Poems, poets and poetry.

A couple of days ago, I was going through one of my deepest, darkest cupboards when I came across this little gem...

I actually remember putting this together, I obviously thought myself quite the laureate in Junior school. I don't know when I wrote them but there is a reference to Mrs Davies ,who was my year 4 teacher, which means I must have written them aged 9 or under.

I think I actually stood up in class and said that I would willingly include anyone elses poems (if they passed the rigorous selection process of course). However, funnily enough, no one submitted any. Undeterred by this propospterous lack of enthusiasm, I went on to produce the relic pictured, instead of what was supposed to be a class anthology.

As anyone who's anyone will tell you, I had the dizzingly monumental honour of being selected as the year 6 Bard of Rhiwbeina Primary (nee Junior) school in...1996? I got to sit on a big chair at the end of the Eisteddfod and wear a crown, a cape and hold a sceptre. I also got to lord it over everyone else for the remainder of the year. I think my pseudo superiority complex has dogged me since then, when you've tasted highs such as then, its hard to live a normal life again.

So, without further do, here is a selection of poems, typed exactly as they appear, from 'Jodie's Anthology':

Snow Dance

The pond froze up the ice grew thick,

The candle was down to the last of its wick,

The snow fell down in soft snow flakes,

And danced just above the solid ice lakes,

The land was covered in a blanket of white,

The dazzling brightness reflected the light,

The robins were hopping around on the ground,

To see if there were any scraps to be found,

I know that the snow is not here to stay,

But I wish it would last till Christmas Day.

The Moonlight Owl

It circled around till it perched on a tree,

With sharp yellow eyes it stared down at me.

It ruffled its feathers and prepared for a flight,

For a hungry young mouse was trapped in its sight,

It quickly bent down and stood silently still

And stretched its talons to prepare for a kill.

Then it swooped down and snatched at its prey,

There in its claws the dead creature lay.

Then it soared off as swift as a kite

And flew back home in the silver moonlight

The Dance of the Fire Devils

They danced and sang in the hot fireplace,

Like sly foxes in the twisted flame face,

Their eyes flickered like a sun in the night,

and from their fingers stream beams of bright light.

They danced and ran in a peculiar way,

Shining like replicas of the bright light of day,

They waved their thin arms in the thick grey smoke,

They're the selfish unkind vain sort of folk.

They never stop dancing or prancing about,
unless you put the coal fire out,
They're stiff and jagged like models of wire,
So remember the devils when you next light the fire.

(This one was actually published in the 'Calypso' poetry book, I have a copy here with some corkers from other students if you fancy some blackmail material)


and finally,


The Death Devil

He arrived at hell in a puff of smoke,
And compliments flew from his firey folk,
He prowls around in the streets at night,
To find those who have fought their fight
His eyes are pools of fire his twisted body red,
If he climbs through your window you'll soon be dead,
He takes no pity upon his helpless prey,
But has to leave before the first light of day,
He drops his cloak over you and your bed,
To take you to the land of the dead,
So if your life rings the criminal bell,
Prepare for the devil to take you to HELL!

Now, I don't know if anyone else noticed the recurrent devil/death/gothic theme to these poems but they do seem a tad depressing. I find this a bit of a conundrum seeing as I was brought up on a diet of Red Dwarf, Bottom and The Young Ones. 

It's funny how now I've come full circle and I'm back to attempting to writing poetry again, what an opportune time to find my childhood anthology! I think I was better then than I am now....

x