(John 5: The Pool of Bethesda)
An angel clad in white winged robes with hands upon the pool
A surge of water gushes forth, clear, transparent, cool
Children watch upon the bridge with raincoats, darkened caps
My mother calls me not to fear, the bridge’s missing slats
Like needles dropping in the stream, rain pierces to the ground
Raising thoughts in Children’ s minds with every plopping sound
And as the Angel, golf course walks, the clouds clear with his step
Revealing brighter thoughts for man with every place he treads
By Crawfurd’s castle, blue skies clear and children move away
Their raincoats filled with water still seem strange in Summer’s days
Shadows clear upon the fields and hope again appears
Within the showers, sunny glades where man has nought to fear
Long after Angels hands descend or sun upon Man’s dreams
Still the pool, it gushes forth pushing all upstream
And on the Minds of local men an Angel dares to tread
Stirring healing loving thoughts upon the dying bed.
Confined in brick or iron box is not a God I know, reduced to wafers held with gloves by men at circus shows.
And others claim a Spirit near descends at certain times, usually with silver plate and fortified good wine.
Then some say, a devil comes with pitchfork pointed beard, to chase us all around the streets, like Benny Hill appears.
Then others paint a sad faced man who hangs with blood stained tears, enough to frighten hardened hearts to heighten all their fears.
The God I know is found in Love, in silence, peaceful ways, in the innocence of kids, in kindness every day.
I see him in the daily smiles of acts done chaste and pure, helping with a shopping bag or charity for sure.
In the hospitality of coffee with a friend, sharing every friendly branch where two birds sit and bend.
When other’s thoughts approach your mind with doctrines black and grey, with suits and cars, prosperity, do not be afraid.
For Spirit lives within the realms and hears not earthly praise, reaching to our higher selves with kindness every day.
Not in stone but in the act of passing thoughts of Love, builds the temple in your heart, where thoughts come from above.
Perhaps upon the River Cart or by its dwindling streams
We feel a heart that’s beating power without another means
A power that turns the waiting tide and waters plants and flowers
Turning students to their books in every waitng hour
A power that lights the morning dawn and dusk a gentle glow
A power that hold each swan intact as waters gently flow
A guiding light which simply “Is” with no demands on man
While preachers loudly scream and shout that all the folk are damned
A power that needs no words nor praise to move within it’s place
For it has the world for man to feel it’s gentle guiding pace
And if by chance an apple tree should spring in Barshaw Park
Or nestling feathers after flight, you see a morning lark
Look upon its shining beak or feathers black and pure
Worship not the image, mind, but the power that it endures
And when the apple tree no more, holds up it’s greenish fruit
Look toward the power in Life for all things absolute
Only the real stands up to time, with majesty and robes
All else disappears from sight, with pain and anxious throws
And so the real in everything is found not in the clay
But in the power of Life itself which opens up the day
Dwell not in things which are not real but look behind the eyes
There you find the real idea of all that Love implies
Just like the rain on Garnock stream or dew on May’s fair morn
Or upon the Spider web in tombstones left forlorn
A gentle power of Love does fall on mills in Knoxville Road
And seen upon the smiling face of babes in their abode
Or random acts of kindness shown in finding mobile phones
Or helping older people walk on ice on Milton Road
Or in the eyes of little deer which run through open fields
In steel work sheds with gypsies´ beds and talks of business deals
Through different cables power runs to light the darker nights
Through different folk a gentle love expresses its own light
In every man a power shines from Place to Ladeside vale
Reflecting joy with sweet accord o’er mountain hill and dale
Perhaps nearby the Walker Hall or up at Jacob´s well
a random act of kindness comes from strangers who can tell?
Perhaps a gentle smile when all is grey and bland
A man in Tesco car park, who gives a helping hand?
The face of God is ne´er seen by looking to the sky
or pleading with an unseen God to ask the question “why”
But in the smaller random acts, of hope and gentle charm
Music springs from little things which keep us from all harm
And if by chance we cannot see the goodness in Schoolwynd
Let us play the Harp we think is somehow left behind
From Cochrane Street to Loadingbank it doesn´t take a while
to offer random kindness acts or give a sincere smile
He does not see the cries and woes of bitter words well meant
He does not know the mental wounds of times much better spent
He knows only Peace and Love and wholeness of our Soul
Far above the human clouds where Man is free to Go
In Glasgow Street or Ladeside Vale, perhaps in Dalry Road
A Mind can freely choose to live in mental sweet abode
Far above the darting arrows, foes and kin at war
There is a place, another Mind for mankind to explore
Found in silence, ne´er in hate, a Harp string sound does come
Taking man to far above from words and human glum
If Angel´s are His thoughts indeed of swirling pools of Love
Let them take us anytime to consciousness above.
In silence comes the lyre harp of goodness Peace and Love
A state of mind but Heaven is, so take yourself above
To where no siblings voices fight or hatred´s idle dreams
Free yourself from earthly ties however fair they seem