In every year thats passes by, there’s friends from overseas, visiting a little town with dreams of family.
Perhaps Place castle some will say, or found in Walker Hall, perhaps a line of great descent, behind Tianna Falls.
Walking streets which long since gone, with hopes of names or face, wearily they pace around to find the slightest trace.
And when we ask about the task, the answer’s never clear, identity or Grandpa’s home or memories they hold dear.
Still there is a waiting wealth, which passed through every line, a joyful welcome and a smile to all who take the time.
And legacies of golden bowls surrendered long ago, exchanged for joy preserved in time, for future folk to know.
Heirs of joy, and stewardship still, which lasts beyond our peers, kindness, smiles remembered still throughout the passing years.
If today a search does come to wanton lonely minds, think not of watches or old clocks to search for back in time.
Instead to know their sense of joy, is shared today by all, a random act of kindness do, instead of searching halls.
For welcome, joy and happiness was theirs and ours today, there is no forgetting acts of Love which fall on minds today.
Make your mark for future lines, by random acts of good, remembered more by other folk than silver, gold or wood.
(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.
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
This poem was written to remember Hugh “Curly” Brannan, an elderly #Kilbirnie man 1912-1990
No Internet nor mobile phone
Just Sitting by the view
His bible held fast in his hands
This was dear old Hugh
A sweat bead forms upon his brow
Complains about the heat
Drinks another cup of tea
And stares down at his feet
With a creed unshakable
He reads another line
Whilst shuffling his greying hands
comes tales of older times
Yearning thoughts of his dear wife
Guided by Psalmist´s tears
Here sat a man with watered eyes
Memories of blessed years
And comes a thought of happiness
Of meeting her and friends
On shores afar, his mind does go
and finds his time well spent
Guided by the written Word
He went on Wisdom´s way
He gave triumph to the Truth
His fears did melt away
May our gaze be ever dear
to Principle held true
living always by our Faith
Just like my dear friend Hugh