Thursday, 26 March 2009

Poem - Walk along the Gallowgate

We begin by crossing over from the top of
Duke Street, then another cross of traffic lights
where Tollcross Road and the Gallowgate both
meet: connecting two roads for a long journey
either way, in unity and harmony.

From here, another cross past Springfield Road
is necessary; four out of five ways isn't so
bad, however we only have the one way to
journey forth toward. Rain, hail, snow and
shine. We've done them all and we've met
them all along the way!
The penitents departing
en-masse from mass at the chapel; the biddies
with their daughters, complete with trollies
from the Forge; the jakies standing at the
bus stops, outside and across from the necropolis;
football fans in green-and-white jerseys and scarves,
heading up the way, either for home or for a hot
carry out (and they'll be spoilg for choices in
carry-out venues!); the car-wash dudes at the
old BP garage venue; and, at night, we even
see foxes running across the road! Hiding from
humans, scurrying from being noticed or potentially
an HGV running them over!

Then we see them, just behind where
the main road ascends up a slight hill, but fully
visible for everybody to see; even from as far as
West George Street when its a nice day:
the massive
pair of tower blocks. Comprising of many inside,
high and low, top to bottom. They can see us
walking past, two little dots. Or at least they
can see me! My walking partner next to me
is only visible in another tower of his own,
right next to their own. And they put Him there.
I even put Him there.

We walk along some more together: apartments
being made up; chippies gone for good; mixtures
of kids in tracksuits, builders in construction gear,
men walking their pooches and dormant shopping
trollies left to the side, with rubbish inside them.
The biddies musn't have bins inside! Then again,
neither must half this road's population, for
council workers spend as much time here as
my walking partner, trying to cleanse and rid
this road of desecration, defamation, defecation
and demotivation; in turn blessing it with
determination, definition and declaration.
Sometimes
we have to duck little neds winging stones
from behind the railings of the sports park
next to the school. Instead of a four-lettered
curse, my walking partner covers my mouth, in
turn saying, "Bless you my sons! Go forth
and sin no more". Then the hostel, in all
its glory, stands afresh with odours, images and
sounds of empathy, (in some cases) sympathy,
(more often than not) confusion and (in a twisted
way) curisoity. Perhaps one day, they'll be invited
with the neds and our fellow tower-block
comrades, for my walking partner has passed by
but He doesn't pass them by.

"Are we nearly there yet?" I ask. "Why didn't
we just take the bus?" Like a disciple of the
biblical sort, I didn't fully get it, until a
corner came for me to turn: new apartments
already built, in the shadow of older buildings
with longer histories, more familiar stories, images,
sounds and emissions of their own trademark.
Now there stands a big gate, where fortunate
people in this area have passed through and they
get by comfortably, without a trace of hassle.

My walking partner says to me, "Aren't we going
to pass by them either?" I said. "No need,
they've made their way through a big gate - the
others still have to." He wasn't going to pass
them by: "Bless each one of you, the invitation
is open". I was amazed, somewhat overwhelmed
but more appreciative of it all.
Finally we
pass Bain Street, pubs and other merchants of
a carnal nature. Passionate people going about
their business, interjecting into their community
with support and enthusiasm. Fair play to them!
At this point, the road splits in two....

I turn round to ask another question and
He's gone; out of visual sight. Yet, I can
still feel His presence. He's still holding my
hand, keeping me from danger, acting as my
shield, myhelmet, my immunity from bodily
harm in one of Glasgow's more cinematic
neck of the woods.
"Can you spare some change,
son?" No. "You got a light on you?" No.
"Looking for business?" You're doing this for
badness, aren't you. "They don't know what
they're doing", He says. "Pass by them but
don't pass them by. "This road will be cleansed,
the people have been blessed, and will all you
and me up here." They put him on that third
tower, yet I'm hardly any different.

Should I walk back or take the bus? It
matters not, without slight or major, for
perfection in His eyes is different from mine.

Sunday, 22 March 2009

Poem - Union Canal

Heading up the ways, to get a
clearer view of the ochills on the
other side, we pass a sight so
new, yet so familiar. A fresh
feeling combined with God's wry sense
of humour he playfully interjects in
times of soa operaesque moments this
world cries out for.

We see the river that normally
flows along - but today, its come
to a halt! Imagine that: time
standing still without a trace of
movement, when the intention and
blessing of union is explicit in
the name. More so onwards, the
image becomes even more striking
as nature takes its course via
alternative movements of life:

Birds singing, young couples out
walking, squirrels climbing up and
down various trees; each form of
living animal subsequently in search
of the union necessary in fulfilling
their creator's prophecy - to revive
and restore; not dive in where its
sore. As the water floats along,
so do "what if's" from before hand,
silently into yesterday.

Poem - A mother's love

A mother's love is whole and pure
like lying snow on a winter's night.
Its spotless, clear yet strong with
many emotions filled behind the frost.

A mother's love forgives for worse;
she dismisses not a sinful child.
Accepting features, warts and all,
behavioural or visually present.

A mother's love, a solid rock,
a fleet ship's anchor: they are one
with one another as a unit,
keeping me at bay from drowning.

A mother's love is ever present;
the past has proven precisely and
my future days are strengthened
by her understanding nature.

A mother's love replaces never,
nor retracts throught tempests tossing.
In times of darkness, hail or
cloudburst, she is my compass guiding.

A mother's love will win the
battle should my opposition strike;
when at peace, my mother's love
remains and wraps around me.

Thursday, 19 March 2009

Poem - An Irish memory

To many, there will be one unforgettable
moment-in-time, describing day gone by in
the emerald isle, unique and incomparable
in comparison to any other.
It may be in
the rain: skies of grey bursting apart
with clouds erupting, soaking all walking
below. Those who require cleansing from
above, in need of moving on.
Perhaps
an ounce of grace handed over to the
unhappy tourists, disappointed by what
transpired on their visit. Unequalled
in every structure of home, for there
isn't any place quite like home.
Maybe
the grateful and goodness in those
remembering all who appreciate special
times, most of which still yet to happen.

Who can forget? A memory such as this:

peace, tranquility, hope and optimism,
all wrapped into one parcel of faith and
presented to the already gifted one, who
depends on what they see.

Like a picture on the wall, completed
by cross-stitching and effort, it looks back
thinking all is truly well.

Wednesday, 18 March 2009

Poem - Organ grinder

The monkey does his thing, performing
away for the audience who spectate
this little affair. His chief executive
stands in the shoadows, directing all
that goes on; with authority and directness.

One can't change little mannerisms or
habits of an authoritive measure when
many are influenced either for better
or for worswe, albeit silently. Still, the
monkey is keen to challenge and conquer.

All the organ grinder does is vocally
direct and dictate, until one day, his
apprentice decides to change the game's pace;
for the real boss is revealed upon his
departure and lack of independent status....

Poem - Take-off!

Sounds and noises coupled with
rhythmic ongoings produce the
beginning of what happens next.

Any second now, a rocket will
go sky-high, taking optimism
with it, leaving behind negativity.

One must wonder how to be
like the rocket - open up and
receive beauty and goodness.

Heavens above and multiple
galaxies spread out, allowing
escalation and elevation united.

Poem - A richer man

Today you will go from here
a richer man:

Blessings have been poured out.
Prayers are being spoken, as
well as being answered.
Sins have been forgiven; one's
redemption wipes the slate clean.

In another moment, long ago,
times were miserable, somewhat
borderline pathetic; now, things
have changed considerably. Amen!

What happens now is crystal clear,
minus fear and loaded with cheer.
The spirit wins again!