Haulover Point

 I wrote this some years ago and it is from my first book Endless Perspective of Life available at Lulu.com.

We visited Portsmouth, NC which has a rich history you can look up online.  The village is no longer inhabited, but you can tour most of the area.  It was a lightship colony where deep sea vessels would be offloaded by skiffs to bring cargo to lighter vessels for crossing the sound.  As the skiffs passed the pier, they had to be dragged over a sandbar where children played, which gave rise to the name "Haulover Point".

They rise up in the distance,

As I approach them fast,

From distant shores,

Gathered for purpose,

A collection of masts,

Awaiting as the lightships,

Are hauled over the sand,

Workers soon to sing,

As rhythm they bring,

Offloading cargo in demand.

Transferring seamen’s cargo,

For the journey across the sound,

Deep ships bowing to the small,

To make the journey they can not,

For fear of running aground,

Transference made,

Had made this town,

And so I land on Portsmouth pier,

Warmly greeted,

With myrkle branch in hand,

As lively children run and play,

Upon Haulover’s sand.

The tapping grows to hammering,

As I approach the busy town,

Craftsmen making flounder boats,

Women shopping with their totes,

Meet and greet me as their own,

In this town of travelers,

I am never alone,

A strength of heart elsewhere unknown,

To face the storm in highest homes,

Building and rebuilding,

For the land which is their own,

This island land they call home.

Against nature’s strength,

And Hell’s damnation,

I see the landmark lifesaving station,

As men step out into the sun,

Within their eyes a strength,

Within their eyes a story,

Unequalled by none,

Not counting themselves hero,

Doing a job they know,

Knowing a job no other can do.

Church bell yonder begins to toll,

My interest carries me forth,

Fine men and women wearing their best,

As two lives join to face the test,

A life together as one,

Two hearts to each other won,

I join the crowd with gladness,

As the crowd dissipates in the mist,

And as I look,

The church leans closer,

The better to hear my thoughts,

The church leans to,

Made crooked by the storms of time,

As I listen to the echos,

Of the souls around mine,

Who have made their lives in Portsmouth,

In their time,

Allowing me to know their past,

That I may never loose sight of my future.