Lines of Hope and Wonder
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Lines of Hope and Wonder - Jack Harrison
2020 Jack 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 03/26/2020
ISBN: 978-1-7283-9989-8 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-7283-9990-4 (e)
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,
and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
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.
Dedication
To my Riley, my Godson and inspiration, ever generous; and brother, Lewis.
Contents
Dedication
Poems For, And About Fleetwood.
The Christmas Mothership. ©
Shadows And Silhouettes. ©
Christmas Choices. ©
Poems of Hope and Wonder.
Morecambe Bay Odyssy. ©
Poets Of Fleetwood. ©
The Guardians Of Lune Deep. ©
That Special Place. ©
The Fading Light. ©
Our Fleetwood. ©
Voyage Done. ©
The Clocks Of Fleetwood. ©
Icons Of Wood And Stone. ©
Travels Of A Boy And Dog. ©
In Bluebell Wood. ©
Our Seafront. ©
Our Rising Sun.
Talking Images.
Backstage Workers.
The Shows Must [Always] Go On. ©
The Floodings Of Fleetwood. ©
Those Misty Mornings. ©
The Last Trawler. ©
The Spirit Of Morecambe Bay. ©
Where Did They Go? ©
For Jacinta
I’m Jacinta
! ©
The Price Of Fish. ©
The Queen Of The Wyre. ©
The Place Of Farewells. ©
Poems of War and Conflict
How Could This Be? ©
Too Many, To Cry. ©
The Cost Of Forgetting. ©
Poppies. ©
Shot At Dawn. ©
Granddad, Grandpere, Und Grossfarter.
My Friends Live In The Park Now. ©
Why Question And Forget?
The Spirit Of The Fields. ©
I’ll Tell You. ©
Line By Line. ©
Don’t Forget Me.
Who Is This Man? ©
Colours of A Battlefield. ©
Strange Playgrounds. ©
Poppies Fill The Field. ©
Remembrance Is Forever. ©
Stairway To Elysium. ©
At The Menin Gate. ©
Of Butterflies, Poppies And Men. ©
Children Of The Cold War. ©
Remembering Them. ©
Culture- A Nation’s Rarest Asset. ©
Defending Our Traditions. ©
Shellshock From Our Work? ©
Remember The Merchant Service. ©
Peace At Christmas? ©
Unfound. ©
Motherland And Fatherland. ©
La Fierté Du Visage D’une Légionnaire.
The Pride On A Legionaire’s Face.
Foreword
Song Of The Lighthouse Keepers
The Song Of The Lighthouse Keeper. ©
Of Towers And Men. ©
The Light Of A Harvest Moon. ©
The Light Of The Lights. ©
Beacon Of Welcome. ©
Flat Holme Island. ©
Our Wyre Light. ©
The Spark Of Life And Spirit. ©
The Last Light. ©
Tales Of The Lamp. ©
The Face Of Kinnaird Head. ©
A Different Kind Of Christmas. ©
New Tennants Of The Towers. ©
Keepers In The Family. ©
The New Message. ©
Twelve Lighthouse Christmases. ©
Portland’s Sweeping Light.
The Light Of A Single Star. ©
The End Of The Portland Sweep. ©
The New Portland Light.
The Beach At Rattray Head. ©
The Beacons Of Life. ©
The Family Of Light. ©
For Those in Peril on the Sea
A Lifeboat Tradition. ©
Another Shout. ©
On The Search.
Fleetwood’s Own. ©
Home Again. ©
The Coast Guards. ©
Sar Helicopters. ©
More ‘General’ Poems
Cannons At Teatime.
Night Of The Lost Souls. ©
Midnight Visitor. ©
The Archangel’s Assignment. ©
Married Bliss.
What Is My Name? ©
The Princes Of ‘The Tower’. ©
Words Of Power. ©
When The Earth Is Angry. ©
Ode To Vincent Van Gough. ©
The Star Maker. ©
Our Lancashire Fells. ©
On Coniston Water. ©
Our Paths May Cross. ©
All You Had To Do, Was Say. ©
A Restless Coast. ©
Last View Of Pendle Hill. ©
Waiting To Go. ©
Only The Dog Knows. ©
The Railway Modeller. ©
Only The Blind Know. ©
Fylde Coast Ramblings With A Poet Laureate. ©
The Wrath Of The Norsemen. ©
What A Way To Spend An Evening. ©
The Song Of The Whales. ©
The Footprints. ©
Our Friend The Moon. ©
Photographs Which Inspired The Poems
A final word for budding Poet/Authors.
Acknowledgements
Lines of Hope and Wonder.©
I’d like to start, by introducing the work of a young Poet I’m proud to know well.
Image%201_GS.jpg47218.pngPoems For,
And About Fleetwood.
The Christmas Mothership. ©
How could we know, what was to come;
that cold bleak day, in December.
When Christmas trees and lights go up;
and with many things to remember.
The Sun began its long descent;
and bathed the sands for miles.
Our ancient coastline there to tell;
of Fleetwood's many trials.
As through the clouds our star did dip;
behold, the mighty Mothership.
Casting beams of radiant light;
giving strollers, such a fright.
From across galactic wastes, so very wide;
the Messengers came, on this Yuletide.
Travellers, for 2,000 years;
they came to wipe away all tears.
A hundred years since 'Armistice';
they could not dare be late, or miss.
The Mothership called, in a wonderous way;
You must not fight, on Christmas Day
.
BY JACK D. HARRISON.
04-12-2018.
Thanks to Photo- by Geoffrey Plant.
Shadows And Silhouettes. ©
From shadows to silhouettes;
from Neuve-Chapelle, to old Marmetz;
young Tommies still lie, in the fields of Hell;
the wastelands known, only too well.
With boyhood bravado, or urged by peers;
no last remorse, or thoughts of Mother's tears.
He ran from Fleetwood's urban street;
without knowing what horrors, he would meet.
From those doors of the old ‘Big Station’;
he took his place in the battle formation.
Too late to escape that stinking trench;
the German gas shells, spread their evil stench.
The whistles blew and it's Over the top boys
;
the cries of officers and men lost in the insane noise.
The footballs, glibly sent for troops to kick;
Into Hun positions Steady men, not too quick
This local lad bravely hurls himself, pell-mell;
into hails of mortar, bullet and shell.
One last thought of Styan Street in his head;
our Fleetwood boy is struck, and falls down, dead.
BY JACK D. HARRISON.
25-10-2018.
(NB- Any link to real people is purely coincidental).
Christmas Choices. ©
Some like the city,
more than a quaint, old town;
some buy a whole bird,
or just a nice Crown.
Some like the dark meat,
others like the white;
I like to hear our seashore,
on a short Summer night.
Some like cold turkey,
whilst some like it ‘hot roast’;
I just like the rolling tides,
along our ancient coast.
Some went to Spain,
for its Moorish, Summer shades;
But many came to Fleetwood by train;
with their kiddies, buckets, and spades.
Some dream of places, they visited, in their past;