(31) In the Darkest Hours

 In the Darkest Hours.

Thoughts in the darkest hours

While others are asleep

No respite from your worries there

As around your mind they creep

Like restless souls they wander on

And keep you wide awake

You wish for sleep but in vain

Counting each breath you take.

Worries and woes escalate

In the darkness of the night

Sleep does not offer sanctuary

From this nocturnal plight.

Feeling so tired and weary

But anxiety won’t let you go

Into a peaceful slumber,

As worries weave to and fro.

Even the ticking clock seems louder

As you approach the looming dawn

But then the night becomes radiant light

And a new day has been born.

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(30) Old Davey

Inspecting still each lonely seam

Underground at the Betteshanger pit

Years after closure and the miners gone

Old Davey walks with his lamp lit.

The pithead winding gear is now long-gone

But far underground down below

With his helmet and boots he walks for miles

Old Davey's lamp is still aglow.

His face ingrained with coal dust

After years at the Betteshanger pit

While others mourn the closure

Old Davey still walks with his lamp lit.

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(29) Lonely Road

With fading light the darkening shadows form

As blackening night the hours endorse

No quickening steps in drizzling rain

For no steps will I have again

As my chair weaves its weary course.

The chill of night lingers as winter fades

A few people with fastened collars high

As waters along the gutters flow

While lights from a restaurant are aglow

And along the path I drive on by.

The wind bites upon my face

With narrowed eyes and hands so cold

Watching the world but feeling not part of it

Driving past windows with warm rooms lit

Nearly home but feeling old.

(28) The Last Glass Public House

It sits in a part of Glasgow 

that has seen much better days

It’s not exactly standing

but propped up by the chip shop and leans sideways.

As if it was modelled by old Malkie

who could never stand up straight

And walked with an awkward tilt

with a unique falling-over gait 

He had a drink impediment

which he viewed as a disability

For which he tried to claim benefit

which was a distinct probability.

So I asked the publican why

The Last Glass had such a name

And he related to me a tale

of how this pub came to fame.

One Saturday night many years ago

a night of foolish prattle

When in walked a neighbouring clan

and thereupon ensued a battle.

Chairs and tables went flying

Bodies landed in a heep

Old Malkie was sitting at the bar

Almost half asleep.

Glasses were thrown all over the place

Chairs and tables too

The floor was blood-splattered

When in stormed the boys in blue

Glasgow’s finest constabulary

And then a few dozen more

Doing a body count around the pub

As corpses littered the floor.

Things calmed down after that

After the cleaning was done

We counted the glass which remained unbroken

Alas, there was only one. 

All around the pub we searched

But only one glass found therein

It was standing at the end of the bar

With Malkie’s teeth within.

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(27) The Railway Wagon Plate

Bolted onto the old coal wagon

As it shook and clanked 

With rhythmic chatter 

Through wind and rain

To distant yards

To unload amid noisy blatter.

Men dressed in coal dust

Toiled in the shadows

And dragged themselves home so late

Cold and weary with sweat on brow

Sometimes rain-washed but without a frown

To put coal upon our grate.

Copyright©IanmAllan2026

 

(26) The Old Rusty Coach

 

Shining and gleaming

I rolled out in style 

Spending days in the sun

Mile after mile. 

The clackety clack

Of wheels upon track

I never slowed down 

And I never looked back. 

Now parked in a siding 

I’m rusting away

The rain and the wind

Promotes the decay

But looking back over the years

It’s nae been that bad

And for all the years that I’ve had

I’m eternally glad. 

Copyright©IanmAllan2026

(25) Bluebell Woods

In Scotland there are many bluebell woods

Scattered like seeds around

Abriachan Wood and the Aldouran Glen

Nature’s splendour covers the ground

There’s Crinan Wood and Dunollie Wood

To name but just a few

Kinclaven Bluebell wood near Murthly

Waves like a sea of blue.

Each bluebell slender and delicate

But standing proud and tall

Through wind and rain they sway and shiver

But they are strong as one and all.

Sweet-scented violet blue flowers

From the stem hang together

Producing a carpet of blue across the wood

Rebelling against wind and weather.

Copyright©IanmAllan2026

(24) Pockets

When I was so young

Many things I was told

Like building my wealth

To have pockets of gold.

Look after the pennies

And the pounds will increase

Well I worked hard

And the work didn’t cease.

But my pockets were not filled

With silver or gold

As I worked all the hours

Until I grew old.

My pockets were silken

With rich golden thread

And filled not with wealth

But greater riches instead.

For my pockets are full

And now I'm content

Not with wealth but with good cheer

And that’s what was meant.

For my pockets are full

of memories of old

For wonderful people are better

than pockets of gold.

Copyright©IanmAllan2026

(23) Margate East

The platforms have gone

But the steps are still there

Hidden under the bushes

Forgotten without care.

The tracks are still used

By trains thundering past

During the day

Or when night shadows cast.

The stories these old steps could tell

With clattering rushing feet

Trodden their aged stone

When strangers or old buddies meet.

Platforms bound for toil and leisure

Reasons travelled in equal measure

Formal shoes or comfortable creps

Have trodden upon those old brick steps.

Copyright©IanmAllan2026

(22) So Lightly Step

Who is it that walks upon my grave?

Oh tell me what you seek

Step so lightly oh gentle gait

Brown blackbird with yellow beak.

Pick your way across the grass

So green and recently mown

As Spring breaks through the clouds

And life and dreams have flown

Fly away across the sky

But do not forget this place

Fly on high my feathered friend

May the wind carry you with grace.

Don’t shy away from this spot

For you can wander free

And wander upon my grave at will

A place of quiet sanctuary.  

CopyrightⓒIanmAlllan2026

(21) Tramping the Roads

I think of all the people I’ve met

And all the places I’ve been

From the rolling hills of the Borders

All the way up to Achnasheen.

I’ve tramped across many a hill

With the wind upon my face

Past forests and farms with fields of green

Just give me the open space.

I’ve seen the glory of the dawn

And the sunset o’er the glen

I’ve seen the sun glistening on the loch

As the seasons pass again.

I might stop in for a brew

At some highland hostelry

And then sleep under a hedgerow

Where I am completely free.

I don’t own bricks and mortar

And I’m completely free to roam

With a pair of boots upon my feet

And the wind blowing me home. 

CopyrightⓒIanm Allan 2026