I come from | Poetry Series Sheffield

Older adults who took part in participatory arts-based workshops at UTOPIA Theatre from September to December 2024, came together to share their stories of ageing in Sheffield through different forms of art.

Facilitated by UTOPIA Theatre, the talented artists produced materials that are shared in the project exhibition. The workshop sessions fostered a safe, inclusive space for creativity, community, and self-expression.

Here we share a selection of poems written and spoken by the participants. This particular poem was created through the prompt of ‘I come from’, intended to foster discussions around identity, change, and memory.

My sister and I came from Jamaica to England in the year 1964. Our parents had already been living there for at least five years.
We came from the beautiful, sun kissed, fruitful island where everything was free or so I thought
I loved all fruits but mangoes were my favourite.
I was desperate to see my parents, especially my Mother I was nine years old. I arrived at Manchester airport, suddenly I heard someone shout, see them here, then I saw my parents. It was a wonderful reunion.
We settled in the city of Sheffield, living in shared accommodation. I was not used to that.

Mr Winter was my most formidable foe. 

Content warning: This poem includes racist terms which may cause offence - reader discretion advised.

Scraps of junk and priceless possessions
All printed firmly in the mind
looking into a future unknown.
Expect surprises.

Land lost and loves that come and go,
and a life gets stolen away from,
forgotten past

Original names are left behind
forgotten or banned, now we are
categorised sambo, nigger, mulatto,
later to become Walters, Warner and Wenham

Uncles riding horses and Grandfather with his bike,
Father with his car, moving on, living life.
Value your education, it’s all around you.
You will always learn don’t mis.

Lock the gate behind you,
but be careful not to lock yourself in,
so you can get out and follow
your dreams.

Another country can be a
new start, a new home,
but home is home. 

I came from a woman called Inez Christie; our family has scattered the globe like the crumbs of a broken biscuit.

Like the shrapnel of exploded bombs that scattered us in places like England, Canada, America, Camon and to the far continent Australia.

We laboured in a country we didn't and couldn’t call home as we encountered outrageous hostility which we endured as we only came for 5 years and 62 years later, we are still here.

At times I missed the view of the sunrise on the Alps Mountain in the distance. Spreading across the horizon, like a red patch curtain, that lights up like a cinema screen

Longing to see the family like my brother, my sister, aunties, uncles left behind and at times seeing niece and nephews for the first time as we behave like strangers in the night and my gran with the Jamaican plaid wrap around her head looking frail as she aged.

In the hallway a picture of the Queen in her coronation regalia, the last supper recites Christ is the head of this household and pictures of lost loved ones scattered the wall that bring back fond memories.

I come from strong Jamaican women
Granny mum-mother-aunts
Confident strong hands giving us hugs
Loving, caring nurturing hands

Granny mum in the kitchen with her apron on.
Independence Day picture meets the eye.
Yes, I come from strong bonds.
Hearing scary stories around open fires
Walking rocky paths carrying water

Men meeting in rum bars, laughing out loud
Women drinking bush tea to cure all ills.
I come from pretend kitchen of girls- Tin pan pots on open stoves
Climbing trees to eat fruits or to shelter from the blazing sun.

I come from an Island I call my little paradise,
Miles and miles of golden sand and blue, blue, blue sea.
Yes, we repeat words for emphasis.
A land of many cultures and mix of languages.
A land of contradictions, where the American dollar is preferred
to the British pound, yet the British King is the head of state.

I come from far.
From Women who value education with shouts of “Go Get yu Book.”
Women who will platt your hair as you sit between open legs
Women who support women- and can call a pot a pot.