A Fairytale Of Paisley Poem by jim hogg

The road of destiny is long
and on that road a noisy throng
determined me to make a move,
to up my sticks and choose a groove

That wasn't quite a frying pan
or too festooned with flames to fan,
and so to Paisley toon I sped,
bereft of romance, short of bread,

And soon ensconced myself within,
a one bed flat with bed and bin,
from where I found my way about,
amongst the talent, dodging lout

Until I chose a comfy seat,
in yon new Centre, in the heat;
equipped with pad and idle pen,
I watched the throng, and wondered when

I'd spot that girl with matchless class,
when all at once that certain lass,
just sashayed up and flicked her hair
and almost knocked me aff my chair.

Had I no been so witless then
I would have said 'Hello there, hen'
and you'd have said 'Get off my back,
ya pompous grey haired rhymin' hack.'

But witless was I then and when,
we met at Etams on the bend.
I watched you as you dannered on,
an' sans a backward glance were gone.

I'm sorry I was lacking sense;
‘twas due tae lack o' confidence.
I didnae quite appreciate
that you'd be looking just so great.

But moments pass and chances fade,
and hearts may break and hopes cascade
into Paisley's swollen river,
should this parting be forever;

Or so it seemed at least a while,
‘til memories evoked a smile,
but, never let it be denied:
I dithered when I should have tried.

An' melodrama's no my art;
I might have overplayed my part,
For time soon fixed this blind fool's ass,
as surely as all things must pass.

So let us tae our tale return;
forget the heart dumped in the burn.
The gleaming square in Paisley toon
has famous folk as weel as loon

To spread the word both far and wide,
tae justify her native pride.
Yon Sannie Wilson on the block,
dished oot monie a hefty knock

Wi a his weel turned rhymin' words,
until he took to breeding birds
in far flung Philadelphia,
and both the Coats did help ye's a'

The neatly chiselled words declare,
when times were hard and folks were pair,
to such a bounteous extent
that toon folk built a monument

To show their heartfelt gratitude
that wi their cash they'd been sae good.
And, speaking o' the best o' men,
wi rhyme sae blessed and razor pen:

The multi-sided Rabbie Burns
in Fountain Gardens stands and spurns
the tacky turns that waste his name,
as if his flaws should earn him fame.

‘Twere better he had stilled his hand,
than fuel the fools who should be tanned
for dragging Scotland through the mire,
for spitting on her finest fire.

But nobler hearts remember still,
true freedom's notes, our burning will,
tae hear that wistful tune ring out,
in streets and halls tae banish doubt,

To wake yon clique in Holyrood,
the 'kind' who think that doin' good
means filching from the likes o' us,
and freedom means abuse o' trust.

Aye, matters serious pressed in:
your Hospital was for the bin,
had pressure no' been brought to bear
upon the suits who dinnae care.

Their latest trick was cutting beds;
perhaps you should be banging heads,
and thon new brig we cannae cross
is surely working at a loss.

It's thick wi' gaps instead o' parts,
for ease o' steppin' in the Cart.
they'll need tae start the thing fae scratch,
or fake a massive patterned patch.

And just across the street a sign
that legal change can be benign:
a hunner smokers blockin' drains
wi' butts enough to boil the rain.

That Mecca crowd have sorely whinged,
since a' their carpet's no' been singed.
I hear they're bussing up fae Ayr,
tae breathe clean air that's goin' spare,

And further doon, outside Phat Sam's,
a wonbag there wi massive hams
is sucking fag-ends off the street
tae keep the smokers' footwear neat

by bla'n' them up amongst the stars,
an' launchin' nicotine tae Mars,
as, from the east the nicht rolls roon,
and folds across al Paisley toon,

Her freight o' gifts for dawn tae bring,
oor wee bit joy, a sang tae sing...
... for onward flows the River Cart,
and forward flees time's silent dart

The loves and hopes o' men abide,
as constant as the throbbing tide
oor tenure here is fleeting tho':
as brief as swirlin' flakes o' snow

An' dreams, oh dreams, they carry us,
beyond the stars then bury us;
the future's sweet talk turns tae snash,
a moment precious, then we're ash

We walk a tightrope through this life,
between the primrose and the knife
between the eagle and the louse,
between the vixen and the yowes

We're in the wind, we're in the waves,
we're sunlight bright, and dark as caves,
an' from the dust and from the sky,
we carve our truth, we shape the lie

An' weave ourselves some kind o' sense,
beyond the gates o' innocence
but noo, I'm neither bold nor blind;
I'm stuck here on the path that's lined

We dared the music way back when,
and I jigged all the wrong steps then.
I left you standing on the shore,
but now it's clear, the ceilidh's o'er

Yet there's a certain sweetness in,
the thought that we might meet again
tae sit an smile at might have beens,
when we were special, in oor teens

Or maybe yince I'll catch your eye,
an' yin o' us will chance a 'hi'.
but mair than likely, if we meet,
we'll pass like strangers on the street.


10 05 07 Paisley