A #poem about the mountains around the #Garnock Valley #northayrshire

A poem about the mountains around the Garnock Valley north ayrshire
Some days the mountains speak to me
defending Truth and Love
like Angels climbing Jacob´s Ladder
to and from Above

With thoughts so clear and brightly shining
fields of grass and green
stretching to horizon´s line
and farms lying in between

Other days the mountains seem
an obstacle of view
which stop me seeing o´er the sky
and leave me feeling blue

Tis these weeks the hardest are
when shadows mark my way
when people´s words like arrows fly
and hinder all my days

To search for good in every thought
dispels the darkest night
for through the words and tempers flared
lie Angels in disguise

To take us higher in our thought
to bless us every day
find the Love in everyone
it is the only way.

Poem for Hugh

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

A Poem for Dalry Cemetery, Ayrshire (2019)

At Sunset. Dalry Cemetery June 2019. #northayrshire #poem #Dalry
 
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                                                 
Take us to our home.
 
There at the crossings full of folk                                               
Who long ago were ken’t.                                                         
Again the tears of union                                                       
Declares the time well spent.
 

The Rowan Tree – A Poem

This one is about the Rowan Tree which was in my Grandfather’s garden in Castle Drive, Kilbirnie It is likely still there.

I wanted the poem to catch that idea that some people  relish the shade but then complain about the darkness 🙂

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 it´s 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