from a date,

He never asks for anything each Father’s Day,

Yet he demands you to be your best,

it’s just his way.


He has knowledge to burn, and yet not every answer,

He just knows who is true, and who is a chancer,

You may never have seen him, when he was in his prime,

Back then he was free, like you are, in your time


Would he change a thing, with all things considered,

No, he wouldn’t, he’d grow old and embittered,

He’s your Daddy, He’s your Papa, He’s your go to man,

He’s the best Daddy, Why? Because he just can.


So to all Fathers today, may your day be blessed,

May your Fatherhood,be celebrated, recognised, be addressed,

May you cherish the card, the cuddle, the kiss,

And in that moment, remember,

Being a Father, is a privilege,

And a bliss



Happy Father’s Day Fellas…


“Lest We Forget”

Posted: April 25, 2013 in Prose
Tags: ,

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England’s foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.



Robert Laurence Binyon



Today I remember,



The Days Gift To Every Mother

The Skittles and the Jelly tots, Cakes both Fairy and of Pan,
Sausages, all so piping hot, sultanas and all bran,
Laces tied up, always checked, in case a trip was planted,
Saliva washes, on ear, nose ‘n’ neck, all now taken for by the granted.

Lunch money, or packed sandwiches, and never wont of feed,
Transport to the ‘to and from’, love in every deed,
Butter on a piece of toast, a bib when teeth weren’t there,
A cuddle, oh, that was the most, a smile just full of care.

The proudest on the sidelines, as you grew every day,
Those words of comfort, that told you, you were a great sheep in the Nativity play
Requests of your room that needed tidying, requests of packed bags being ready for school,
Platforms for every soldier or princess, this woman is never a fool.

Her presence in your cuts and scrapes, would make a gaping hole disappear,
And most of us, when troubled, call out to her, to be near,
Does she reject the call, however busy? No…., she turns up every time,
No matter how troubled, herself maybe, she has never been a mime.

An Apron, an Apple, a pastry, a Hot roast Sunday Dinner,
A knowing, that in all her teachings, We can be sinner. We can be winner,
The one moment that must crush her, knowing it is all for the best,
That her whole being must morph with ours, as we fly away the nest.

For us all, tis natural, for we, as we fly , we feel forever young,
For her, it is a different song, still she harmonises to what must be sung,
She has taught us true, wrong from right, in the best understanding of herself,
Reared us, shared us, geared us, and walked us to the shelf.

Pink medicine, when we’re weary, coloured balloons at every age,

A little rub of kindness, another bedtime book turned page,
She never stops believing, that you can be the one,
And yet, she knows she sacrificed, just so your dreams may be done.

Bread and Butter Pudding, hundreds and thousands on dry bread,
Hand me downs, and promises, a new cover on your bed,
Look high, look low, search deep, and ask, can you mine as deep as she?
I suspect, your answer has to be Yes, that how she wanted you to be.

So, On this day, I’ll celebrate mine, in every breath, passion, and thought,
I’ll remember how she lifted me, remember what she taught,
In our simplest, basic, deepest heart, in time, there can never be never any other,

So let this prose,

be a bouquet of rhyme,

as the days gift to every Mother.

Happy Mother Day . xxxx


“My Fellow Cinderella”

Posted: March 8, 2013 in Prose
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(A poem of support and hope to all struggling with austerity)

My Fellow Cinderella

Keep believing my fellow Cinderella, as you dutifully scrub the floor,
Keep close the dream of happiness, of love, and so much more,
Know that someday, your time will come, your script has been defined,
Your chains will loose, your light shall glow, as bright as the floor you’ve shined.

Fear not the constant struggles, for they will eventually make way,
Grow stronger in each oppression, in the belief of a better day,
Let those that keep you enslaved and poor, be wary of your grit,
For those that see your beauty and all, will soon bear witness to it.

Remember to carry yourself in grace, in pride, passion, and integrity,
For without these traits in your being, there will be no point in being free,
Know that those who choose to use you, will take from you, at every available turning,
So bear no guilt once free from them, dance to your higher learning.

Let your rags become your riches, let your chamber echo loud and strong,
Remember , no matter how hard they try, their darkness is not your song,
Raise your head, raise your heart, your princely freedom is awaiting true,
So keep believing my fellow Cinderella, your dream belongs to you.




