Poems, Uncategorized

A Poem for Dalry Cemetery, Ayrshire (2019)

At Sunset. Dalry Cemetery.

O gracious peace and silence,                                                                                    Where voices lose their power.                                                                                      The setting sun brings darkness                                                                                       To the last awaiting hours,

With Lords and paupers  stilled,                                                                             together till the light                                                                                                    Where ‘er they are in consciousness,                                                                            God speed to them tonight.

By Biggarts’ son or Uncle John,                                                                                   Youth and age does lie,                                                                                                          For the wall between the old and new,                                                                         lies strong in earthly eyes.

But somewhere else upon the shores,                                                                        Dalry does rise again,                                                                                                   where no walls or  tombs pervade,                                                                       religion, class or kin,

And as our thoughts rise higher,                                                                                 away from bricks and stone.                                                                                        That new Dalry will one by one                                                                                   come to take us home.

There at the crossings full of folk                                                                                  whom long ago were ken’t.                                                                                          Again the tears of union                                                                                          declares the time well spent.

 

Christian Science, Kilbirnie / North Ayrshire, Poems, Uncategorized

The Rowan Tree – A Poem

This one is about the Rowan Tree which was in my Grandfather’s garden in Castle Drive, Kilbirnie It is likely still there.

I wanted the poem to catch that idea that some people  relish the shade but then complain about the darkness 🙂

In the shade of Grandpa’s house
There stood a Rowan Tree
Where my Brother tried to climb
With Rosalyn and me

Every day my Grandpa came
Admired it´s towering boughs
While we as children playing there
Saw darkened twigs and crows

Shadows hung upon his life
With towering darkened power
Yet we as children plain could see
Their withering every hour

Its leaves held back the sunshine light
Its branches stern with years
Sitting with his chair and pipe
It calmed away his fears

Yet we as children playing in sight
Saw only twigs and leaves
Revealing more of sky to us
Than he could ever see

We pointed up at shafts of light
Throughout the darkened power
Whilst he preferred the shaded glade
To pass the wakened hour

We saw sun and endless days
Upon his chair he sat
Despite the passing years it stood
The tree was sound at heart

 

 

 

 

 

 

Christian Science, Kilbirnie / North Ayrshire, Poems, Uncategorized

Poem in celebration of marriage in Paisley 28 November 2019

The Harp – by Joseph McTaggart

If Marriage were a Harp with strings
We´d surely sweep a strain
Bringing joy to Paisley town
While playing sweet refrains

We’d play a song on Fulbar road
And at the Bield scout hall
We´d play it at the social clubs
and laughing, folks would fall

We’d play the Harp upon the braes
While young men play away
While older couples watch sunset
the Harp would gently sway

We’d sweep a strain of sad refrain
At Coats mills passing by
We’d touch upon a melody
Where many threads were tied

We’d play the Harp across the track
As cyclists wave us by
We’d play and wait at graveyard´s gates
For those who´ve said goodbye

We’d play a tune right at the schools
The Children would be pleased
We’d pass the Harp to little ones
To hold upon their knees

And at the rail-way with it´s sounds
We´d play a strain so glad
Then leave the Harp at Gilmour Street
For travellers who feel bad
To strain some sounds of happiness
And joy for all the town
To watch it grow with sadness no!
But, all to gather round

And as young men in later years
watch Paisley grow and change
the Harp will say, much more than words
of Love which e´r remains

So next time ye are in County Square
and music, sounds so low,
take time to gather round the Harp
near where the Cart does flow

A strain which sweeps a Lover´s heart
With gladness, faith and joy
And plays its tune eternally
For all who will enjoy

An everlasting song of Love
surpassing space and time
a Love which lasts eternally
Which no man can define

Kilbirnie / North Ayrshire, Poems, Uncategorized

Auld Simon´s Prayer – A poem for Lochwinnoch

O gentle bell, which rests within the tower;
The clock is wound to guard each sleeping hour,
Upon the Johnshill Brae where birds take flight,                                                              O Presence, Keep us sober, safe, tonight.

O shadows long, which cast upon the gates,                                                                Darkened thoughts of hopes deferred and hate,                                                      Love, illuminate my thought with golden threads,                                                    And give me purer, higher, better paths to tread.

Of youth who drink and dance upon the tombs,                                                    Amidst the birds as sunset hour looms,                                                                            Gentle Thing who always knows me best,                                                                  Keep me here within your gentle breast.

If your old brow does gusts of snow impart                     ,                                                A wintry  breeze does surely hit the heart,                                                                  Love, show me snowdrops during that cold spell,                                                              And fill my ears with dear Auld Simon´s bell.

 

 

Christian Science, Poems, Uncategorized

Rothesay War Memorial Poem

1.

Amid a scene in perfect green where travellers stop to rest.

Stands an angel looming down upon the corner’s breast.

Sacred rights and names forlorn she guards lest we forget.

2.

Yet somewhere upon another shore by boats and crashing waves.

Another Rothesay these men meet instead of ending days.

And in the splendid sunshine comes a group to lay a wreath, yet what memories do we have for children to bequeath?

3.

Of death and war upon the pit? Amidst the battle cries? Or angels pointing upward when we lay down our sighs.

Away from death and pity trips with fake smiles and flowers sad.

And turn to love the neighbour who needs a word so glad.

If a shadow of this place comes rolling by your mind, it serves as a reminder to give and love sublime.