Saoirse asked for a poem about Celtic Roundhouses. I am very pleased by the fact that Saoirse’s sister, Bonnie, also asked for a house-based poem, so it’s like this poem and poem #1, Bonnie’s Kitchens, are sort of like sisters too.
I live in a house that’s a square house
In a long line of houses the same
It’s made out of concrete and mortar and bricks
And I think that it’s sort of a shame
That there’s so many edges and corners
And that even the garden is square
And the fireplace is fitted right into the wall
And there aren’t even real flames there.
I wish that I lived in a roundhouse
Like Celts did, a long time ago
With walls made of something called wattle and daub
(which is mud, sticks and cow poo, you know)
There isn’t exactly a garden
Like a path and a small, grassy square
There are forests and fields and rivers and lakes
So the garden is just… everywhere!
It’s built in the shape of a circle
In the middle of it, there’s a fire
There’s no lights or TV or computers because
They do not have electrical wire.
There’s an oven for baking your bread in
And there’s stones you can use to grind flour
And the roof is a big, giant upside down cone,
It’s not boring and oblong like ours!
I cannot go back to the Iron Age
But I’ve read all about it in books
I’ve seen pictures and diagrams, videos too
And a roundhouse? I know how one looks
I am going to build my own roundhouse
When I’m older. I’ve made up my mind:
Because out of the different shapes houses can be,
I think round is my favourite kind.
Tom Juniper Poetry 