Posts Tagged ‘Gift’

“The Reason”

Posted: February 14, 2014 in Prose
Tags: , ,


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



Posted: December 17, 2011 in Prose
Tags: , , , , ,


I had a Christmas present in mind, and I went to buy it for you,

I’d heard it advertised and thought that it was for you, through and through

It was a CD of an artist you like, a triple set of his work,

So I went to the record shops to buy it, and now I’m left looking like a jerk.

“ Don’t ave it.” Was the reply I was given, in shop one and two and three,

I said; “ It’s advertised on the radio, surely you can help me.”

“No, maybe it’s not released yet.” I said “It’s been advertised!”

And I knew I had no hope as each one adverted their eyes,

So here I am, with no present to place under you Christmas tree,

Here I am, standing like a fool, proving your philosophy,

That a feeling can only be proven true, through a deed or through an act,

So, I sit here, in deference, trying to disprove this fact.

I saw you today, played you the song, and couldn’t believe my emotion,

You stood there listening, having to leave, but still, you were, in motion,

We spoke about where we are at, and your defence was beautiful in its frailty,

It’s equal to the respect I speak of, denial in all its beauty.

In my eyes, being together has everything to gain, in my eyes, being apart has every fibre of pain,

In my eyes, you’re just beautiful, just the way you were always meant to be,

And in my eyes, I feel like someone, when you share your time with me.

Right now I feel like nobody, like a beggar in the street,

Like a ‘contender’ that had his chance and blew it in a heartbeat,

And it’s probably right, that you protect yourself, from an ignorant man like me. Because the proof is in the pudding, no gift under the Christmas tree.

One day I will find a way, that lets you know how afraid I am,

How weakness and how hurt stops me from being the attentive caring man,

One day, one day, if ever I can prove it true,

That I am a sweet, loving, and beautiful man; than I hope it’s you I prove it to,

I had to walk out of the room today because I had begun to cry,

I didn’t want you to see that, and felt I had to fly,

Fly away, running scared, in case you saw my heart break,

And so like you I put on a front, so you can feel that I’m ok

But I’m not, deep down; I’m struggling from day to day,

I’m living a life of total despair, that cuts me in every way,

I hate this country, its ethics, values and what it’s done to me,

And if you ever thought I was beautiful, then just imagine how beautiful I used to be.

My counsellor asked me the other day, ‘what do I do for fun?’

I said ‘Ireland doesn’t do fun’ I am just the same as everyone,

Passing time, like I live in some sort of caged nursing home whilst in my prime,

I hate it! Poets and Scholars me arse! More like lyin’ bastards and slime.

Why am I writing this? Because this is the greatest gift I can give you,

To try to communicate how I feel, how the feelings I have are true,

I have so much more to say, but right now I think I’ll let the evidence be,

That my thoughts and feelings are my only gift that I have this year, under your Christmas tree.