Marketplace

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Marketplace

 

This space is like a ghost town

Trestle tables row on row

Echoing with the hustle bustle

Vendors cries of long ago

 

I held my mother’s hand

And listened to them shout

‘apples sixpence a pound

Come on get your money out!’

 

Comics stored in cardboard boxes

Toys stacked high on stands

Gleaming in the Friday sun

Just out of reach of sticky hands

 

Fruit of every hue and colour

Potted beef and cuts of ham

Fresh cakes filled with layers of cream

Jars of marmalade and jam

 

A carousel with blaring music

A café selling pots of tea

bacon sandwiches for a shilling

all this for just my mum and me

 

I went back there when I was home

All that was left were wooden frames

And rotting boards of each seller’s plot

The faint letters of stall holder’s names

 

Another piece of childhood gone

Where every class of soul would meet

To buy and sell and gossip hard

Amongst the stalls on Market Street

 

 

*Note: there has been some poetic licence in the street location for Wakefield Market where the poem is based around

childhoodday97market daymemoriesnostalgiaold marketrelocation of marketwakefield market

◄ Spells

Six Grandfathers ►

Comments

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Ian Whiteley

Tue 7th Jul 2020 12:57

Thanks for your kind comments Jennifer and Keith - I'm glad it brought back happy memories - nostalgia ain't what it used to be eh? 😉I appreciate you taking the time to comment
and thanks for everyone who 'liked' the poem - I appreciate it
Ian

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jennifer Malden

Mon 6th Jul 2020 14:24

Loved this one, the nostalgia for childhood, not only for the market, really comes over, and beautifully catches the scene. In my town there is still a huge Saturday morning market, which is great fun to visit. Notwithstanding all the outlets, chain stores amd ecommerce sellers it is still packed.

Jennifer

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keith jeffries

Mon 6th Jul 2020 13:42

Ian,

This is a poem drenched in delightful nostalgia. It not only speaks of your absence from the scene but also possibly echoes the present effects of the pandemic. The poem also treats the readers imagination to a traditional market place. My little town still has the remnants of one. I found the description of pots of tea and bacon sandwiches more than I could bear.

Very well presented
Thank you for this

Keith

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