Where I Live - a poem by 24 young writers from Berwick.

Where I live there are secret places to play.
Our places.  They hide us from prying eyes.
Our abandoned building site is like a Roman Fort.
We stand like warriors, proud and sturdy.
There are underground dens full of mud.
Dark and exciting, the danger keeps us there.
Racing down hills and tractor ruts as big as canyons
Is like riding the fastest roller-coaster in the world. 
Sun glaring in your eyes, it is like
God is watching you in every detail.
Rows of tank blocks like giant stepping-stones,
Or a monster’s rotting teeth.
On a great, bright day you can see everywhere.
Secret alleys and winding paths beside the railway line
Where the trains make a noise like footsteps.
The green at the back of my house
Is where we make summer friends again
After being enemies through the winter.
It has lush green grass
Where daisies dance to the music of the sun
And fly in the wind on a melting hot day.
In summer, all the pollen leaps out at you
As if you are a giant bee.
There are blue berries to crush for paint or potions.
At the old railway the smell of fresh grass and blossom
Drifts through my nose.
The freedom of the outdoors makes me happy.
A deserted church with windows as colourful as rainbows,
Like glass eyes watching our every move.
A derelict house to explore and discover the old days,
Tasting the dust in the air.
Tree-swings in old trees with moss growing on them
And roots in the shape of an elephant.
The Goodie Patchie has trees like giants.
It is dark even in the peak of summer,
Like being in a rainforest canopy.
Our football field, where small trees
Watch the game like crowds on the touchline.
The old castle filled with shattered glass,
Where names carved into sandstone crumble away
Every minute of every day.
By the River Tweed as clear as tap water,
Sun glaring down on us, wind rushing through our hair.
We watch the violet shade under the New Bridge
As the sun fades away from us.
The river looks like little lightning bolts
Upon a black sky.

Where I live is full of legends and long ago.
Crammed with history and Once Upon a Times,
From the days of swords and shields
When the stars were young,
When dragons started forest fires
And the world was black and white.
Stories of princesses and pearls,
Swans with feathered wings,
Valiant Kings with shiny gold swords.
Ruby-red blood and snow like a huge white blanket.
Deep, dark forests with treasure guarded by wolves.
Crumbling castles and old, rusty mills.
Purple, glittering pebbles and blue moons.
Enchanted armies of statues.
Beautiful girls with hair as dark as starry nights.
Highwaymen and curses, men as sly as snakes,
Magical young boys, knights and battles.
Pale, thin ghosts weeping in the night,
And Vikings sneaking through fog. 
All memories washed away
Like seaweed on a beach. 

Where I live is Home Sweet Home.
On the beach, sand runs between my fingers
As fine as sugar.
The calm summer sea is a smooth slab of chocolate
With ripples like the top of a Mars Bar.
Waves fizzing up like a can of juice
Foaming all over me.
Seals bob up and down, their heads
As wet and shiny as black bullets.
The seagulls’ eyes are like Millions.
Their beaks are Flake wrappers
Glistening in the sun. 
The lighthouse gleams like a giant candy-cane,
Whirling red and white.
The wet tar road like a warm liquorice strip.
In the rose gardens the flowers are like
Parma Violets and Love Hearts.
The sun is butter melting in my hands.
The smell of rapeseed tickles my nose like sherbet
Beside the cinder-toffee lumps of my Cheviot Hills.
In winter the roads are showered with sherbet
And my footsteps sound like biting into a lolly.
Lampposts and Christmas tree lights shine
Like glowing wine gums.
The bridges stretch from bank to bank like chewing gum
And the Royal Border Bridge is like black liquorice
In the moonlight.
The supports look like crumbling Flakes.
The River Tweed is full of fish
Like nuts in a chocolate bar.
Salmon jump like scraps of silver paper.
The glint of water like chocolate wrappers in the night.
Downed electricity lines like liquorice cables
On black pastille cobbles.
The wind sounds like a Melody Pop
Floating around the sweetie town,
Blowing Pick and Mix scarves and spun-sugar hair.
Spittal terraces like standing Mars Bars.
Shielfield Park football pitch feels like
Hundreds and thousands under my feet
And the people all for one side.
My bedroom is as colourful as a packet of Skittles.

Home, sweet home.

By

Kyle Dickson, Ryan Barrack, Danny Easton, Gemma Chalmers, Rianne Bruce, James Virtue, Melissa Bloomfield, Graeme Steele, Alex Hume, Cheryl Dixon, Carl Strachan, Martin Goodlet, Stuart Laverty, Greig Sharp, Sean Wales, Inga McDougall, Lillie Fraser, Devon Vogel, Sarah Henderson, George Reavley, Roan Forrester, Scott Taylor, Scott Jeffery, Lydia Smith

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