A Mishap: a list poem
Oops! I slipped and fell!
How did I do that?
Well…
Early morn in the camp,
Dew on the grass,
The mist is damp,
Went round to the back of our tent,
Rained in the night.
Quite recent,
Slippy grass,
I went into the bushes,
(be out of sight)
What for?
A pee,
Then it was raining again,
Heavy downpour.
Alack! I don’t want to get wet,
I hurry back,
Scurry to the tent,
Met my fate.
Tripp’d on a mound,
Skid with a lurch,
Fall flat to the ground,
Splat! I’m prostrate!
Like a penitent in church.
A loud crack was heard,
A splintering sound—
So loud,
It startled a bird.
Aargh! My ankle bone!
I groan,
And claw at the earth,
The pain was so bad,
Shout and vent for all I am worth.
Andrew pokes his head out through a tent flap
Who’s Andrew?
My partner in crime,
Father of my brood,
My knight,
My chap,
My man,
And he runs toward me
As fast as he can.
“What are you doing on the ground?
Why such a fuss?”
I claw at the earth,
And rant a crude cuss,
Blurt out how much it hurt,
As I lie there writhing
In the dirt.
“Stop being dramatic.”
I grabb’d his shirt!
Help me quick,
Lift me up,
Hop around the tent,
Wipe my face,
Tears are spent.
He held me gently,
and softly spoke.
“It looks like
Your ankle’s broke.”
Lesley Scoble, September 2024
I wrote my List poem to Lynn’s prompt for the W3Weekly Prompt #124. Lynn Wielenga is the Poet of the Week. You can read her winning poem here.
Click here to read Lynn’s full prompt guidelines and to learn more about the list poetry form.
Lynn’s prompt guidelines
- PROMPT: Compose a ‘list poem’, which includes the word ‘fall’ or some form of it (falling, fallen, fell, etc.).
List poem?
A list poem is a deliberately organized poem containing a list of images or adjectives that build up to describe the poem’s subject matter through an inventory of things.
How to write a list poem
To write a list poem, you may use lines, sentences, or even a list of single words. List poems don’t require a specific rhyme scheme or rhythm, but they can have them.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
My thanks to Lynn for introducing me to the List poetry form with her inspiring prompt. My thanks as always to our wonderful host, David, The Skeptics Kaddish.
Thank you, dear readers, for reading.
My thanks to all who have been kind enough to sympathise with my mishap!
The poem is my expression and recall of when I broke my leg in 2016. I wrote it late last night when I couldn’t think of a thing to write about for this prompt!
I wrote a short PostScript about what happened next… Should you wish to read it, please click POSTSCRIPT below.
POSTSCRIPT What happened next?
What happened next?
The field where we camped had no phone signal. I sat by the tent unable to move, while catching the occasional glimpse of Andrew walking the distant hills with his arm raised, holding the phone as high as he could in search of a signal.
Across the field, a woman stared at me. She was cleaning her teeth and spat into a basin without seeming to take her eyes off me. It was creepy. (I expect she wasn’t even noticing me. Just cleaning her teeth through the daze of an early morning stupor. Minding her own business.)
The mist was lifting to reveal a beautiful day. An hour later, the sun silhouetted a tiny far-off figure of Andrew, arm raised high like a poor man’s Statue of Liberty.
He returned (what seemed hours later) to say a close friend who lived a few miles from the wildness of our East Sussex field offered me hospitality. I knew if I accepted this kindness, I would be a guest laid up for weeks (like *Kathy in Wuthering Heights), miles from home.
Like a wounded animal, I needed to get home. We strapped my ankle up and prised it into my sturdy walking boot. I drove 75 miles with a broken ankle (Andrew doesn’t drive). With every gear change, I sang in high C.
Plastered
A visit to my local UCH hospital saw me plastered (nothing new there, then) and on crutches for three weeks. Then, they gave me a large boot to wear. This was a miraculous piece of footwear. It enabled me to walk again! My broken bone took a further six weeks to heal.
*Note
Wuthering Heights, by Emily Brontë
The injured heroine, Catherine, stays as a prolonged houseguest with Linton at Thrushcross Grange for five weeks.
Lesley lives in the City of London Square Mile. An artist, actor and sculptor (her first ceramic sculpture won the V&A inspired by… Award). Scenic artist & book illustrator, playwright (her musical play, Rapscallion performed in inner city schools and theatre school); TV dancer; Animator and illustrator for TV production. Set up Pinecone Studios Ltd and IIMSI Ltd drama and filmmaking workshops in London – producing award-winning films made by children.
LesleyScoble.com 
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