The journey of departed times, has never been your wont, or mine,

It is just the script of living, in today, the here and now,

That conspires to breach,

our unity,

The texture of your breathed kiss, the scent of you, I deeply miss,

It is as if our Author , In some way, seeks to plough,

Against us with,


In truth may it all be revealed, that no man, nor woman,

has ever concealed,

Their every word, what they say,

How they interact,

When love comes,

a calling,

A once a year touch so long desired,

a drowned heart being reignited and fired,

Our every speak, is love,

that’s a fact,

When we love, We are,


Let no calendar be so defined,

let not what we have be undermined,

Let’s seek, let’s hold, in embrace of love’s power,

As if it is a,


Allow my kiss, on your cheek so gentled, hold you near, and get sentimentaled,

As we, together, throe in our hour,

May I speak these words,

of mine?

I thank you my lover, my friend, and my soulmate,

For being my




“An Emigrant’s Letter”

Posted: January 24, 2013 in Prose
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I found this letter the other day, a letter of an emigrant of Australia, writing to a great Aunt, a fellow writer, and appreciator of prose, I thought I would share it with you..


Dear Auntie,

I am writing this letter at 3 am on the date as shown as above. Why? Because I have been sitting at my computer and was looking through some of my writings and found the letter that I had sent you in August of this year 2010.


In reading it, again, I am struck by the passion and poetry of my words, It is a beautiful letter, and it is in response to the hospitality of your heart that these words became borne, as we are generations apart, and many miles as well, it appears that humanity expressed in its truest form, can still inspire,


I thank you for that, and hope that this scribe finds in you rude health, as much as my last efforts of communication.


I have been remiss in not replying sooner, and to be honest have been embarrassed by your frequency of communiqué’s. This is pure laziness and  tantamount to disrespect on my behalf, nothing less and no excuse sought. My gratitude however ,is deeply felt.

I received your last package and your Christmas card. I have flitted though your writings, and to be honest have not taken enough time yet to dedicate my mind to them, for this I apologise. My intention in the new year is to focus upon the things that are local in my heart and cease to be partitioned by the ‘bigger’ pictures in life. Looking after the ‘pennies’  now seems to bear more fruit, God bless the gift of wisdom.


There are many reasons why I write now, but perhaps the most prominent one is this:


I had the pleasure of the company of a most beautiful woman tonight, A lady that has shared my growth over this side of the world, she opened my heart some years ago, and there are far too many details to go into here just now.


Suffice to say, we were holding each in soft embrace, and she enquired as to my tears. I didn’t realise they were apparent, for they were not tears of sadness, and yet they were.


My response was as follows:

“I was just  looking at you, and had one of those moments when your breath can stop. You ask me why I cry? I ummed and aahhhed, and said,

I have just imagined sitting at an outdoor coffee shop table with an old friend that I haven’t seen for twenty years and trying to describe you.”


My eyes began to flow, and my look into hers never wavered,


I said to her, as I would to my long lost friend,


She is like the Tanami, vast, beautiful, encompassing and holds that rhythm that belongs to the River Katheryne, The escarpments, The Plateaus, The Kookaburra, The Hopper of Grass, The spinifex,  The bridge of London, and yet still unfallen, ,


In one moment in time she became part of that heartbeat that is belonging me,


The beauty of all that, is what flowed from me.


It was, for me, the fact that I saw it, recognized it, knew it, and savoured it, and still had the ability to live it, express it, and in turn sit here and write this down for you, to share, in deference and acknowledement to those of us, that can connect to the humanity of the individual with one heartbeat in harmony with the very land that gifts us life.


This is how beautiful she is.



“Another Year….”

Posted: December 31, 2012 in Prose
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And so another year has rolled on,

And we wonder what did it mean,

We’ve forged on,

regardless of the nay sayers and the tears,

To drink from the cup of Auld lang syne,

as we’ve done in previous years.


In a hundred years from now,

will they still sing that old sweet song,

Will they look back and reminisce,

of the many people that have gone,

Or will they just always think forward,

of the dreams that can be,

As if yesterday is just a way of forgetting,

and a timelag necessity.


Well it’s the new year now,

and every time it comes,

We seem to remember that time is precious,

and once it gone it’s gone.

So I raise a glass to you today,

for you are all now here,

And I wish you everything that’s good for you,

 and a very prosperous new year.

Happy New Year Everyone

Voice x