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.

 

 

 

Kilbirnie / North Ayrshire, Poems, Uncategorized

The Waiting Hour – A Sunset in Paisley

Oh the joy of the waiting hour at sunset, upon the White Cart as she shines her yellow light to say goodnight

Another moon comes and shines on the same river, like two old men, never to meet.

The hours pass and the children play and scream, while the ghosts of the Abbey chants of the night still heard, yet unheard.

The Town Hall clock lends its eyes and chimes the 9th hour,

The young men stumble home from the pub and the old men light up their cigarettes for their walk home.

faded memories of Victorians in shaded statues, casting  long shadows and tales.

Laus Deo – it is done, and higher we are lifted.

 

 

 

Kilbirnie / North Ayrshire, Poems, Uncategorized

Poem at Dalry Cemetery June 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 who long ago were ken’t.

Again the tears of union declares the time well spent.

 

Christian Science, Poems, Uncategorized

A strain upon a lyre harp #poem #christianscience #Christian

A strain upon a lyre harp
Sweeps a sound so low
That only those who gather round
Can catch its sweetness flow,

A strain which speaks of suffering
A woman’s heart is torn
As she watches martyrdom
For her son she mourns

A strain of sadness at the tomb
She searches for her dead
An angel pointing to the skies
Which dawns a crimson red

A strain upon twelve tender hearts
Who sit in upper rooms
And still the strain plays out its tune
From sadness of the tomb

A strain upon a sepulchre
A white robed body lay
The saviour rises, then appears
The rock is rolled away

A strain it sweeps his Mother’s heart
With gladness, faith and joy
And plays its tune eternally
For all who will enjoy

The strain is never ending
Through time and space it plays
The bloodied fingers of our saints
Keep it playing today.