PAUL COLVIN Poems

It’s early morning, I awake
Not even 6, before daybreak.
I’ve packed my passport, can’t forget,
First time, expelled by Easyjet!
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I’ve no money but I have wealth.
What constitutes well-being, health?
If riches rule this barren land,
The wealth of power in their hand
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Immortalised in silver, gold
Songs are sung and stories told
In sculpted stone, a work of art
You’re carved in every Scotsman’s heart.
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I miss her taste
I miss her smell
I miss her here with me in bed
I miss her warmth
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You hear him first, the cursing, swearing
And you want to laugh at what he’s wearing
But the voice that bellows takes pride of place
As glaring eyes stare in your face.
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Do you believe in Fairies’ thoughts, do you believe in spells?
You see their thoughts wisp through the air, down by Faeriedell,
Look carefully and you will see them, sitting in their trees
Laughing, smiling, telling tales, just doing as they please.
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A grey blue smoke fills up the air,
It lingers, hangs and goes nowhere,
Slowly, softly, taking shape
No breeze at all and no escape.
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Like the dimming glow of a harvest moon
Uncoiling, fading, slowly.
Like burning embers in a trance,
Lights crimson clouds so lowly.
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The Necropolis in Glasgow town is a place you’re shown no favour
I stand alone upon its hill with St Mungo as my neighbour
If you lay here, you’ve lived your life and likely lived it well
And you’re wakened every morning still, by the sound of Mungo’s bell.
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Snapshots of our childhood friends, playing children’s games
Laughing, joking, running wild, calling out our names
A simple life with lots of fun, it seemed the only way
I’d give my all, to return, for just one single day.
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