Category: Poems

The Bing, Fudstone, Kilbirnie (a poem)

I couldn’t resist publishing this again, it’s my poem about the “Bing” which was a huge amount of debris that sat as a mound at the corner or Place View and Newhouse Drive, Kilbirnie before it was converted into a small playpark for kids around 1983 or 1984.

In Scottish terminology, a “Bing” refers to a large pile or heap of waste material, especially the waste rock and debris piled up in the process of mining, such as coal mining. These Bings are remnants of the industrial era, particularly in Scotland’s coal mining regions, where they were created from the spoil that was brought to the surface during the mining process. Over time, some of these Bings have become landmarks or have been reclaimed for various uses, while others still dominate parts of the Scottish landscape.

Continue reading “The Bing, Fudstone, Kilbirnie (a poem)”

Witch Burning: Remembering Bessie Dunlop.

This is a poem I have written about Bessie Dunlop. A female burned as a witch, from Dalry.

Witch of Lynn, Dalry, arise
Return across our minds and skies
Free us from our bonds and chains
As deep divisions rise again

Banish sadness in your path
Hatred gone and Love at last
Minds of hatred let them rot
Come in peace Bessie Dunlop

Continue reading “Witch Burning: Remembering Bessie Dunlop.”

If Kilbirnie Were a Harp…

If Kilbirnie were 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.

Easter 2023

Easter 2023

A gentle rising over mountains and hills
The new, God filled mornings where birds gently shrill
Small new born lambs dance closely by mills
as Easter dawns upon Ayrshire

Sacred songs, worship, with words full of praise
In Churches surrounding the Largs hills and braes
Children hunt eggs and voices are raised
as Easter dawns upon Ayrshire 

Another ray shines, o'er  those still asleep
Hope for all people from the Great Mercy Seat
A baby is born, little feet, mothers weep
as Easter dawns upon Ayrshire

O'er darkened bleak  forests, beams shafts of white light
Laying beacons of hope, joys, filled with delight
The Saviour has risen, o Beautiful Sight
as Easter dawns upon Ayrshire

Every day of our lives we await his appearing
Through our darkened thoughts and opinions still seething
Power so Gentle and soft,ever nearing
as Easter dawns upon Ayrshire

Shining with hope for people oppressed
And those with anxiety, seeking some rest
Bringing peace to our town, all people are Blessed
as Easter dawns upon Ayrshire



Pillars of light upon earth's lofty shafts
Old time honoured rituals falling at last
A new Light is dawning and all are agast
as Easter dawns upon Ayrshire

An angel appears and rests on our thoughts
Like butterflies clinging to their earthly lot
Of Thoughts and Prayers higher than possessions sought
as Easter dawns upon Ayrshire

Joseph McTaggart

Poem: The Bing, Kilbirnie

The bing was a huge mound of cement and gravel where kids climbed on the corner of Place View and Newhouse Drive. It was converted into a playpark in the mid 80s.


Oh the years upon the bing 
with cousin Margaret children played
climbing up with all our power
by Newhouse drive where people stayed

Amid the thorns and grey cement 
there seemed a moment, time well spent
and sliding down the gravel slope 
I skinned my knees without a hope

My grannie waiting at the door
with borax, plasters by the score

O the hills we thought were steep
when now in older lives we keep

Mountains slopes upon our minds
perhaps a bing of different kind
climbing o’er our darker thoughts 
just like the thistles we did trod

Lessons from the bing well learnt
of my granny’s soothing balm
o how that Love returns to me
a
nd brings with it a sense of calm

And behind the trees sat Warrior’s bing 
perhaps a sign of future years
with bigger slope and hills to climb
amid the darker fading years

Poem: Snow in Paisley

And comes a pure white blanket laid
around the river Cart
Across the darkened thoughts of man
a Love which does impart

And o´er the bogs and swamps there´s ice
up to the Abbey door
A voice says “Man with all your cares
be still for just an hour”

The darkened views of waning health,
exchanged for winter cheer
The snow reflects a gentle calm
upon the town so dear

And on the braes the deer are seen
walking proudly by
For no man can touch their safety now
upon their mountain high

Upon the tombs of rested men
lies layers of icy sense
Reflecting that the One great Mind
preserves their innocence

LIlac – A Poem

Last night I dreamt of Lilac buds
Upon the Garnock Stream
amid the thorns and briars thick
a purple colour beamed

I thought about the folk who came
and chanced upon this sight
perhaps ancestors,long since gone
who left it burning bright

Perhaps a bird did carry it
from far and distant lands
or from a child´s hands it fell
and grew to proudly stand

Or from Place Castle seeds did blow
across the glade and vine
to where the lovers meet in quiet
with bodies deep entwined

From where before the lilac came
no man knows for sure
cemetery or Moorpark House
or from the Fairlie Moor

So when you come and chance upon
the purple lilac hue
Give a thought from whence it came
Ancestors before you

Snow in Paisley December 2020

And comes a pure white blanket laid

around the river Cart

Across the darkened thoughts of man

a Love which does impart

And o´er the bogs and swamps there´s ice

up to the Abbey door

A voice says “Man with all your cares

be still for just an hour”

The darkened views of waning health,

exchanged for winter cheer

The snow reflects a gentle calm

upon the town so dear

And on the braes the deer are seen

walking proudly by

For no man can touch their safety now

upon their mountain high

Upon the tombs of rested men

lies layers of icy sense

Reflecting that the One great Mind

preserves their innocence

Calling Freedom – A Poem for Scottish Independence

Notice how strongly the fire begins to burn, fed by the air of Freedom
Who has ever fought against our Freedom and won?
See how it burns away bad opinions, and the water of our burns flood
For our betterment, our blood and our places, the water rises.

See the fire and water rise
Hear the winds of our mountains roar
See how they come to take their own, calling for us to stay faithful
Do not stem the water or extinguish the fire
Leave our land’s trees and its streams and it´s fires
To call Freedom, the voice carried in the wind

The courageous gun and sword laid down before our enemies
Shining and moving in museums of a time long ago
Quaking and shaking of cannons in castles
Water and fire is what defends us now, ancestral whispers, Fed by Freedom´s breath of air

See the fire and water rise
Hear the winds of our mountains roar
See how they come, to take their own, calling for us to stay faithful
Do not stem the water or extinguish the fire
Let our land’s trees and its streams and it´s fires, be,
To call Freedom, the voice carried in the wind