I have just published a book of poetry about Kilbirnie an Glengarnock, you can otder it as an Ebook or a paperback. Here is the link to the UK Amazon edition, the book is available in all Amazon stores worldwide
If all the threads that Paisley made were found again one day.
I’d hang them in the sky with Love to take away the grey.
Upon the gold I’d write a tale of stories from our past.
About the folk we”ve lost in time that’s moved away so fast.
Upon the red I’d see the war and all the men who died.
I’d write the names of all their wives whose tears we left behind.
Upon the Abbey darkened threads of blackened thoughts and crimes.
Of a bygone age of killing men for moral crimes.
Threads of blue I’d give to schools, to teach them peace and Love.
By leaving parts of history, while rainbows hang above.
Upon the green, the Irish woe, migration, war and fear
While London pushes migrants out with hatred causing tears.
Upon the white I’d ask buskers to write their stories clear.
To fill the sky with hope and dreams of music for our ears.
Upon this richest tapestry I’d paint a cross and crown,
To show the world the triumphs of dear Paisley, my sweet town.
Brightly burns the glow of friends
constant, true and pure
No one can claim he has no kin
where Love always endures
A lamp that´s lit by Kin´s red flame
of blood spilt on the earth
for need of Love, a better life
on your land boats did berth
The boys who glowed within the light
were taken in your arms
for in the darkness their was hope
of new lives safe from harm
So to friends on distant shores
for many and the few
and a toast to those we cannot name
lost in the sea of blue
In every place and time there lies a blood stained kerbala land where people die with martyr´s blood which stains the yellow sand perhaps a place within our minds which kills all false ideas but with it love and peace are pushed to fall and disappear like Hussain on the battlefield or Hasan´s poisoned cup we seem to live history anew by thoughts which do corrupt Silently we think our thoughts from places dark inside which reaps a battle outwardly which never does subside and then we mourn as saints the men whose blood they left behind not knowing we ourselves did kill by our false thoughts in mind
I’ve been writing poetry about Kilbirnie and the area for many years now. You can see all of them here on my site. This one is about the Rowan Tree which was in my Grandfather’s garden in Castle Drive. Its likely still there.
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 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
If kilbirnie was a harp with strings
I’d surely sweep a strain,
An everlasting melody
Which no man could restrain
I’d write a song of thanksgiving
Of peace and love and cheer
To bless the town with all its woes
Bring pleasure to their ears
I’d play the song on knoxville road
And at the Walker Hall
I’d play it at the Labour club
While drunkards take their fall
I’d play the harp so silently
For those who hate the sound
To aid them out of hopelessness
To turn their lives around
I’d sweep a strain of sad refrain
At steel works passing by
I’d touch upon a melody
And older folks would cry
I’d play it softly at the match
While folks would cheer their team
And move along the park so long
To watch the Garnock stream
I’d play the harp across the tracks
As cyclists speed me by
I’d play and wait at graveyard’s gates
For mourners with their sighs
I’d play it at the Garnock’s heart
Right up at Jacob’s Well,
where no one goes to see it flow
Or care to even tell
I’d play a tune right at the school
The Children would be pleased
I’d pass the harp to little ones
To hold upon their knees
So to the town with all my sounds
And everlasting strains
I leave the harp right at the cross
For others who remain
To strain their sounds of happiness
And hope for all the town
To watch it grow with sadness no!
As an everlasting crown.
One thought I had of you today
As people crowded by
Of sending soldiers on there way
Mothers kissed and lover’s words
Then anxious notes you passed
Bringing news of hero’s deaths
Or home bound boys at last
Pavements wet with women’s tears
For boys, to welcome home
While others sat in darkened rooms
Both silent and alone
Then later in your ageing years
Cemented floors did bloom
With flowers, lovely colours bright
While mighty engines boomed
Then darkness came with Beeching’s words
Your branches they were slain
For all your older dearest friends
Were killed for London’s gain
Now you stand with empty home
No soldiers pass your way
A house lies derelict above
Where once a guardsman stayed
You carried folk to far off lands
To meet their boats and planes
Babies laughing, children coughed
Sheltering from smoggy rains
There’s few stand now in early morn
Upon your tired brow
Yet ne’r can match those wartime scenes
Of hundreds, cheering crowds.