Author: Ian Stewart

Date: 29/04/2018

Read Time: 2-3 minutes, 296 words

Archive: This author's other articles


Now that better weather has finally arrived in Scotland, I’ve been out exploring some old haunts from my youth to help inspire my writing. It’s been some time since I last looked upon these sights and part of me was shocked by how much decay has taken over the place. These places have become unsightly and mostly abandoned. But when I thought about it, we are the ones responsible for the state it’s in today. We abused the place, we drank every drop of life it had and left it dying. It’s no wonder people avoid it now. Below is a poem I wrote inspired by old haunts.

Down by the park on Pipeland,
There’s the ruins of our youth,
Once full of life,
It looks unsightly in death,
The smell of creosote stimulates a hundred memories,
We climbed trees here,
Made rope swings,
Swung from branches until they broke,
We ran over the roofs of wooden garages,
Until we needed something more,
So, we burned them down,
Charred brick and Sleepers remain,
On Concrete pads littered with dead pine needles,
Broken glass, rusted nails, overgrown weeds and cigarette ends,
Faded graffiti atop wood rot,
From an open window there’s music playing,
And in amongst it all,
Two boys, no more than eight years-old,
Sat on a bench,
Discussing all the things that eight-year olds do,
Beyond their innocent conversation I see ghosts,
I remember how it was to be that age,
We drank beer, people fought one another,
In a crowded area,
There was screaming, some were crying as they ran,
Eventually an adult would come by,
Give us what for,
Tell us where we were headed in life,
And we would laugh on both sides of our face,
Thank god things have changed.

Ian Stewart is on Twitter: @GutterKid101