4 Wheeled Poet: April 2026

Monday, April 27, 2026

(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.

Sunday, April 26, 2026

(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.

Wednesday, April 22, 2026

(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.

Tuesday, April 21, 2026

(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.

Sunday, April 19, 2026

(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.

(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.

Monday, April 13, 2026

(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.

Sunday, April 12, 2026

(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.

Monday, April 6, 2026

(20) The Withered Smile

The Withered Smile

Solid and unshakeable

No matter the force against it

It will surely stand.

But then a tear drips on to it

And dissolves the outer crust

You see it diminishing before your eyes

And gone is all your trust.

So strong at first or so it seemed

But weakened over years

Finally disintegrated

Due to painful tears.

Sunday, April 5, 2026

(19) Rethrival

Rethrival

Oh, welcome sun and light Spring breeze

As new shoots grow on once cold soil

A slow revival is taking place

While through the chill we onward toil,

When rail falls it’s cold and damp

But it waters the plants which thrive

The flowers grow stronger before they bloom

A glorious petal display alive.

I saw a wind-torn flower but standing tall

It had lost all its petals but one

Its slender stem swayed in the breeze

As it nodded to the sun.

Saturday, April 4, 2026

18 ) The Fans of the Fishermen

(Inspired by St. George's Church, Deal)

Above the fishermen’s gallery

The air is thick with the sea

A lifetime spent with the fish

Hauling nets with humility.

The fans extract the fishy air

So cleaner will it be

All sin removed and gone is shame

Upstairs in the Fishermen’s Gallery.

Thursday, April 2, 2026

17) The Bending Branches

From our roots we do grow

With nourishment till maturity

We learn from others all we know

Rising from obscurity.

We make a mark upon the landscape

We are what others see

But as we grow with twists and turns

We struggle to be free

Every branch bends and shapes

Twigs can snap as on we age

Trying not to bend with the wind

That blows the wind of change

Throughout our lives we are buffeted

But surely must we grow

And keep the shape we want to be

Keeping strong as these winds blow.

16) Home is where the hearth is.

The fire burned brightly in the hearth

A warm reassuring glow.

A welcome home on a stormy night

Dry and safe we know.

No matter the rain that battered

Or the wind’s ferocious roar

We knew that we’d be safe and warm

Once we had closed our door.

But now the door is under threat

The roof is under attack

The walls are starting to crumble

Will safety be coming back?

All that we knew has all gone

All that we understood

All that we cherished so fervently

Is seemingy gone for good.