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Poulton Library and
Adele & I are here to
share with whoever
arrives some thoughts
concerning War and
Literature.  Linda sets
us up with chairs and
table, and first here is
delightful surprise: Pat
who I taught thirty years
ago - there will be no
need for me to dig a
trench and put on a
jacket bullet-proof
with tin hat on my
head - Philip Larkin
Alun Lewis, Sassoon
and Wilfred Owen
give staunch support
to Jon Stallworthy's
World War One tome
Anthem for Doomed
Youth: Twelve Poets
but doomed not us
this century later.


(c) C J Heyworth June 2014
Through an Arts Council Grant organised locally here on The Fylde Coast by Adele Robinson of Lancashire Dead Good Poets, there is a continuing series of events over the Summer labelled Walking on Wyre, Wyre being the River Wyre which bypasses Poulton at Skippool Creek, and joins the Irish Sea at Fleetwood.
Poulton Library invited us to discuss War Poetry in particular with interested locals.
Pat who I used to teach and her husband Stuart were the welcome first arrivals and were soon joined by three additional members of Poulton Writers Group who were very prepared to join in and and make the discussion flow.  A further husband and wife couple joined us after an hour or so and overall the event proved to be a productive and enjoyable get together.
Once like-minded and amiable folks get together the conversation can gel splendidly.
My swashbuckling heart, she lost her boot,
it fell in the ocean by old Port Toot.
My heart she does wander forever at sea,
never again a respite for me.
well ****. I'm just gonna post a bunch of poems and say the hell with it.
Jackie Goya Mar 2014
Sitting at the beach
At night

Where the fire keeps you company
When all the sailors have gone to bed
Where the sea sings its song
And it makes you forget
About the pain and the horror
The others went through
The reason they’ve gone to bed
And now only there’s you
Staring blankly at your hourglass
Knowing life well enough to say
That it doesn’t spare any
It’s going to take you in its sway

Sitting at the beach
At night

Where the sand tickles your feet
Teasing you like an old lover
Where the wind cools you down
While the heat makes you hover
You force this happy smile at first
Because tickling should be funny
but then again there are  tears
Why did you leave me, honey
These yellow stains they went away
And so did your little freckle
But I have to stop wondering
And I really shouldn't heckle

Sitting at the beach
At night

Where the stars keep on staring
No matter where your beach might be
They don’t make you do but realise
How important are we?
My lover has gone and I will have pain
But these bright spots are infinite
And I am just this little stain
So what is there to do for me
In this endless tree of time
As this small and lonely chloroplast
I’ll keep on trying to be fine

— The End —