Rhyming Lines: The Poems of Jack D. Harrison

By Jack D Harrison

This is a book almost completely composed of Poetry, but some are adapted from songs Jack wrote.
They all constitute a snap shot perhaps of some of the experiences, influences and the inspiration for writing. They also indicate an illustration of the Authors mindset and motivations. Being Male, many of the poems were written or inspired by things related to boys; and again, from a boys perspective - but not exclusively so. The Author was in fact a boy himself [once]; and in-spite of rumors of having pet dinosaurs. Jack is only 20 (x 3).

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Nov 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781546283782

Jack D Harrison

Jack D. Harrison became a Poet/Author, as part of the process of re-inventing himself. He was a Railway Signalman until back injuries forced him to retire early during 1988. He has always loved writing and composing since boyhood, and his work includes lyrics, poetry and short stories. Apart from previously published poems and articles, his first book [of Verse] was self-published only in November-2017. Rhyming Lines The Poems of Jack D. Harrison, provides some idea of the range and variety of Jacks work, Including works about his home town and port of Fleetwood, along with the former deep-sea fishing fleet and local history, to poems which read like stories, including Poppies in a Field, Remember October, The Boy and The Spider and One Christmas In Fleetwood. www.rhyminglines.com But his second book Memoirs of a Signalman, is Autobiographical and deals with one of his happiest periods; his time on the Railway. So, climb aboard for this new journey, calling at various points along the way. A journey of Jacks time as a Railwayman and the last heydays of the Port of Fleetwood and ultimately, Electrification, and the end of traditional Signalling on the Blackpool and Fleetwood lines.

Book preview

2017 Jack D. Harrison. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/27/2017

ISBN: 978-1-5462-8377-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-8378-2 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Contents

OLD PHOTOGRAPHS.

‘WHAT DO YOU SEE’?

WINTER TRAWLERS.

TOAST TO A DYING PORT.

THE TRAWLERMEN.

REMEMBER OCTOBER.

THE BOY AND THE SUNSET.

POPPIES IN A FIELD.

J’ACCUSE EARL HAIG.

THE BOY AND THE SPIDER.

A BOY AND HIS DOG.

LOST IN THE ICE.

A NIGHT EXPRESS.

DANCING WITH THE STARS.

DYSLEXIA.

DON’T LOOK FOR ME.

THE COLOURS OF YOUR LIFE.

MISSING GRANDPA.

BE BRAVE LITTLE MAN.

DADDY DON’T YOU WORRY.

THE LAMP-LIT LANE.

NOW YOU’RE HERE.

CHILDLINE.

BALLET BOYS.

ANOTHER MORNING.

A FEW SHORT LINES.

SOME THOUGHTS ON GRIEF.

WORLD BOOK DAY.

BOYS AND THEIR PUPPIES.

MY GIGGLING BOY.

AROUND THE NEXT TURN.

JUST A BOY.

ONE CHRISTMAS IN FLEETWOOD.

Five poems for and about my hometown, Fleetwood in Nth West UK.

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OLD PHOTOGRAPHS.

What Summer scenes to look upon, and tweak thy yearning heart;

the glory that was Fleetwood’s past, could now be forced to part.

Once busy docks and Railway, the fishing fleet, now just shared memory:

the cattle boats and ferries, were part of our proud history.

Remembering my boyhood here, with walks along the Prom;

the ‘Promenader’s Sunday strolls, with arms to lean upon.

Traditions of a seaside town, with larking on the lake;

being stranded on the island there, my youthful heart does ache.

As boys we’d build such castles there, upon the drying, salty beach;

and waving to our deep-sea fleet, with Arctic Grounds to reach.

"We’ll see you all in six weeks’ time" our united voices call;

but sometimes fate prevented them, losing Skipper, crew and all.

You’d tell which hushed house had lost a man, to weather and the fishin;

one heard rumours round the Port, and the car from the Seaman’s Mission.

I had friends at school, who went to sea as boys, on ‘Pleasure’ trips;

they never went in Winter though, as through the fleet, storms rip.

My Dad’s role in all of this, was based upon the land;

as Forman Rigger at IMR, he spliced the warps by hand.

The warps that haul the fishing gear, and pull