Posts Tagged ‘hope’

“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.



This day of the 3rd of April sees the twentieth anniversary of my father’s death.

And for some reason it has touched me in a way that has never been there before, there hasn’t been many tears, it is more maybe the significance of the twenty years without him, a lifetime, a generation.

He died aged 65, which at the time seemed like an old age, he lost a battle with a brain tumour, as many so often do. Maybe it was the synchronicity of watching the documentary of Jim Stynes last night on RTE 1,  a tough honest story of one man’s battle against the same animal that took my father.

The feelings around me now, are possibly one’s of regret, loss, guilt, sadness, love, respect, all rolled into one. As I type this, I realise I am wearing the very watch that he used to wear, my mother gifted this to me, after his death. Me, one of five boys and one girl, was gifted such a special memento, and one that I will surely pass down to my son, when he gains enough maturity to appreciate it.

My Father taught me so many things that he never knew. If he was around today, I surely would sit with him and tell him, thanks, and that I love him. Alas, to late for that now….

One of these things was, when I was seventeen in the second year of my carpentry apprenticeship, I went around home to help Dad fix the fence between our house and the neighbours, I clipped on the nailbag, hammer hooked in, pencil behind the ear, etc……and lit up a fag….  He turned around and said….”Are you working or smoking?”  At the time, I remember thinking, ‘Give me a break will ya’    But he was right, work was important, and so was relaxation…. I laugh now, and have always remembered this day. For on reflection, I was doing neither, I was just hanging with my Dad. Alas……

He died just five months before I was to marry, and so I was the only one of us kids where he wasnt present on the wedding day. It is little things like this that on rare occasions spring to mind from the blue.

Another thing that he taught me without him ever knowing, was that it is never to late to change your life around. You see, Dad, was an alcoholic, and an aggressive one at times….and people can relate to this the world over, so I seek no sympathy on this here, moreover, the point of this is that he eventually gave up the grog, aged 55, and his teaching to me was, no matter the reason why people are self destructive, they can change, and my father did. Dad was no angel, and far from perfect, but there for the grace of God go I.

For that teaching, I will be eternally grateful to him, for it has carried me through life in tough times, I drew upon that courage, to be strong when I needed to be. Priceless.

I said to my near 18yo son today….it is your grandfather’s anniversary. A grandfather he has never met. He replied as all teenagers do and said…’Oh, is it?’ and the conversation was over. I had to laugh. I got home and picked up my guitar, which I haven’t played since St Patrick’s Day, and stood in front of the mirror over the fireplace and sang Harry Chapin’s “Cats in the Cradle”…. and fought back the tears…what a feeling….

You see, I think remembering my father today, hit me like a hammer, because I realised my own mortality, and how much I love my kids. In ten years time, my son will be the same age as me, when my Dad passed, and I really want to be around much longer for him. I probably will!

But then I began to think of my failings a parent, a father, where I am leaving them with less, than what my parents left us with. Not in bequeaths or the like, but in opportunities, hope, promise. My kids will experience tough times in their prime years, just like my parents did.

In remembering my father today then I hope, for many believe, that many habits and teachings are hereditary and generational, and so I tend to relax again, knowing that Dad, unknowingly taught me that we all have the capacity of inner power and strength, to change things for the better, knowing this makes me think my kids will be o.k.

And so, on this twentieth anniversary of my father’s death, I am becalmed again once more.

My mother gifted his watch to me, an ever present, tangible memory,

My Father gifted his strength, to overcome my own weaknesses,

And I will gift these things to my children, my beautiful son and daughter,

And hope will live on

R.I.P. Dad RHQ 1992


“Hello Mr Butterfly”

Posted: February 4, 2012 in Uncategorized
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Hello Mr. Butterfly

Hello Mr. Butterfly, or should I call you Emperor sir?

I wonder if your wing pattern is different from all other Emperors,

I’m sure you’re special and quite unique, oh how I wish I could fly like you,

To rest in the blossom of all those plants, that’s something I’d love to do.

The scent would calm me and soothe my mind, give me sanctuary when I’m feeling glum,

I could fly away, for some quiet peace, each time those fights happen with Dad and Mum,

Maybe you could tell me Mr. Butterfly, cos you’ve surely explored the world,

Why my daddy makes my mummy cry, like a little frightened girl

I wish my Dad was more like you, an emperor, a noble and proud being,

But he comes home late and I hear their shouts, I hear ‘drink, and ‘money’ and disagreeing,

That’s when I’m supposed to be asleep in my bed, instead of under the covers crying,

And it’s in those moments Mr. Butterfly, I wish I was just like you, where I could escape this all by flying,

Oh and you used to have a cocoon to hide in, I wish there was one big enough for me,

Cos then I wouldn’t have to listen to those big bad words that Mum gets from my Daddy,

And sometimes he throws stuff at her, and here’s one of the weirdest things,

That the stuff he throws doesn’t travel as far as you can with your wings.

Well, I have to go back inside now sir, I think Daddy’s gone away again,

I have to try to find mummy’s smile, cos she finds it hard to smile when,

Daddy yells, I wish he was like you, cos you let me talk and think out loud,

So Mr. Butterfly, if ever I become a Dad, I will try to be like you, with your royal coat, and try to make you proud.