Tag: Spirituality Blog

Rain at Jock’s Burn, Kibirnie

(John 5: The Pool of Bethesda)

An angel clad in white winged robes with hands upon the pool

A surge of water gushes forth, clear, transparent, cool

Children watch upon the bridge with raincoats, darkened caps

My mother calls me not to fear, the bridge’s missing slats

Like needles dropping in the stream, rain pierces to the ground

Raising thoughts in Children’ s minds with every plopping sound

And as the Angel, golf course walks, the clouds clear with his step

Revealing brighter thoughts for man with every place he treads

By Crawfurd’s castle, blue skies clear and children move away

Their raincoats filled with water still seem strange in Summer’s days

Shadows clear upon the fields and hope again appears

Within the showers, sunny glades where man has nought to fear

Long after Angels hands descend or sun upon Man’s dreams

Still the pool, it gushes forth pushing all upstream

And on the Minds of local men an Angel dares to tread

Stirring healing loving thoughts upon the dying bed.

For Paisley and it’s Places

Perhaps upon the River Cart or by its dwindling streams

We feel a heart that’s beating power without another means

A power that turns the waiting tide and waters plants and flowers

Turning students to their books in every waitng hour

A power that lights the morning dawn and dusk a gentle glow

A power that hold each swan intact as waters gently flow

A guiding light which simply “Is” with no demands on man

While preachers loudly scream and shout that all the folk are damned

A power that needs no words nor praise to move within it’s place

For it has the world for man to feel it’s gentle guiding pace

And if by chance an apple tree should spring in Barshaw Park

Or nestling feathers after flight, you see a morning lark

Look upon its shining beak or feathers black and pure

Worship not the image, mind, but the power that it endures

And when the apple tree no more, holds up it’s greenish fruit

Look toward the power in Life for all things absolute

Only the real stands up to time, with majesty and robes

All else disappears from sight, with pain and anxious throws

And so the real in everything is found not in the clay

But in the power of Life itself which opens up the day

Dwell not in things which are not real but look behind the eyes

There you find the real idea of all that Love implies

Poem for #Kilbirnie

Perhaps nearby the Walker Hall or up at Jacob´s well

a random act of kindness comes from strangers who can tell?

Perhaps a gentle smile when all is grey and bland

A man in Tesco car park, who gives a helping hand?

The face of God is ne´er seen by looking to the sky

or pleading with an unseen God to ask the question “why”

But in the smaller random acts, of hope and gentle charm

Music springs from little things which keep us from all harm

And if by chance we cannot see the goodness in Schoolwynd

Let us play the Harp we think is somehow left behind

From Cochrane Street to  Loadingbank it doesn´t take a while

to offer random kindness acts or give a sincere smile

He does not see the cries and woes of bitter words well meant

He does not know the mental wounds of times much better spent

He knows only Peace and Love and wholeness of our Soul

Far above the human clouds where Man is free to Go

In Glasgow Street or Ladeside Vale, perhaps in Dalry Road

A Mind can freely choose to live in  mental sweet abode

Far above the darting arrows, foes and kin at war

There is a place, another Mind for mankind to explore

Found in silence, ne´er in hate, a Harp string sound does come

Taking man to far above from words and human glum

If Angel´s are His thoughts indeed of swirling pools of Love

Let them take us anytime to consciousness above.

In silence comes the lyre harp of goodness Peace and Love

A state of mind but Heaven is, so take yourself above

To where no siblings voices fight or hatred´s idle dreams

Free yourself from earthly ties however fair they seem

An Unfinished Poem,

Gently on piano keys or,
strung upon the harp,
strummed upon the guitar strings or
words said from the heart,

A colder breeze in winter time
or withered flowerless briar
all are made to break your dreams
and draw your thoughts much higher

An Ocean beach in times more calm
At home with people stern
A tempest storm or healing balm
Higher thoughts that you must learn

Ne´er upon life´s empty shores
no matter how it seems
For going to reach a better place
you have to break the dream

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