I wrote the following poem a few months back for a competition. Its theme was Looking Back. It had to be about early childhood memories. I didn’t win. I was interested to note that the winner came from Northumberland, as I do and the poet was not much older than me, so I could relate to her poem. It was about a clippy mat, the Northumbrian name for a rag rug. Hers was much better than mine. It was more like a short story. I tried for a nursery rhyme rhythm in mine and it’s based on memories of where I lived during the first years of my life. It was an odd environment, so I was an odd child, as you will see.
Around the Village Green
I
Here’s where I skipped round the village green
ten little toenails lacquered red
poppy bright red circling the dead
tracing the names graved on the stone
I’m skipping hopping and jumping
II
Here’s where I whirled round the sweetie jars
ten tiny fingertips lollipop red
walnut whips and ginger pops
sherbert dips and gobstoppers – stop!
I’m whirling popping and dipping
III
Here’s where I lay with my ringlets in rags
two little hands crossed on my chest
in the room where I played with the lately passed
that gave on the yard with the coffins stacked
I’m lying, playing at dying
IV
Here’s where I jigged down the churchyard path
two tiny feet a-tapping a rhyme
in time with Uncle Ted’s digging
and his tellings of tales of talking skulls
I’m a-screaming, a-howling a-running
V
Here’s where I danced on prancing bones
Two little eyes at the abattoir rails
on men in caps swinging smelly pails
of gluey hooves and horses’ tails
I’m dancing, slipping and sliding
VI
Around the green the ghosts hold hands
pitmen-soldier-boys smithie and postie
sweetie shop man (hanged on a may tree)
as I play on the green at laying to rest
in shoe box coffins my dog and my doll
weaving buttercup wreaths for make-believe tombs
(c) Ann Isik 2013