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.

 

 

 

catholic, Christian Science, islam, Kilbirnie / North Ayrshire, Poems, Uncategorized

Poem for Arran and the Holy Isle

Oh draw near, Great Love Divine,  and sooth my waiting mind.

Whiting Bay and Holy Isle, surely all are thine, within my heart appears the long forgotten saints.

Passing holy hours, like a tired monk I wait to find you in the maze of liturgies and pathways.

My naked head does burn, like earthly passions turn, to a higher calling, to vistas set eternal.

With a yearning voice so strong, I turn to what I long, to find my peace in thee.

May the mountains of the isles teach me humility of heart, to see beyond the peaks of shortcomngs to higher views of Love.

The sweeping vistas of Love, higher than the highest peak, swirling winds appear.

The joy of meeting departed ones, to commune again on the shores of thine Isles, I wait, I come.

 

 

Kilbirnie / North Ayrshire, Poems, Uncategorized

#kilbirnie #poem #northayrshire #scotland

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.

Poems, Uncategorized

A Poem for Paisley

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.